Chapter 68 Lucian
Lucian
Seraphina is curled up against me, all soft skin and curves. Her golden hair is spilling across my black silk pillows like liquid sunshine.
Talk about a morning-after masterpiece.
One of her legs is thrown possessively over my waist, and fuck—the way her perfect breasts press against my side should be classified as a weapon. Her peaceful face, those slightly parted lips that were screaming my name just hours ago... it's enough to make my heart beat out of my chest.
I trace lazy patterns on her bare skin, remembering how she arched and moaned beneath me. My angel cake turned out to be kinkier than a demon's tail. Makes me wonder what other naughty surprises she's hiding under those pristine wings.
Last night was a divine revelation of the most sinful kind. Phina let me claim that sacred territory and took backdoor action like she'd been studying the Kama Sutra's secret chapters.
Who knew Heaven's finest would be enthusiastic about getting her halo polished from behind? She moaned my name like a prayer, begged for more like confession, and came so hard I thought we'd both ascend straight to the pearly gates.
Her wings are hidden away now, but the memory of how they trembled and fluttered while I took her ass? That's getting filed away in my spank bank for all eternity.
Note to self: Install mirrors on the ceiling. For research purposes, obviously.
The sunlight streaming through the balcony doors makes her skin glow like she's lit from within. Which, considering she's an angel, might be true.
Seraphina stirs, her silky leg sliding over my already rock-hard morning wood. Her gorgeous eyes flutter open, a coy smile on those sinful lips. "Good morning, Sparky," she purrs, her voice like audible honey.
Hello, Little Miss 'I'm-an-angel-but-I-fuck-like-a-demon.'
"Morning, naughty girl," I smirk, already mentally high-fiving myself for landing the hottest thing to ever fall from Heaven.
Achievement unlocked: Corrupted an Angel. +1000 XP.
She giggles, pressing those perfect lips against mine, and sweet merciful Batman—she tastes like cotton candy and whiskey had a baby that was blessed by the Pope.
I cup her face, then grab a fistful of that golden hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. The moan that escapes her goes straight to my cock like it's following a GPS signal.
Down boy. We've got important morning-after conversations to have before round two... or is it round seven? I lost count somewhere around midnight.
I pull back, my brain finally catching up to the rest of me. "How's my favorite ass doing after last night's wild ride?" I ask, tracing a finger down her spine before gripping that perfect peach that took quite the pounding last night.
Because I'm nothing if not a considerate lover. Captain Consideration, that's me.
"I rode you harder than a prized stallion at the Kentucky Derby."
Seraphina laughs, and I can't help but smile at the sound. "I'm perfectly fine," she assures me, that sassy little eyebrow quirk appearing. "Remember, I can heal. Perks of being an angel."
Ah yes, her healing mojo. It's not quite the premium package like Dani's Infinity Stone superpower, but it's more like the basic subscription plan of supernatural recovery. Just enough to handle a night of passionate acrobatics without the awkward morning-after limp.
Angel girlfriend = self-repairing bedroom toy with unlimited warranty. This is definitely a win for Team Lucian.
I roll her beneath me in one smooth motion, my aching cock nestled against that slick, sweet pussy.
She arches into me, a soft purr vibrating through her chest that I feel in my bones.
Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I inhale deeply, drowning in her scent—vanilla, cinnamon, and something uniquely her.
Fuck. I'm addicted. This angel is my drug of choice, and I'm a willing junkie.
Her emotions wash over me through our bond, a tidal wave of love and desire that threatens to sweep me away. It's a feedback loop of passion, her arousal fueling mine until I'm drowning in need. My hips align with hers, the promise of paradise just one thrust away—
Cue record scratch.
A distinctive pop from downstairs shatters the moment, freezing us both in place. Seraphina's eyes widen, mirroring my own surprise. We don't need words to know what—or rather who—just interrupted us.
"Dani," we chorus, because of fucking course Little Miss Save-the-Realms would pick this exact moment to pop back into existence.
Cockblocked by the prophecy. Again. This is getting old faster than Erik's sword collection.
Seraphina launches from the bed like she's been catapulted, leaving me with a severe case of sexual whiplash. My brain's still stuck in sexy-time mode while Phina is already halfway into her clothes, her movements are quick, golden skin and flowing hair.
I slide into my jeans, wincing as I tuck away the evidence of our interrupted morning activities. The look on Seraphina's face—that pure, radiant joy at the prospect of seeing her best friend—almost makes up for the blue balls I'm now sporting.
Almost.
Her eyes dance with excitement as she smooths down her hair, a futile attempt to hide her 'I've been thoroughly ravaged' look. Those golden locks are a certified sex-tornado aftermath—no amount of finger-combing is going to hide our bedroom Olympics.
I should give her a medal for that performance. Olympic-level flexibility deserves recognition.
I catch her hand as she practically vibrates with anticipation, pulling her close for one last taste. Her body melts against mine like she was custom-made to fit there.
Fuck. I'm addicted to this angel harder than humans are to their stupid phones.
"To be continued," I purr against her ear, letting my fangs graze the sensitive skin. Her shiver goes straight to my still hard cock like a heat-seeking missile.
Down boy. We've got a family reunion to attend before I can bend her over the nearest surface and make her see stars again.
Her smile could light up Times Square. And my heart melts at the sight.
Fuck. When did I become this sappy?
The moment my feet hit the bottom step—
"What the FUCK is that?" Dani's voice could shatter bulletproof glass at fifty paces.
Ah yes, the universal Brax introduction. Never gets old.
I round the corner to find a tableau of supernatural shock and awe—Dani with her jaw practically unhinged, Rhyland doing his best impression of a Viking shield wall between her and our resident demon, Erik looking stoic as ever (though his hand's suspiciously close to his blade), and some blonde who's staring at Brax like she's witnessing an eldritch horror emerge from the toilet.
Brax, in all his ten-foot, charred-skin glory, towers in the living room. The stench of sulfur and burnt Pop-Tarts wafts through the air like the world's worst air freshener.
"Who are you?" Brax rumbles, smoke curling from his nostrils like a dragon with a sinus infection.
And the award for 'Most Awkward Family Reunion' goes to...
"Alright, alright." I slide between them like I'm breaking up a bar fight. "Brax, really? Can't you pick a face or something? You're scaring the residents."
Brax gives me the demonic equivalent of a 'bitch, please' look before his form shimmers and ripples. The massive black demon melts away, replaced by—
Of fucking course.
Captain America stands in my living room, complete with the Boy Scout smile and perfect hair. My internal Marvel fanboy weeps tears of betrayal.
I roll my eyes so hard I practically see my own brain. A violent shudder runs through me at the memory of hearing—
Nope. Not going there. That's a trauma for another therapy session.
This asshole has officially ruined Cap for me. I'll never watch Avengers again without thinking of demonic Pop-Tart farts.
"What. The. Hell?" Dani enunciates each word like she's trying to make sense of our circus.
Welcome home, firecracker. I hope you brought popcorn because this show's just getting started.
"Well, if it isn't the Avengers finally assembling," I drawl, remembering Emily's magical SOS text that feels like it was sent sometime during the Jurassic period. "Don't worry, we handled our own 'save the world' mission while you were gone. No infinity stones required."
Though our version involved significantly more demon cosplay and accidental vampirism. Details, details.
"Meet Brax," I gesture toward Not-Steve-Rogers now lounging on my Italian leather couch like he owns the place. The sulfur stench is finally clearing. "He's our resident demon shapeshifter with an unfortunate Marvel fetish. We've got a lot to catch up on."
"No fucking shit." Rhyland's growl could make a grizzly bear piss itself. His massive frame practically vibrates with protective Alpha energy as he eyes Brax. "A damn demon?"
Down, boy. Your Viking is showing.
Before I can explain our resident demon's hard-on for Chris Evans, Seraphina launches herself at Dani like a heat-seeking missile of celestial joy. Their reunion hug looks like something straight out of a Hallmark movie—if Hallmark did supernatural rom-coms.
"Dani! You're back! You're safe!" Her voice is pure sunshine and rainbow sprinkles as she practically lifts Dani off the ground.
"Seraphina, are you okay?" Dani's voice carries equal parts worry and 'I-will-murder-whoever-hurt-you' energy. "Emily's note—"
"She's fine," I interject, puffing up like a peacock. Because yeah, I totally saved my angel's perfectly sculpted ass. "Though the story involves a demon, some accidental vamp—
"Shower, food, and drinks first before I even consider having this conversation," Dani interrupts, returning Seraphina's hug before extracting herself—her eyebrow arches. "And make that drink a double. Something tells me I'm going to need it."
Oh, honey. If you think this is weird, wait until you hear about the baby vampire with bubblegum hair upstairs.
"Fair enough," I concede.
My eyes zero in on Erik and his new appendage—a blonde who looks like she just walked straight off the set of the Vikings TV show where everyone's covered in mud and leather and shouting about Valhalla.
She's got the whole "shield-maiden who could gut you with a rusty spoon while reciting Norse poetry" vibe down pat.
Well, well, well. What do we have here?
The girl's rocking some unique peepers—heterochromia that would make a cat jealous—and Erik's got that 'touch-her-and-die' posture going on. Mr. Stoic practically broadcasts 'MINE' in neon letters above his head.
Someone's been busy. And here I thought Erik's only relationship was with his sword collection.
"So," I drawl, eyeing the way Erik's practically melded himself to Viking Barbie's side. "Did I miss the memo about us collecting historically accurate arm candy, or...?"
Because watching Erik play the protective mate is like seeing Nick Fury crack a smile—rare and slightly terrifying.
"Like I said, shower, food, and drinks first." Dani's tone carries the weight of someone surviving on medieval protein bars and whatever passes for road snacks in Viking-land.
"Cool. I'll get Rosa on it," I offer, already planning something Mexican. "Do you have any particular cravings, Princess?"
They all look like they just stepped out of a Norse mythology documentary—all furs, shields, and leather that've seen better days. The kind of outfit that screams 'we've been realm-hopping through frozen wastelands and living off dried meat and determination.'
No wonder Dani's ready to commit murder for a decent meal.
The girl has probably been dreaming of Rosa's cooking while choking down whatever passes for food in the land of eternal winter.
Dani's stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead—the sound carries the promise of violence if food doesn't materialize in the next ten minutes.
"Anything."
"Rosa!" I call out, already moving toward the kitchen. "Emergency protocol—Hungry Human! Break out the good stuff—we've got a famished firecracker who hasn't seen proper food in weeks!"
The exhausted group trudges upstairs, their footsteps heavy with too many miles and insufficient rest. As they disappear to freshen up, Rosa materializes in the kitchen like a culinary genie summoned by the promise of hungry stomachs.
"?Dónde está ese maldito demonio?" she demands, her eyes narrowing. "Where is that damn demon? He better stay out of my kitchen while I cook!"
Ah, Rosa. Always ready to throw down with the forces of darkness, armed with nothing but a rosary, spatula and a fiery temper.
"Relax, Rosalita," I grin, holding my hands in mock surrender. "Brax is currently cosplaying as Captain America in the living room. Your kitchen is a demon-free zone, scout's honor."
"?Ay, Dios mío! That pendejo still owes me three new sauce pans from last week!" She starts pulling ingredients from the pantry like she's arming for culinary warfare. "And tell him if he shape-shifts into Gordon Ramsay again while I'm cooking, I will stuff him with holy water tamales!"
That incident was both hilarious and traumatizing. Who knew demons could hit such high notes?
"Yes, ma'am," I salute, backing away from her domain. "Though you have to admit, his Jamie Oliver impression was spot-on."
She huffs, her expression softening slightly. "Bueno. Now, what do these poor dears need after their little interdimensional road trip?"
Leave it to Rosa to make realm-hopping sound like a weekend getaway gone awry.
"The works, mi amor," I reply, already salivating at the thought of her legendary cooking. "Dani hasn't had a proper meal in weeks, and you know how she gets when she's hangry."
Rosa nods sagely, tying her apron with the determination of a general preparing for battle. "Say no more. I'll whip up a feast fit for a king—or a cranky superhuman, in this case."
God bless this woman and her magical kitchen skills.
"Have I told you lately that you're my favorite person in this madhouse?" I grin, dodging the playful swat she aims at my head.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, mi diablito," she smirks. "Now get out of my kitchen, vampiro! And keep that demon away, or I swear by all the saints..."
Time for a tactical retreat. Even immortals know better than to argue with Rosa on a mission.