Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
B ianca peered through the car window at the large hotel they’d stopped in front of. Raphael had been correct, and nothing had budged Lucifer from his shopping until he’d gotten everything he’d wanted. She’d barely stopped him from giving her wardrobe an overhaul. Everything she wore was black. Black went perfectly with other black. As it was, Lucifer’s purchases had filled her trunk.
The hotel they were stopped in front of was way out of her budget. “Why are we stopping?”
“It’s a hotel.” Lucifer climbed out from the driver’s seat and handed the keys to a uniformed valet.
And when had she lost complete control of her car? Bianca clambered after him. “I can see that, but why are we here?”
“You are human.” Lucifer nodded to another uniformed hotel employee holding the large glass entrance doors open. They entered an airy glass and marble lobby. “And thus, you need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to hang back and halt her forward propulsion. “I can sleep in the car, and you don’t need to sleep.”
Lucifer stopped and stared at her, his dark eyes stripping her to her soul. “Bianca,” he said with insulting patience. “You have had a dreadful day. You need to rest. I am not insensitive to how you must be feeling.”
Oh, that was a good one. “But shopping wasn’t insensitive?”
“No.” He gaped at her. “Shopping was a necessity.”
“All of it?”
He made a face. “Perhaps not all of it, but you still need to rest, and the car is not ideal.”
Resting was the last thing she needed. If they stopped moving, she would have to deal with the awful images lurking in her mind. The lifeless, rotting bodies had been friends and she couldn’t get their staring eyes out of her mind. Elsewhere, other people were watching doors and waiting for someone to walk through who now never would. When they were driving, even when Lucifer was shopping, she didn’t have to think about it, remember, process. “Anyway, I can’t afford to stay here.”
Not unless she planned to take out a mortgage on her house. Soothing music piped into the subtle lemon-scented interior. Guests in beautiful clothing stood and chatted or sprawled like elegant cats on the suede furniture clustered in tasteful and discreet groupings.
Lucifer growled and tugged her to the reception desk.
“Let me go.” She pulled back. “Or I’ll scream that you’re abducting me.”
“Try it.” His voice dropped low and silky. “And you’ll find yourself compelled into a room faster than you can twitch that pretty nose of yours.”
“You wouldn’t.” And how could he compel her if he had no power? Now that she thought about it, he’d been doing a lot of things that would need his powers.
“Wouldn’t I?” His gaze dared her to take her chances.
The tinkle of glass and cutlery drifted over from a sleek wood and glass interior restaurant. Even the lobby pot plants had an expensive sheen to their leaves. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I never explain myself,” he said and pulled her to a gleaming wooden reception desk. “We will need your presidential suite for the night.” Lucifer slid a black credit card across the desk. “And dinner to be sent to the room.”
Bianca had heard of a black Amex, but she’d never seen one. She suppressed the urge to pick it up and examine it. It shouldn’t surprise her that Lucifer had one. A hell prince was hardly going to be using Groupon.
The receptionist didn’t find anything odd about the request and entered politely into a wine and menu discussion.
“There are also some parcels in our car.” Lucifer accepted an electronic fob from the receptionist. “We’d appreciate it if you had them sent to the suite.”
Feeling like a square of toilet paper stuck to his shoe, Bianca followed Lucifer into a private elevator that only stopped one place—the top floor.
“Holy crap.” She staggered into a sitting room furnished in lush gray suede and chrome. Wall to wall banks of windows provided a panoramic view of the city below them. A city she had no recollection of driving through. She had no idea where they were or how they’d gotten there. Their journey had passed in a blur of her staring out the window without taking anything in, but she would have noticed them entering a city. The needle-like spire of the CN Tower caught her attention. She felt stupid even asking the question, but circumstances demanded it. “Are we in Toronto?”
“I believe so.” Lucifer strolled to the large bar at the far end of the sitting room and examined the contents.
That was not possible. Toronto was ringed by extensive and massive highways. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Lucifer gave a pleased grunt and selected a bottle. He held it up to her. “Scotch?”
“Huh?”
“Single malt.” He smirked. “Would you care for one?”
“Single malt?” The part of village idiot was now being played by Bianca Fiore.
“From a fermented mash that is entirely composed of malted barley from a single distillery.” Lucifer reached for two glasses and placed them on the bar. “And currently awaiting your decision as to whether you would like to drink it or not.”
She nodded without having the vaguest idea of whether she wanted one or not. “How did we get here?”
“We drove.” He poured a couple of fingers into the glasses and approached her with one. “In your car, which I have to say I had severe reservations about at first. I’ve had to conclude, however, that it is a commendable vehicle. Very smooth ride. Good fuel consumption.”
Bianca took the glass and downed it. Peat and roasted grains seared her windpipe down to her stomach, and she coughed. “No, we didn’t.”
“How else would we get here then?” Lucifer raised a brow at her now empty glass and strolled back to the bar for the bottle. “Because I can assure you, we didn’t fly here.”
She tried to piece their day together. The hidden bunker where they’d found?—
She yanked her mind away. Strip mall. Shopping. Raphael being there and then leaving. Countryside. No major highways or driving through a crowded urban area. Her voice came out more like a whisper, “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t down that.” Lucifer had replenished her glass. “A single malt like this should be savored, not shot like a cheap bar whisky.” He handed the glass to her. “And it’ll hit you hard on an empty stomach.”
A doorbell chimed, and Lucifer went to answer it.
Bianca tottered over to a large, plush sofa and dropped into the enveloping cushions. It was as comfortable as a bed, and her weary muscles unwound and cleaved to its shape.
A bellhop nodded politely as he pushed a loaded cart through another door at the far end of the suite.
Bianca waited impatiently to continue their discussion as the man finished unloading his cart and Lucifer tipped him.
“Lucifer.” She fixed him with her best no-bullshit stare. “How did we get to Toronto without me noticing?”
He smiled and sipped his drink. “Humans are notoriously unobservant.”
“I’d have to be fucking clueless.” And how dare he have such a lovely smile.
He looked infuriatingly smug as he said, “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?”
And while they were on the topic of the impossible, she had to know. “How did you destroy that rage demon?”
“Hmm.” He sauntered over to the windows and examined the view. His new trousers cupped his firm, muscular ass and accentuated the length of his legs. His shirt clung to the taut muscles of his back. “Onyx blade.”
“But how?” She considered unwinding from the sofa and stomping over to him, but the loving embrace of the furniture persuaded her not to. “Wouldn’t you need your powers to do that?”
“Not necessarily.” He stretched his arms over his head in a distracting play of muscle beneath his shirt. “I am still a hell prince, and an onyx blade is still deadly in my hands.”
She tried to remember how it had affected Wrath when the amulet had drained his powers, but the details had been sketchy, and nobody had been volunteering information to her. “Lucifer?”
“Hmm?” He took a slow, savoring sip of scotch. No male should have lips that sensual and pillowy.
She needed to stay on topic. and her pulse pounded uncomfortably as she asked, “Have you got your powers back?”
They’d gone searching for a reason the removal of the amulet hadn’t given him his powers back. He would have told her if they were back. Wouldn’t he? His blood oath prevented him from harming her, but it seemed flimsy when confronted by a pissed off, powered up hell prince.
Turning, he stared at her with those glittering dark eyes. “Frightened, my sweet haglette?”
“No.” Her voice wobbled, and she cleared her throat. “I still have your blood oath.”
“Indeed,” he murmured. “And you’re certain that oath is binding?”
“Yes?” It came out sounding too much like a question. “Of course I am.”
His smile made her shiver. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”
No, she didn’t. “Don’t call me haglette.”
He chuckled. “What a pity you didn’t add that proviso to your blood oath.”
* * *
Lucifer studied the play of emotion across her pretty face as Bianca mentally tussled with all the input she was attempting to place into a digestible order. It was almost amusing. It would have been more amusing if he could dismiss the impact of her awful day.
Raphael had expressed his concern for her, but that was like the archangel. A soft touch and a bleeding heart. Raphael was worried about the emotional toll of seeing the dead witches on Bianca. Humans didn’t do well with death, and judging by the way Bianca had clutched the remaining active crystal since their grisly discovery, Raphael might have good cause. If he hadn’t been so furious with her for summoning him and her subsequent treatment, Lucifer might have felt the same. At times like this, it was a relief not to concern himself with the well-being of humans.
He ushered room service in and motioned them to set up their meal in the adjoining dining room. His haglette was not eating enough, and she needed to keep her strength up. She’d barely eaten the sandwich he bought her at the mall after shopping, and the dark shadows underscoring her eyes meant she had not slept sufficiently. She needed nourishment and rest, and he would see that she got them. Not because he was like Raphael, but because it would be deeply unsatisfying to wreak his revenge when she was but a shadow of herself.
“Come.” He motioned Bianca to the table. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” Her huge hyacinth eyes were fixed on him with a combination of fear and fury.
He should have guessed she would refuse food. Lucifer ground his teeth. Why did humans do that? They were fragile beings. Their bodies needed care and sustenance. If infuriated him that she refused to care for herself adequately.
“Come.” He stalked closer to her. If she refused to care for herself, he would make her. There was a large bathtub in the en suite, and he’d heard women liked that sort of thing. She would eat, have a soothing soak, and then sleep. If he had to wrestle her into submission, he would.
Further argument was pointless, so he scooped her out of the sofa and carried her to the table.
Predictably, she sputtered and wriggled.
He placed her in a chair and poured her a glass of the excellent Chilean Malbec. “You will eat now.” He’d made certain to select a tempting variety of dishes for her, and he spooned small quantities of the truffle risotto and wagyu beef on her plate. “You pretended to eat your sandwich earlier.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a gesture and put a fork in her hand. “I saw you give your sandwich to that homeless person.”
He selected a dish of thinly shaved zucchini in pesto, lemon, yoghurt, mint, and pine nut gremolata and added it to her plate. Vegetables were important to the human constitution.
She glared at him.
He held her stare.
“Fine.” She jabbed her fork at her plate and crammed a forkful into her mouth. Chewing, she scowled at him and swallowed. “Happy now?”
“I will be.” He tapped her plate with his fork. Then made his own selections. Perhaps he should consider a human chef for his palace when this bad business of demon rebels and whatnot was dealt with. He refused to consider the possibility that this would not end. Thinking about his palace made his throat tighten, and he forced himself to chew and swallow so that she would keep eating.
His entire horde was gone, save for one house demon. He’d warded the palace against looting, but the air of abandonment clinging to his home made him want to set off and find Ashe this minute. The empty villages and homes nagged at him. He’d been unable to protect and preserve his demesne. He drew no comfort from the fact that Shade had been similarly affected.
Lucifer’s demesne had been a labor of love to craft as he wanted it. Everything in its rightful place, and a rightful place for everything. No detail had been too small for his personal oversight, and now it all teetered on the edge of destruction.
Ashe had taken that from him, and now his hunt for Ashe was tied up with, and perhaps postponed by, discovering the lost witches. Or witch as the lone crystal would suggest.
Bianca chomped her way resentfully through everything on her plate before pushing it away. “I’m full.”
“I shall prepare your bath.” He put his knife and fork down and went to the bathroom.
He had an eternity to hunt down Ashe, but Bianca’s time on this plane was short.
* * *
Bianca allowed Lucifer to bully her into a steaming, jasmine-scented bath. Allowed? That implied she had some choice in the matter. When she’d balked, he’d threatened to strip both of them and climb in with her. She’d believed him.
The hot water unraveled some of the tension in her muscles, and the glass of wine Lucifer had left beside the bath certainly helped. The problem with relaxing was that it gave her mind time to roam. She couldn’t afford that. Bianca was holding on to control by a rapidly fraying thread. If she allowed herself to think about those bodies, then that hideous fight, she would crumble, and she didn’t want to do that in front of Lucifer.
When she was home again, she could collapse, but for now she needed to keep it together.
“Bianca?” Lucifer knocked on the door. “Cover yourself.”
With a squeak, she gathered bubbles around her bits and yelled back, “Don’t come in, I’m naked.”
“I guessed as much,” he drawled. “And as far as deterrents go, you being naked is hardly effective.”
The door opened, and Lucifer strolled in as if it was a cocktail party. He held up the wine bottle. “Refill?”
“We really need to talk about boundaries.” She grabbed a facecloth and covered her breasts. The rest of her was concealed by bubbles.
“Boundaries?” He raised an eyebrow as he topped up her glass. “Like summoning a being, rendering them powerless, and then blackmailing them into helping you.”
“Well…”
“Now, I’m no expert on human boundaries, but would that be an example of a boundary violation?”
He made a point—a one-sided one—but a point, nonetheless. She concentrated on maintaining body coverage rather than trying to formulate a response.
Lucifer sat on the bench at the vanity. “Raphael is concerned about how you are feeling. He believes I should talk to you about today.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sank lower in the water, tempted to sink beneath and escape him and this conversation entirely.
Lucifer studied her face. “Are you thinking about it?”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Is that healthy?”
“Really?” Just when she thought he’d gotten as infuriating as he could, he went and proved her wrong. “You’re going to sit there and tell me what healthy human behavior looks like. You don’t even like humans, and you certainly don’t like me.”
He grinned. “I have come to tolerate you, and I definitely enjoy our little battle of wills.” He pursed his lips. “You will ultimately lose, but I do admire a spirited effort.”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s my haglette.” He winked. “Raphael says it’s healthy for humans to talk about their concerns and emotions.”
In a few minutes she’d gone from wanting to drown herself to wanting to drown him. “Then maybe Raphael should be in here.”
Lucifer stilled, and all humor disappeared behind a hard mask. “Raphael has no business being anywhere near you when you’re naked.”
A visceral reaction to that possessive, raspy tone shuddered through her. It felt embarrassingly like arousal, but it had to be stress. They were more or less the same sensation. Right? Right! “And you do?”
Heat blazed in his onyx eyes. “That is a conversation for another day.”