Chapter 11 #2
Oh, how I loved my dungeon. It had taken me centuries to get everything just to my liking.
Torture rooms, a screaming chamber, a pit of despair, and my favorite, a room of reflection.
That one was a delight. Made of nothing but mirrors from floor to ceiling, that cell was reserved for the worst of the lot.
Of course, anyone forced to look at themselves for eternity with all their darkest deeds replaying in each mirror would be driven insane.
Even more so when their eyelids were removed and they were unable to look away.
Really, why did I have to give all this up? Was it truly so black and white? Merri or hell? My mate or my kingdom? How very eighteenth-century.
Famine rambled on about something while parading me through the hallways and down to the appropriate cell. It wasn’t until she said, “Siren coven,” that I stopped dead in my tracks.
My voice was deadly cold when I snapped, “Excuse me?”
She blinked like a demented owl before sputtering, “Just up ahead, we have the mates of the Siren coven. Each in their own cells, of course, and spelled so they’re unable to speak.
Though that was mostly for our own sanity.
The constant snarling and shouting from the Scottish one was becoming unbearable. Shifters are so hot-headed.”
“Yes . . . quite,” I mused, but I’d be lying if I said their presence didn’t rattle me.
The Siren coven and their mates had been the catalyst for the cage I’d spent a quarter of a century locked within.
No one else had ever succeeded in locking me up for that long.
If it hadn’t been for Hel, I’d still be behind their infernal bars.
I’d been able to astral project a handful of times, but it had always taken massive amounts of power for very little gain.
Hell still ran without me, because I was just that good, but it never boded well when the denizens of my realm realized their king was away.
An appearance now and again ensured no one went too off script.
Or did anything foolish. Like try to claim my seat.
As we approached the cell containing Grant McTavish, I had to steel myself before taking in the sight of him. Don’t get me wrong, there was a lovely sort of justice in turning the tables. The Siren coven mates locked away and me roaming free. I just didn’t trust them when they were all together.
“And where are their females?” I asked softly, my eyes never leaving the four bound males. I was less concerned about them. The witches had far more power.
“Coordinating an attack on our remaining offspring.”
“Willingly?” I asked, both brows lifting in surprise.
“They are quite motivated, seeing as their failure will result in the death of their partners and children.”
Thinking of something happening to Merri or our future devil-ling sent a bolt of pure rage barreling through me. “Yes,” I practically growled. “I can imagine.”
“Farther down is our real prize. The reason for all of this, if you will.” Famine was so proud of herself I could nearly taste the cloying sweetness of the emotion.
I already knew what was coming; it was the entire reason for my impromptu visit.
But I played dumb and suffered through her showboating.
My eyes landed on the dark-haired female and the too-pretty purple-haired male hovering protectively beside her.
The infamous Sunday and Pan. What a lot of fuss for two rather basic-looking persons. They better be worth it.
A low growl slipped free from Sunday as we approached. She had the unfortunate scent of unwashed dog about her. Definitely a shifter.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” I murmured, taking a step closer to the bars. “War and Pestilence, I see. I can smell the stink of disease on you, Pandemic.”
“Fuck off,” Pan spat.
I ignored him and instead turned my focus to Sunday. “And then there’s the runt of the Fallon pack. Sunday. I didn’t expect you to be formidable by any means, but I have to say, I had hoped for a little more fire from the mother of the harbinger.”
Pure, undiluted rage burned in her eyes as she glared at me.
“What? Nothing to say?”
“Why would she waste breath speaking to you, Lucifer? Everyone knows you’re little more than a lame-duck figurehead anyway.”
I stiffened, the insult hitting far harder than it had any right to. “You must have balls of steel to dare speak to me that way. You’re not even a demon anymore, Pandemic. You’re barely more than a bug to be squashed.”
“All right, you’ve seen them. We should go. Don’t want them to tire themselves out before the grand finale.” Famine began walking back the way we came, leaving the two captives to their fury.
Fleetingly I wondered if I should have dialed it back a hair. After all, I was going to rescue them. They may not know it right now, but eventually they’d have to trust me enough to follow my instructions for escape.
I just didn’t want Famine to cotton on to my plans before I was ready. She couldn’t have reason to suspect my loyalties had shifted.
Once again I was struck with a sense of internal conflict. Had my loyalties truly shifted? I mean, I was rescuing a couple of insignificant gits to prove my mate could trust me, but that didn’t mean that I had changed. Right?
Right?
I’d been working toward this moment for millennia, and I was just expected to what, give it all up now that my mate happened to fall onto my cock? That hardly seemed fair. If she really loved me, wouldn’t she want me to be happy? To be my true self?
But that begs the question: who is Lucifer Morningstar, really?
If I could have what I really wanted, what would that be?
Choice.
The word burst through me like a damned shooting star.
I wanted to choose my own destiny, just like the humans.
Even now, after falling, after defying my Father, I didn’t truly have that.
I was forced to take on hell and all its occupants because no one else wanted to.
I could walk away right now, free the prisoners, and hand over hell to whoever wanted the job.
Hell and Lucifer were synonymous, but they didn’t have to be.
That was just simply the way it had always been.
All any of us had known. But I’d challenged the status quo once before.
True, it hadn’t exactly gone in my favor, but I’d proved, if nothing else, that it could be done.
People always assumed I wanted power, and I suppose I did, but only to a point. Power equated choice. Just like money equated freedom. Both gave options. I was so fucking tired of not having any real options. No matter what path I walked, the destination was always the same.
Unless I fought my way out.
Which was what this had always been about, at least for me.
People could put any bow they wanted on it, but the truth—my truth—was I just wanted my freedom. The ability to choose. A life of my own, free from all of . . . this.
I stumbled a little as the reality of what that meant came crashing down.
I didn’t want to be Lucifer Morningstar anymore. I wanted to be Luc. Merri’s Luc.
I could be him in one of two ways. Take over the world via the apocalypse.
Or walk away from everything and take her with me.
The latter was the only way she’d truly be mine, because if the apocalypse happened and I assumed the throne, it would be over a river of the blood of innocents and people she loved. She’d never accept me then.
And in many ways, I’d still be stuck playing a part thrust upon me. I think, though I loathe to admit it, the only way I might truly get what I want would be to let go of everything I thought I wanted.
I’d have to do the one thing I’d been fighting against since I fell.
Sacrifice.
An undignified snort escaped me.
“Something the matter, my king?” Famine asked.
I flinched. Bloody hell, I’d been so focused on my spiraling thoughts I’d completely forgotten about her.
“No. No. I was simply plotting the first of many torture sessions I will be carrying out. The Siren coven and their mates have a reckoning to face when all this is said and done.”
She grinned. “Brilliant.”
“Actually, I think I’ll leave you here. I have some other matters to attend to.”
“Are you sure? I could assist you?”
Fuck’s sake, this woman was incessant in her simpering. I’d known anal warts less attached than she was. “Positive. I’ve got everything well in hand. I’ll join the rest of you later.” I leveled a stare at her. “Stay.”
“But—”
“Stay,” I said more firmly, taking a few steps toward my personal wing. When she didn’t move, I smirked. “Good dog.”
Not ten minutes had passed before I was on my way back to the dungeon, ready to execute my grand rescue operation.
The plan I’d hatched was to stealthily aid Sunday and Pan in their escape in such a way as to maintain my own innocence of the deed.
The less possible my implication in this treachery, the more power I could hold on to.
Imagine my surprise when a series of hissed voices met my ears. Here I was thinking I was the only one with a stealth mission.
“What is he doing here?” War demanded. “I thought you said he was busy entertaining your spawn.”
Famine huffed. “He was.”
“Clearly she’s as interesting as you if he’s already abandoning ship,” Death snickered.
“Perhaps he has her so wrapped around his finger he isn’t concerned about her going anywhere?”
“Let’s hope that’s the case. If your daughter can’t keep him occupied, he is going to be a much bigger problem than we anticipated.”
Oh? What’s this? Why would my presence be a problem?
Taking a quick peek over my shoulder to ensure I was still alone, I shuffled closer to the sound of the voices. Given their cast, the horsewomen didn’t want to be overheard, which only fed the flames of my interest. What fuckery was afoot?