XXVII
The prince needed to numb the pain somehow.
The bottle of Eden wine he’d downed upon returning home had done little to soothe the ache, and Luke and John’s unsure whining had given him a splitting headache.
The hellhound hadn’t left alongside Charlie, hadn’t disappeared into the ether like he’d believed.
Somehow, it would seem the pooch had imprinted on him, too.
Now he was responsible for a distressed hellhound with only half of its bonded pair.
He eventually had to pass the dog off Nyx to try and get it to eat and burn off some energy.
Lucky drunkenly sent the file with the trust fund documents, payments for rehab and care, as well as a detailed list of what to do with Charlie to Gabe, requesting they get it taken to the hospital on his behalf.
He’d wanted to go himself, but he felt like it would be unwise.
He’d ordered a bouquet of several dozen red roses and baby’s breath to be delivered with a note that said, ‘Best of Luck, Charlie Wickham, and God Bless’ so Charlie would have fresh flowers when he opened those blue eyes of his.
The final thing he sent was a glowing letter of recommendation to Gabe, knowing they’d keep a better eye on it than he would, so that whenever Charlie arrived at the Pearly Gates it could be handed off to the appropriate party.
Then he stumbled his way to his regular nightclub to try and soothe the agony in any way he could manage. Booze, music, sex, it didn’t matter. He needed to flood his senses and have it be stronger than the pain.
He sat in his private room overlooking the dance floor that was thrumming with sweaty bodies.
At first, he’d ordered a bottle of vodka but it only made him more emotional thinking about Charlie.
He drank half of it while he waited for a bottle of rum, which was downed instantly.
Then he asked for whiskey. It arrived on a tray with glasses and whiskey stones.
He snatched the bottle up before shooing away an incubus who had asked for his time—and his dick—alongside the delivery.
The little vixen was a regular of the club and of Lucky’s company when the prince needed a fuck buddy that didn’t talk too much.
Lucky couldn’t remember his name with the swell of alcohol, but he did remember that he was a decent lay and fun time.
But he wasn’t interested, not tonight. That didn’t stop Whatshisname from trying his damndest to seduce him.
Incubi and succubi were persistent. It was their job, he couldn’t blame him for trying to please the ruler of the kingdom they all called home, but all Lucky wanted was to be left alone.
“I’m not interested,” Lucky mumbled, slurring his speech.
“But m’Lord, you seem so stressed. Let me help you,” the sly demon said, slipping his hand up Lucky’s thigh. The natural aphrodisiac and energy sucking powers of the incubus kicked in and a wave of weakness rolled over the prince.
Lucky flinched when he realized what was happening. He swatted his hand away and looked at him with a huff.
“No,” Lucky warned.
“I can handle everything, just re—”
Lucky stood and backed away. He stumbled into the railing, calling for security as he nearly toppled over it onto the dance floor.
The room spun and his knees felt weak. He should have just ripped the overeager vixen’s head off, but he was too intoxicated and didn’t feel like filing an accident report.
The incubus stared at him, his heart-shaped tail flicked and wrapped itself around the nearby half-drunk vodka bottle.
“Let me serve you,” he begged.
Lucky went to respond but stopped when he saw a towering frame in the doorway. A hand grabbed the incubus by the shoulder, which stopped his attempts at seduction. Whatshisname’s tail straightened in fear as a Hellish heat rose in the box.
“No means no, man,” Bub said with a threatening tone. “Get the fuck outta here before I end you. How dare you deny the Heir of Greed’s requests. Who do you think you are?”
The incubus shrunk down and scurried away to the staircase.
Bub brushed his long hair back over his six little horns and looked at Lucky.
He fixed his Hawaiian shirt that seemed to have been thrown on in a haste.
He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed minutes before, and it made Lucky feel both bad and safe.
Beelzebub, a demon lord of Hell and notorious torturer, came running when he needed help. Someone came to help him.
The prince was on the verge of another panic attack, shirt disheveled and tears in his eyes, struggling to stand and hands blanching on the railing.
He reached for his friend as he sucked in a desperate breath.
Bub approached and wrapped him up in a hug.
Lucky normally wouldn’t have let him, but he needed it.
“How did you—” he sniffled— “find me?”
“Gabe told me Charlie left so I figured you’d be here. That runt didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Lucky shook his head but didn’t respond.
“Let’s get you home, kiddo,” Bub said gently.
“I’m dizzy.”
Lucky grumbled and pressed the heel of his hand into his eye.
He was a melty mess, which made it easy for Bub to manhandle him into a comfortable enough position to be hoisted up onto the demon lord’s back.
Lucky groaned and draped his arms over Bub’s broad shoulders before he closed his eyes and let his head hang limp.
“Don’t throw up on me,” Bub warned.
“No promises,” Lucky mumbled.
Bub started moving toward the stairs. The horrid thrum of drum and bass rattled Lucky’s skull, so he kept his eyes shut as he was carried out of the club.
The temperature dipped as they stepped through the doors.
The nightclub had turned the heat up to bolster the demonic energy inside, to fill the space with sweat and hellfire, so stepping out into a comfortable, balmy temperature was jarring.
Lucky pawed at Bub’s chest as he tried to get a grip on something to stabilize himself.
“You’ve got it bad, huh?” Bub asked as they started making their way through the streets.
“I miss him. I fucked—fucked up,” Lucky said between hiccups.
“The whole situation was a mess, man.”
Lucky sobbed. “It’s all my fault.”
“Let it all out, big guy.”
Lucky started rambling incoherently about the situation, about his broken heart and the blame he’d been piling on himself for the past few hours.
Bub simply listened, offering a few small words to let Lucky know he was still listening, and reassured him that the heartbreak was normal.
He was allowed to hurt, to be emotional, and needed to sleep off the emotional train wreck that had bubbled up over losing the man he loved to circumstances beyond his control.
Between the buzz, the crying, and the emotionally draining day, Lucky’s slurred speech started to grow quiet as Bub carried him through the crowded circle of Hell. He rolled his eyes open and looked at the red skies.
“I miss him,” Lucky mumbled.
“What are you going to do about it?” Bub asked.
“Quit my job, go apologize—” he hiccuped again— “Move-move to Earth and take care of him. Beg him for-for his forgiveness, hope he under-understands.”
“Maybe you should. Maybe it’s time you rebelled and did something for you. For him.”
“What if he doesn’t want me?”
Lucky’s eyes blinked closed again and he started to feel the pull of sleep take over. His tail finally unwound itself from its worried coil and hung limp, and Bub had to stop to fix his hold so the prince wouldn’t fall.
“I have a feeling he does,” Bub said gently.
“How do you know?” Lucky questioned, tone somewhere between angry and unable-to-believe-the-audacity.
Bub simply laughed that kind belly laugh of his. “You’ll figure it out.”
Unbeknownst to the half-asleep, drunken devil, a small voice echoed from somewhere in the chaos and rumbling of Hell. One that asked for Lucky. One wondering if he’d keep his promise, fading slowly into the night as the prince drifted off.