Chapter 76 Lucian
Lucian
Let's recap this shit, shall we?
Not only does Lilith have a supernatural thirst for our resident Viking, but now we discover she's not trying to import Evil Lord McShadowpants. Oh no—that would be too simple. She's going full "Darkness Falls" and trying to merge our world with the shadow realm.
Because, being an immortal pain in the ass for six millennia wasn't enough of a hobby.
Meanwhile, in our little slice of "Supernatural Home & Garden," the girls are absolutely losing their minds over our Pinterest-worthy Christmas explosion. Seraphina and company are decorating the tree like the universe didn't just drop the mother of all plot bombs.
Nothing says 'apocalypse prep' quite like hanging baubles while discussing the end of all existence.
"Should we be concerned that they're handling potential universal destruction by stress-decorating?" I mutter to no one in particular, watching Emily attempt to untangle lights with murderous determination.
Then again, maybe trimming the tree is cheaper than therapy. And hey, if we're going down, at least we'll go down festive.
Watching Dani blue-screen like a Windows 95 computer? That's a new one. And trust me, I've seen this girl survive more dramatic episodes than a CW series marathon. Kidnapping? She sassed her captors. Torture? Made jokes about their technique. Near-death experiences? Just another Tuesday.
But Adrian's zombie comeback tour? That broke her brain faster than explaining the Marvel timeline to a newcomer.
And speaking of comebacks, who had 'traitorous brother returns from the dead' on their supernatural bingo card?
Why the meltdown, you ask? She's got it in her head that Adrian's death is her fault.
Classic Dani, collecting guilt like Pokemon cards.
And don't even get me started on her soft spot for that backstabbing bookworm. My dear brother may have had the personality of a wet library card, but he still betrayed us harder than Loki on a bad day. Death by heart removal seemed pretty damn fitting if you ask me.
But nooooo.
That's our Dani—heart bigger than her common sense and twice as stubborn. She's got that look in her eyes that says she's about to adopt another lost cause. Mark my words. She will turn this into her personal redemption project faster than you can say "terrible life choices."
"?Mis amores! ?La comida está lista!" Rosa's voice carries through the mansion like a warm breeze. Then switches to her 'don't-test-me' tone: "And tell that demon if he comes near my kitchen, I'll beat him with my chancla!"
Ah, Rosa, the only person who can threaten supernatural beings with a sandal and make it sound endearing.
I start to stand when—holy mother of angelic pheromones—Phina's right there, hitting me with that heavenly aroma that makes my undead parts feel very much alive. My arms automatically wrap around, and I can't help the moan that escapes me.
Someone should bottle this scent. We'd make billions. 'Eau de Angel: Make Your Vampire Purr.'
But beneath her sweet exterior, I feel the guilt eating at her like acid. My perfect angel actually believes she's responsible for Lilith harvesting her blood like some twisted supernatural juice cleanse.
Right. Because getting vampire-napped by Fashion Week's Worst Nightmare is totally your fault, baby girl.
Under my sass and snark, I'm plotting murder with extreme prejudice. That couture-wrapped succubus stole my angel's essence and used it like some performance enhancer.
Nobody. Takes. What's. Mine.
My grip tightens around Phina like a protective cocoon of Christmas spirit and sass. "Hey, angel face. None of that sad stuff." I gently tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. Those golden eyes, usually brighter than a supernova, now glisten with unshed tears.
Fuck me. Seeing her like this is like watching a unicorn cry. It's just wrong on so many levels.
"This is why we stayed in Atheria," she whispers like she's confessing to starting the Spanish Inquisition. "Why Elysium kept us hidden." Her voice catches like she's trying to swallow a holy hand grenade. "I let her take what we've worked so hard to keep hidden, to—"
"Stop." I thread my fingers through her silky hair, gentle but firm, like handling the world's most precious piece of divine art.
I'll be damned (again) if I let my angel carry this guilt. That's my job, along with making inappropriate jokes and looking fabulous in leather.
"You didn't allow her to take anything, Cupcake. That's like saying I allowed myself to fall for an angel who's too good for my undead ass." I stroke her cheek with my free hand. "And we both know I was powerless against your celestial charms."
Look at me, being all romantic while maintaining my carefully crafted badass image. Somebody give this vampire an Oscar.
Phina's lower lip trembles and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss away every ounce of sadness. "But Lucian, I—"
"Nuh-uh. No buts, baby girl. Unless we're talking about your perfect angelic ass, in which case, I'm all for it."
There's my girl—that little eye roll means the sass is coming back.
"You're impossible," she huffs, but I catch that hint of a smile.
"Impossibly charming? Devastatingly handsome? Supernaturally gifted in the bedroom?"
Mission accomplished: Operation Make Angel Smile is a success. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming of being hopelessly whipped by a celestial being.
"But now she's using my essence to—" Seraphina starts, a hint of sass breaking through her sadness.
"To dig herself a deeper grave," I finish, pressing my forehead against hers. "Because she just pissed off the wrong vampire and his angelic gorgeous girlfriend."
Who, by the way, looks absolutely edible even when she's sad. Is that wrong? Probably. Do I care? Not even slightly.
"You listen to me, Phina. You are not responsible for that hell-spawned harlot's actions. She's the one who's going to pay, and I'm going to be the one to collect. With interest."
And by interest, I mean I'm going to shove my foot so far up Lilith's ass she'll be coughing up boot leather for a century.
Seraphina's lips curve into a smile that could make the Grinch's heart grow three sizes. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look right now, wearing reindeer antlers and trying to be all romantic and sweet?"
God, I love it when she gets sassy. It's like watching a kitten try to roar.
I let out a laugh that's half amusement, half 'kill-me-now' embarrassment. "I probably look like a complete fucking idiot, right? Like Santa's perverted cousin who got banned from the mall for inappropriate comments to the elves?"
Phina reaches up and flicks one of the antlers, her eyes sparkling with that heavenly mischief that makes my dead dick spring to life faster than a jack-in-the-box. "I don't know, I think it's kind of cute. In a 'my boyfriend is a dork, but I love him anyway' sort of way."
Cute? I've killed men for less. But from her? I'll take any damn label she wants to slap on me.
"Well, lucky for you, this dork is all yours, antlers and all." I lean in close enough to inhale her scent. "Though I'd much rather be wearing nothing but your thighs around my neck instead of this holiday bullshit."
Too crude? Not crude enough? The line gets blurry when you're mated to literal divinity.
Seraphina's cheeks flush with a rosy glow that spreads down her neck. Instead of the scandalized gasp, most would expect from an angel, her golden eyes darken with desire. She leans in, her lips brushing against my ear.
"Maybe later," she whispers, her sweet voice carrying a hint of mischief, "you'll get to enjoy the results of that spa appointment I had this morning. Let's just say... your sleigh ride will be extra smooth tonight."
Sweet mother of unholy fuck!
My grin turns absolutely predatory as I pull her closer, my hands sliding down to cup her delicious ass.
"Mmm, why do you think I've been walking around with a semi all afternoon?" I growl against her neck. "Rosa will kill us if we're late for dinner, but after that? I will worship at your altar so thoroughly you'll forget you were ever an angel."
Nothing says 'Christmas spirit' quite like planning to defile celestial perfection. Ho ho ho, indeed.