Chapter 3
Chapter Three
L ucifer’s mind remained aware as his traitorous fucking body crumpled like a used tissue to the floor. Dim but still functioning pain receptors warned him that muscle and bone versus concrete was going to leave a mark. He didn’t give a fuck. Fury pounded through every cell of his corporeal form. He was Lucifer. Pride. All who crossed him would tremble before his fury.
On the plus side, it seems he had found the witch they’d all been wondering about. Dee’s suspicions about Bianca had proven to be correct. The witch would not live long enough to prove Dee right to her face. When he got this gaudy jewel off, there would be no stopping his retribution.
“Bee!” The brunette who looked enough like his summoning hag to be family, and who was still playing body shield to the whimpering boy, shrieked, “What did you do?”
He’d like to hear the answer to that as well.
Bianca, the hag, stared at her. “He was strangling me.”
“You should have used Krav Maga.” The cowering shit edged to the side of his human shield. “If you’d come to lessons with me when I asked you to, you wouldn’t have had to do that to him.”
Bianca stared at him. “He. Was. Strangling. Me.”
Lucifer had been considering strangling her all the way to death, so her fear was not unfounded.
“Krav Maga.” Weasel shook his head.
He would like to see his hag turn her nasty streak on the floppy-haired fuckwit.
The older woman moved closer to Lucifer and peered down at him. “That took him down.”
“I put a little extra oomph into the amulet.” The hag’s face hung over him. Could that be concern in her indigo eyes? You didn’t see that color often in humans. In different circumstances, he might find it fetching. She’d lined those unusual eyes in dark black makeup, which made them stand out even more against the ivory of her face. Considerate of her, because he could read the worry clearly in their depths. She was right to be worried. When he got out of this binding—and he would get out—she was going to pay for every indignity he’d suffered and every impertinence she’d visited on him. These humans could not be naive enough to believe this was the first summoning he’d dealt with.
Another face wove into sight. Backlighting haloed her blond hair, and her melting brown eyes grew moist. “Is he okay? We’re not hurting him, are we?”
Some injuries went deeper than bruises and scrapes, and his pride was feeling rather dented. As he was pride, that was a whole lot more than this pathetic little coven had calculated for.
“I don’t think so.” Hag frowned. “He doesn’t look like he’s in pain.”
“No.” The blonde grimaced. “He still looks angry.”
Oh, he was so beyond angry it was laughable.
“Alrighty then.” The older woman rubbed her palms together. “We need to get him out of here before somebody comes.”
“Pants first.” The blonde blushed.
Modesty was hardly his first consideration, but lying here, incapable of moving, with all his parts on display only added to the indignity.
“Right.” The hag nodded and looked uncertain. “We’ll put his pants on.”
He dared her with his eyes to get near him.
“I’ll do it.” The older woman grinned. Joints cracking and on a groan, she lowered herself to her knees beside him. “They make you hell princes pretty, and that’s a fact.”
Pretty? Pretty! He was so much more than pretty. Spring flowers were pretty. Blue-eyed, fluffy kittens were pretty. Presents tied up with bright red bows were pretty. He was Lucifer, king of hell. At least he liked to think of himself that way, and for as long as it pissed off his fellow hell princes—especially his brother—he would continue to do so.
“Don’t get too close.” Bianca put her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “I don’t know how incapacitated he is. We’ve never had a chance to test the amulet.”
Good information to have.
The blonde chewed her bottom lip. “But he’s safe, right? He’s not going to suddenly recover.”
“Well, handsome.” Patty winked at him. “You going to give me any trouble or you going to let me put some pants on you?” She chuckled. “Now, if it was up to me, I’d leave you the way you were created, but these younger women are a bit more squeamish.”
If he wasn’t so infuriated, he might have laughed. She was outrageous. And she made short work of covering him up. In gray track pants. Dear hell! This was not even clothing. Men in this age needed to reevaluate the way they clothed themselves. At least the sweatpants felt like cotton and not some heinous synthetic fabric.
“Thanks, Patty.” Hag smiled, her wide mouth painted a compelling dark red. “Christen?” She looked to his left, revealing the elegant sweep of her neck.
All the better for him to wrap his hands around again. He searched her white skin for signs of bruising from his previous grip.
“Can you get the wheelchair?” There was a definite edge to her voice, as if she was doing all she could to be pleasant. He preferred her fire.
“Why should I get the wheelchair?” Christen whined. “You’re not in charge here, Bianca. You can’t order the rest of us around.” His voice grew in confidence. “Do I have to remind you that I am head witch?”
He hadn’t been around this coven more than a few minutes, but he knew who was in charge despite what the weasel said.
Patty rolled her eyes and met Lucifer’s gaze as if she shared his opinion. “If you can believe that.”
Clenching her jaw, Bianca took a deep breath. “I know you’re head witch, and I’m not trying to order anyone around. You’re closest to the wheelchair.”
“No, I’m not,” Christen said.
“Makes you want to deball the fucker,” Patty whispered to Lucifer.
He heartily agreed. In fact, he might defer his vengeance on the pretty hag until he’d had the opportunity to teach Christen all about the natural order.
“Are you going to get the wheelchair?” Bianca kept her gaze locked on Christen.
After a pause, Christen appeared, peacocking with his shoulders back and his chest out. “No, I’m not. But if you can’t handle him, I can always zap the bastard.” He smiled at the women. “I want to remind you girls that I have enough power to render the bastard unconscious if he threatens any one of you.”
Deferment of Bianca’s punishment it was.
“Women,” Bianca snapped. “We’re women, not girls.”
He heartily supported her point. She was definitely a woman, and not only because his current position gave him a good view of her womanly assets. There was definitely some tension between his pretty hag and dear Christen. He was glad he knew the prick’s name. Vengeance was always better when delivered with that personal touch. He couldn’t blame Bianca for wanting to snap the weasel’s neck. He’d toss it in for her as a freebie. Calling this piece of shit a weasel wasn’t fair to weasels. Weasels were never cowardly. Mean, stubborn, and determined, but never cowardly. Floppy hair was more like weasel adjacent.
“Really, Bianca.” Weasel-adjacent smoothed a hank of shining red-blond hair behind his ear. “Do you really think now is the time for a lecture on the patriarchy?”
The girl—sorry, woman—who resembled Bianca gave Weaz-adj a look of cow-eyed adoration. Girl, not woman, he corrected himself. No woman worth her salt would give Weaz-adj that look.
“You know what she’s like.” The girl giggled.
Patty winked at him. “I know.” She snorted. “Total prick.”
He might actually grow to like Patty.
“I’ll get the wheelchair,” the blonde said and vanished from his line of sight.
“Thanks, Lynn.” His pretty hag smiled at Lynn. She had a lovely smile. It was a pity that what he was going to do to her wasn’t a smiling matter, and he wouldn’t see many more of her smiles.
Weaz-adj leaned over and peered into his face. “Huh! He’s smaller than I thought he’d be, and Tom Ellis is much better looking.”
As Lucifer had rather enjoyed Tom Ellis’s interpretation of him, he chose not to take exception to the actor. Weaz-adj however, was soaring up his shit parade. The fucker couldn’t power a light bulb with the innate power in him. No, the real power player in this coven was his pretty hag. She possessed the raw potential of the witches of old.
The wheelchair squeaked into place beside him, and Lynn put the brakes on.
Outrage flooded through him, and if he’d been capable of it, he would have incinerated the fucking thing. They were intending to put him—Lucifer. Prince of Darkness. Father of Lies. King of Hell. The Great Deceiver. Morning Star. And yes, Weaz-adj, most beautiful of the fallen—into a wheelchair.
Bianca crouched behind his head and slid her arms under his armpits. His head lolled on his useless neck and dropped his cheek on her full, firm breasts. Her great breasts wouldn’t save her when he broke free of whatever foul magic she’d used to bind him.
Lynn scuttled to his feet and lifted them.
Patty slid her palms beneath his arse.
Was she feeling him up?
Patty winked at him. “Sorry.”
“Okay.” Bianca panted against the ear not pressed against her spectacular tits. “One, two, three…lift!”
A lot of heaving, grunting, and panting followed—most of that in his left ear—and moved him a bare inch closer to the wheelchair.
“Aaand…heave!” Bianca rasped.
They got him close enough to prop his spine against the chair.
“Lift!” Bianca groaned.
Lynn got his feet higher than his head, and Patty very definitely grabbed both his arse cheeks.
The girl frowned and folded her arms. “You’re not getting very far.”
“Really, Carmen?” Bianca spat and gave her a glare, that if circumstances were different, he would have admired.
Carmen huffed. “It’s not my fault you didn’t think about how heavy he is.”
Bianca’s growl vibrated through him, which might have been delicious—different circs.
They tried to lift him a third time. At this rate, he was going to have bruises from Patty’s fingers.
“Could you help?” Bianca scowled at Weaz-adj.
Weaz-adj scoffed. “So now you need me? Not enough woman power?”
Bianca screwed her eyes shut, which he thought was a pity because they were quite spectacular. “I swear to God, Christen. I’m going to?—”
“You can’t have it both ways.” Carmen smirked at his purple-eyed hag. “You can’t criticize Christen for being a man, and then turn around and ask him for help because he’s a man.”
“Carmen.” Patty snorted. “You need to get your head out your own vagina and start thinking clearly.”
Bianca breathed deep. Once, twice, three times.
He knew this because every time she did, his head rose and fell against her lush, pillowy breast. It could be argued that his current thoughts made him as bad as Patty in the pervy department. However, he had not put his head in its current location, but it had been placed there for him. He had also not caused the useless neck muscles that prevented him from moving said head.
Patty looked at him. “Girl is dumber than a box of rocks.” She swung that weapon of all who had mothered offspring, the maternal stink eye—universally feared and not to be trifled with—at Weaz-adj. “And you. Get that flat ass of yours over here and lift him into the chair before I snap your pencil dick in half.”
Even Lucifer knew better than to mess with a mom who’d spent her last fuck, and Weaz-adj hopped to.
Unwanted groping aside, he definitely liked Patty.
The next five minutes removed any trace of pleasantry from him as humiliation was heaped on humiliation. With Weaz-adj heaving, sweating, and cursing, Lucifer was manhandled into the wheelchair.
After a whispered apology, Lynn held his head as they wheeled him out of the small room housing the hell gate and through the basement.
A sharp tingle of awareness announced the arrival of Raphael on the earth plane. This band of misfits probably hadn’t counted on his counterbalance archangel following him to the earth plane to keep the power balanced when they’d summoned him. Instead, they pulled, pushed, jostled, and shoved him up the basement stairs in a spine-jangling shit show.
At the top of the stairs, Bianca stopped and leaned over with her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. “He’s heavier than he looks.”
Raphael’s power signature strengthened.
“Shit.” Bianca stilled, and her eyes widened. She grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and heaved. “An archangel just arrived, and it’s probably Raphael.”
“It’s probably Uriel you’re sensing,” Weaz-adj said loftily. He gave Carmen a knowing smile. “The archangels all have a power signature.”
“Nope.” Bianca jogged them down the darkened corridor toward the exit. “Uriel has been here since we started Macbeth . This is a new signature.”
“As if you could tell.” Weaz-adj scoffed. “Archangel signatures all feel the same.”
No, they most definitely didn’t, and if Bianca could sense the difference, she was even more powerful than his initial assessment.
“He’s coming,” Bianca rasped and backed them through the exit doors.
“How does she know that?” Carmen glanced at Weaz-adj. “Can she really tell where the archangel is?”
Her question was justified. In his many millennia of dealing with humans, he’d only encountered a handful of witches who could.
“Of course she can’t.” Weaz-adj puffed up his chest. “I can barely sense the supernaturals, and I have more power than anyone in this coven.”
“Jesus!” Bianca murmured in Lucifer’s ear.
Carmen blinked up at Weaz-adj with adulation. “I bet you have more power than the entire coven combined.”
Weaz-adj preened. “Well, I’m not sure about that.”
“I’m going to vomit,” Bianca muttered.
Lucifer didn’t think it was because of the exertion of pushing his chair.
Cool night air hit his face.
Raphael’s presence was reassuringly close now.
An electronic blip was followed by a flash of red lights.
“It should be easy to get him into the van,” Lynn called over her shoulder as she ran ahead of them. “I borrowed it from the retirement center I volunteer at.”
The faint swish of giant wings stroking the night air reached him, but he was certain the humans didn’t have his keen hearing.
“Hurry!” Bianca vibrated with tension, glancing between the ramp being lowered from the van and the sky.
Lynn got behind the wheel and started the engine.
Much spryer than her age suggested, Patty leapt into the passenger side.
Raphael had better flap fucking faster.
The moment the ramp connected with the asphalt, Bianca shoved him up it and tumbled into the van after him.
Lucifer wanted to scream with rage.
Weaz-adj yelped as Bianca started to close the door. He and Carmen barely made it in time before Bianca slammed the door closed.
Then the van was burning rubber out of the parking lot.
His wheelchair lurched forward and faceplanted him against the window—giving him a perfect view of Raphael landing outside the theatre and staring after the van in confusion.