Chapter Sixty-Two Charlotte
Chapter Sixty-Two
Charlotte
I slip from the Suite Imperial at the Ritz without a sound, the blades Azrael’s been training me with strapped beneath my coat.
I’m not the best with them, but I’m good enough, and I know without a doubt Death’s going to follow me.
I should find that reassuring, comforting even, considering what lies in store.
But tonight, I need all the self-confidence I can get.
Outside, the city’s caught between late night and the stretch of early morning, the cobblestones echoing under my Maison Margiela boots as I cut through Place Vend?me.
The sky overhead is a predawn blue that makes everything feel like a secret, but if I really wanted to hide, I could snap myself where I’m headed instead of walking.
I just . . . need to clear my head.
Prepare for what’s coming.
I pull my Saint Laurent coat tighter against the cold, trying to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, the paparazzi aren’t as awful about following us here as they are in Manhattan.
As I round onto Rue de Castiglione, the wind carries the scent of fresh baguettes and croissants from a nearby boulangerie, and I sigh a little.
Azrael was right. I do love it here.
Even with the violence I know is coming.
I pass a row of shuttered shops with window displays so beautiful I can’t help but pause every few feet to look at them. Everything here is perfect, polished, pristine.
Better than a dream.
But I’ve lived in this glittering world long enough to know that glamour isn’t always what it seems.
Sometimes it’s dying while the world watches and cheers.
By the time I cross into the courtyard of the Louvre, the city’s just beginning to yawn and stretch. A few lights flicker on behind framed dark windows, and in the distance the Louvre’s glass pyramid rises out of the ground like a knife.
I try not to think about Michael’s knife, about what it might feel like to have the Holy Lance sticking out of me like in the Righteous’s flyer, and not in the fun kind of way with Azrael.
The wedding is still a few days off, I remind myself.
But I don’t want to consider that this might be the only time I get to see the city.
I shake my head. I don’t know why I’ve placed what little fractured hope I have left in Azmodeus. Maybe I’m being na?ve.
Or maybe I’m just that desperate.
I’m not ashamed to admit I’m afraid of dying.
What it means for the life growing inside me. For mine and Lucifer’s daughter.
I stop in the center of the square, pausing to take in the rare moment of freedom. No cameras. No paparazzi. Just me.
And Death.
Azrael’s out there, watching. I can feel the weight of his eyes between my shoulder blades. The subtle chill his nearness brings. It’s comforting, in a twisted way, to know he’ll be our end.
Even if it makes my heart ache.
Slipping inside, I pay off the guard I spoke with earlier just like I’ve seen the other Originals do so many times before. The museum is currently closed, but the lights are still on, and I head toward the first floor, the Denon Wing, to Room 711, where the Mona Lisa’s waiting.
I snap a quick selfie—#MonaLisaSmile—and schedule it to post in the next few days.
After I’m gone.
I stiffen.
Pushing the thought from my mind, I head to the next room and stop in front of a painting labeled Salome Receiving the Head of John the Baptist.
The placard reads: Bernardino Luini. c. 1520.
I take a photo and type a text to Imani.
Accurate? with a smirk emoji, and press send.
Footsteps approach.
Azmodeus enters the gallery with a woman, who looks like she could be a French supermodel, on one arm and her equally gorgeous identical twin on the other. He kisses both of them adieu so long it has heat rising to my face.
I clear my throat.
Lust is the ultimate playboy.
It should honestly be a crime for someone to be that beautiful.
He grins at my interruption, then dismisses them, watching them appreciatively as they go, before he turns his attention to me. Despite all the ways he’s hurt me, I can’t help that my heart races a little.
My brother-in-law is a walking wet dream.
And a devious traitor.
“Hey, lovey.”
He joins me in front of the painting of Salome, relaxed and easy. Like we’ve always been. The hurt of how he destroyed our plans is still raw.
If he hadn’t opened the second seal, there might still be a chance Lucifer and I could make it through this. We’d still be one seal away from Lilith’s powers, we’d have flipped more angels to our side, and Jax might still be . . .
My jaw tightens. “How do you think she felt then?” I nod to the painting.
Art galleries have become mine and Azmodeus’s thing, and there’s a lot of paintings of Salome, but this one has her almost smirking.
As she’s handed John’s head on a platter.
The side of his mouth curves. “Why don’t you ask her?”
I blow out an irritated breath.
Apparently, I’m the only one who wasn’t in on that secret.
I never expected Lucifer’s other siblings to have any loyalty, but with Az . . .
With him, I let my guard down. Thought he was my friend.
I was wrong, clearly.
He moves to the next painting, watching how I’m staring at him and casting me the devastating smirk that the media practically salivates over.
But I’ve seen Lust up close and personal before. Know what it’s like to have his mouth on my breasts, his hands all over my body until I’m out of my mind with need, even if it was because Lucifer was sharing me. Outside that, our relationship has always been platonic. Harmless flirting.
But I trusted Him too, didn’t I?
And look where it got me.
Without warning, I draw one of my blades, slashing at Azmodeus before I can change my mind. My knife slices his shirt, almost nicking him, but he dodges it, his deviant grin widening.
“Is this your idea of foreplay? Usually, this kind of fun’s reserved for my exes, but I love it when you’re feisty.”
“You fucked me.” I lunge, letting out all the frustration I’ve been feeling.
But I miss. Just barely.
“In the playroom, or are you hungry for a repeat?” His eyes fall to my chest, and my nipples harden. “You’re a simp for me, Charlotte.”
I throw myself at him, letting out a furious shriek, but he grabs my wrist easily, twisting until my blade is pointed at my throat. “I’m all for knife play, but this is hardly the place, sweetheart.” He casts my blade to the floor and releases me.
I growl, grabbing the other strapped to my thigh. “You opened the second seal.”
Az’s smile falls. “Oh, that.”
I swing low, another surge of frustration cutting through me, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. He lets out a dark chuckle.
The mask he wears is suddenly gone. Lust isn’t just the queer best friend or the seductive playboy I’ve always known him to be.
He’s something far more dangerous.
I come at him again, throwing round after round of celestial fire at him from one hand and letting my blade sing with the other. I’m pretty good now, even Azrael says so, but a part of me is holding back. I don’t really want to hurt him.
And he doesn’t fight me.
He just dodges every blow.
“Fight me.”
“No.”
I swing left, then right, advancing on him, trying to push him into a corner. “I said fight me, you slut!”
Azmodeus’s smirk is wicked. “For the record, I’m not a slut. I’m the slut. Try again.”
I abandon my blade, dropping it onto the floor. It clatters against the marble, and I send a blast of shadow in his direction, but Azmodeus just spins out of reach like it’s nothing, and I let out a frustrated growl.
He raises his hands. “Finally letting out some of that pent-up rage, huh, lovey?”
I snarl, charging at him, sloppy and losing focus. He grabs me, capturing one of my arms until I’m forced to break free.
As soon as I do, he backs away, putting some distance between us.
“Can you even do anything other than make people horny?”
“Hey, now.” Az snatches one of my blades off the floor.
“That was below the belt. You really don’t want to fight me, Charlotte.
My sin’s your favorite, and you know it.
All those offerings you make me?” He tsks, nodding to how tight my dress is.
“Though that breeding kink you’ve got going with my brother has gotten you into a bit of a tight spot recently, hasn’t it? ”
I let out a furious shout and come at him again. I lash at him relentlessly, this time with fire, driving him even farther back. “You used me!”
I catch the edge of his pant leg, making it smolder, and the smell of burned fabric fills the air.
“Goddammit it, Charlotte. I know the pregnancy hormones are making you crazy, but I’m trying to help you.” His eyes flash to a supernatural green, like he really doesn’t want to do this, but I’m backing him into a corner.
I inch closer.
“I don’t fight fair,” he warns.
“I’ll take my chances.” I advance again.
“All right. You asked for it.” Azmodeus’s eyes darken.
Abruptly, he surges forward, my knife in his hand. In three quick moves, he has it up against my throat and is pressing me into the wall until I’m pinned beneath his large body.
I try to pull away, but the glowing green in his eyes flares.
His touch is too . . . everything.
Too intense. Too delicious. Too . . .
Out of my control.
And I want it.
Even though he doesn’t remove the knife.
Instead, he cups my face, like he’s about to kiss me, and the world blurs at the edges, my focus narrowing to nothing but him.
Every want, every need, every desire is his for the taking.
Heat pools between my legs, liquefying my insides.
I want him. I want him so bad that I can’t . . .
“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, his heated gaze flicking over me like he can already taste the desire on me, because he created it. “You thought it was bad when my brother got inside that little pretty head of yours?” He leans in so close his lips brush mine, my breath hitching. “I am desire.”