Chapter Eight Charlotte
Chapter Eight
Charlotte
I wake to the smell of fresh coffee from my automated espresso machine, Azrael’s large body wrapped around me, so when I roll out of bed, I’m still half asleep.
Considering I’m naked and Manhattan is freezing this time of year, I bundle myself in the blanket I was sleeping in and pad toward the kitchen.
The sun hasn’t begun to seep in through the windows overlooking the West Village, the clean lines, warm wood, and curated fixtures barely illuminated, and the townhouse is so quiet, so still, that I expect to be alone, but when I round the corner, I turn only to find—
“Lucifer.” I blink, suddenly wide awake.
He sits at my new granite countertop on one of the refurbished barstools, one of several I bought a few weeks back when I went shopping with Azmodeus—my new, self-declared “replacement bestie”—as part of a work outing. When I’d somehow gotten the crazy idea I might be into antiquing.
That didn’t exactly pan out.
Saving humanity from apocalyptic doom is a full-time job, apparently.
On top of the other side hustles I’m already working.
My eyes dart between him and the bedroom, where Azrael is still.
Lucifer sips the coffee he’s holding as he nudges another cup toward me. He rakes in the sight of my mussed hair, flushed skin, and smeared makeup in a single look, a slow, devilish smirk spreading across his features. “Morning, love.”
“Morning,” I squeak, glancing toward the stairs as if he might be imagining exactly how Azrael and I—
Oh, he’s definitely imagining it all right.
He’s imagining it in explicit detail.
If that flicker of hellfire in his eyes is any indication.
“You weren’t in the training room this morning,” he comments, not revealing a damn thing about what he thinks of this particular turn of events.
My future husband knows how to play his cards close.
He takes another slow sip.
“No,” I agree unhelpfully.
Probably because my trainer was already here. Inside me.
My face flames with heat.
“I just . . . didn’t feel like training.” I shrug.
Lucifer’s devious grin falters. “Are you lying to me, Charlotte?” he asks, his expression suddenly cold.
Oh no.
No, no, no, no, no.
“No, sir. I just—”
“Sir?” He lifts a single brow, clearly toying with me. “I thought you were no longer calling me that.”
I gape at him. “I’m not. It’s just . . .”
“Had a change of heart?” Lucifer stands, abandoning his coffee on the counter as he stalks toward me. “No one would blame you.”
He crowds my space, his gaze never leaving mine, and I’m so awestruck by the hungry way he’s looking at me I’m almost incapable of moving.
Slowly, he begins to unwrap the blanket from around my nude body, until I’m so drunk on the familiarity of his touch, the dark promise of the temptation of what I know could come, that all the resistance I’ve been giving him melts out of me.
One time couldn’t hurt, could it?
He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, the warmth of his skin brushing against my cheek.
“Perhaps you need a reminder of who you belong to? Just a taste to take off the edge.” The hellfire in his eyes flares as he leans down, his mouth trailing across my jaw like a sinful vow, until he’s whispering in the shell of my ear like he did to Eve.
“Just say the word, little dove, and you’re mine again. ”
“I—”
“Hnnn,” Azrael growls, suddenly prowling into the room, all snarling savagery.
Death’s dark tattoos and raw muscle are on full display, and with his undercut hair down like that, it’s reminding me of how we—
A small, helpless noise escapes me.
He pulls a hair tie off his wrist and quickly uses it to put it up in his signature man bun before he roughly tugs me toward him, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s. He lays a possessive kiss on my neck, inhaling the scent of me.
Lucifer’s smirk takes on a dangerous edge.
I’m torn between whether the fiery gleam in his eye is because he’s enjoying this or because he’s imagining all the ways he eventually wants to punish me.
Once he gets me alone in the playroom, that is.
And he will, and soon.
Especially if he keeps looking at me like that.
I awkwardly clear my throat, not knowing what to expect from this encounter, just as Azrael chooses to release me.
My face is practically on fire, my guilt searing, and that nasty little voice inside my head starts hissing insults, just as my stomach decides that now is the perfect time to begin its usual round of prework anxiety.
I try to figure out what I was supposed to be doing.
Lucifer looks pointedly at the coffee he brought for me, shaking his head like both of our lives and this whole apocalypse situation would be so much easier if I’d just stop overthinking and submit myself to him again.
His gaze flicks to Azrael, and he lifts a brow as if to say, Told you it’d be worth the wait.
He is not making this easy.
But when has he ever?
“I need to pee,” I announce, darting toward the bathroom.
Once inside, I turn on the faucet to drown out the noise. I spend the next several minutes making a sacrifice for my poor life choices to the god of the porcelain bowl.
When I’m done emptying my stomach’s contents, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, taking slow, steady breaths in and out through my nose like my therapist taught me. Her voice comes to mind easily.
Note five things you notice around the room.
My eyes dart over the bathroom tile.
My makeup bag. My eyelash curler. The face cream that costs more than a Birkin that Sophie insisted I bring with me now that I’m no longer living at the penthouse.
And the plastic CVS bag on the counter that contains a . . .
I splash some of the running water on my face and turn off the faucet before I return to the kitchen.
Lucifer and Azrael are still there, except instead of one, there’s now two hot beverages on the counter waiting for me—the premium Arabica Lucifer brought that’s probably been flown in from some old, ailing artisan in South America who’s been crafting this brand of bean for the last six generations, and a steaming cup of my favorite herbal tea blend that Azrael made me.
An impossible decision.
I hesitate before I finally snatch up the coffee, only because that’s the smell that does the least amount of damage to my insides this morning.
Lucifer smiles triumphantly as Azrael grunts, turning away.
“So, what brings you by this morning, Lucifer?” I lift the coffee to my face, trying my best to lighten the mood.
The warmth permeates through me.
Lucifer repositions himself on a barstool, and the next thing I know, he’s hauled me into his lap, just as Azrael grumbles something about making his own damn coffee.
Lucifer’s hands curl around my waist, and he captures my mouth in such an intense and bruising kiss that by the time he releases me, I’ve forgotten all about my drink.
“I’m not allowed to pop by and escort my future bride to work now, am I?” He nips at my lip with his fangs playfully.
“Of course you are, it’s just—”
My gaze darts over to Azrael.
“It’s my morning,” he growls.
The temperature in the room goes cold.
“Be that as it may . . .” Lucifer’s grip on my ass tightens to the point of near pain. “Considering you absconded with her last night and interrupted this morning’s training schedule, a trade-off would only be fair.”
“Or, you know, maybe you could just share me?”
The words cut through the room like another apocalyptic seal opening.
Dangerous. Volatile. Destructive.
Off-limits.
“Or not.” I lower my head as they both return to what they were doing.
“Actually, little dove, I came here to steal you away under false pretenses, I’m afraid.”
Lucifer recounts what he learned from Seraph, his angelic informant, this morning.
My spine runs cold. “So, if Michael suspects, what does that mean?”
“There’s a possibility he could alter the seals to pose a mortal threat to you.” Lucifer casts a grim glance toward Azrael.
I shake my head. “But I’m immortal now. It’s not like I can . . .”
“It’s not that simple, darling.”
With the Righteous openly campaigning against me and Lucifer, the media backlash about my immortality, plus the devastation of the first two seals opening and now this, the list of who wants me dead keeps growing rapidly.
At least Lilith wants to keep me alive for the sake of her future grandbabies.
Lucifer’s expression turns deadly serious. “You’re now the only thing that stands between Michael and what he truly wants.”
“Your other siblings?”
He nods. “The seals weren’t meant for you, even if you have the power to open them. You’re a cosmic paradox, Charlotte. A foreign body that could potentially backfire, which means . . .”
“Michael’s plan would be easier without me,” I breathe. “But we can reroute our plan, can’t we? Find another way to get your angelic siblings on our side? Now that he knows what we’re up to?”
Lucifer’s jaw tightens, like this is exactly why he resisted being transparent with me about his family in the first place. “It’ll take time, but it’s possible.”
Azrael shakes his head. “It’s just a scare tactic. Until we know for certain the seals are a threat to you, we stick to the plan.”
Lucifer nods in agreement.
“But until then, we need Lucifer’s siblings to stay in line now more than ever.”
And considering one of them has already gone rogue and opened the second seal . . .
Our entire plan is at risk of fracturing, if we don’t act quickly.
“Okay.” I pace back and forth as I try not to panic. “Okay, so until we have something better, we double down on keeping your siblings in check.”
“If a better path even exists,” Azrael grumbles, like this is no big thing.
To him, it likely isn’t. He’s seen nine apocalypses before this—nine.
Lucifer casts him an impatient look. “Darling, why don’t you go upstairs? Azrael and I need to have a little chat alone.”
“Alone?” I look from one to the other. “You’re not going to . . .”
“I’ll be fine, Charlotte.” This from Azrael.
The way he looks at me then, like he’s no longer going to hide how he feels in front of Lucifer, concerns me.
Almost as much as the idea of leaving the two of them alone together.
I turn my attention toward my fiancé. “How did it go last night, by the way? With my dad?” I ask in a pathetic attempt at changing the subject.
Even as I’m filled with the awareness that, yes, talking about torturing my father for information on how to hit back at the Righteous for helping abduct Jax is a preferable conversation topic to whatever silent standoff Lucifer and Azrael are having.
Lucifer scoffs, pulling me closer. “Unsuccessful, I’m afraid.”
“You might have had little success. But I didn’t,” Azrael growls.
My eyes widen as we both look toward him.
I’ve never heard Death so much as utter a word against Lucifer, not like this, but after last night . . .
That mouth of his seems far more dangerous than it’s ever been.
“I found her,” Azrael says, looking directly at me.
My heart races.
There’s only one “her” he could possibly mean.
I shriek, my anxieties forgotten as I launch myself off Lucifer’s lap and into Azrael’s arms. “Is she all right? Is she—”
“She’s alive. That’s what matters.” Azrael’s self-satisfied grin fades quickly.
“We have to go get her. How do we—”
“Charlotte.” Lucifer’s voice drops low, taking on that familiar, warning edge.
The one he uses when I’m treading into dangerous territory.
When I’m not conducting myself as the immortal queen I’m expected to be.
My spine runs cold.
He pats his leg, nodding toward his lap, as I reluctantly untangle myself from Death’s arms and obediently slink back to Lucifer.
“Sorry, sir,” I mutter, shrinking against him.
I may not be Lucifer’s collared sub at the moment, but not everything about our dynamic disappeared overnight.
Old habits are hard to break.
Azrael glances between us, eyes narrowed, before finally he clears his throat. “I located her in the Nothing, but where that translates into human geography is unclear to me.”
“Meaning?”
“We can’t go after her.” Lucifer strokes my hair, my head now lying on his shoulder. “Not yet.”
“But if Azrael found her, why can’t he—”
“It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately.” Azrael’s gaze hardens, like he can see how concerned this makes me and he hates it. “She could be anywhere here on Earth, between this world and the next, and that could mean—”
“But you will locate her, won’t you, Azrael?” Lucifer arches a brow, the tone in his voice leaving no room for refusal.
An order to a soldier from his king. The Prince of Darkness.
Some silent communication passes between them.
A moment of tension before Azrael lowers his head. “Yes, sir.”
My gaze darts between them.
Wait. Did Azrael just obey him?
Could they be . . . ?
No, of course not.
Lucifer’s grip on me tightens as he takes another slow sip of his drink, his fiery gaze never moving from Azrael.
I know where Death stands, but if I told Lucifer how I was feeling, maybe he—
“Be a good girl and go get ready for work now, little dove. Azrael and I have business to attend to.” The hellfire in Lucifer’s eyes flares, and if the furious gleam in his eye is any indication, well . . .
This conversation has been a long time coming.
“Of course.” I scramble off Lucifer’s lap, my heart sinking as I peck a quick kiss on his cheek. I hesitate before doing the same with Azrael and then retreat upstairs to the safety of my bedroom.
I close the door and sag against it, defeated.
There is no chance in hell either of them is ever going to agree to make this a permanent thing.
That much is clear to me.