Chapter 8 #2
“What?” Mags peeked over. “What’s wrong with that one?”
Luce ripped his horrified stare away from the tainted pizza. “Mushrooms,” he finally forced out in a dazed whisper, “and anchovies…”
Remi wailed again, and even Glory made a strangled sound, looking repulsed.
Rag laughed so hard he snorted. “Oh man, I’m sorry, but this is so damn funny for me.”
“Because you’re a living garbage disposal who will eat anything,” Remi snarked. “But some of us have taste buds and morals.”
“This is true,” he conceded with a dip of his copper head, top knot bobbing. “I am an immoral trashcan.”
Mags giggled, earning a betrayed look from Remi.
“Don’t encourage him, Mags,” she pleaded. “He’s beyond hope, but we can’t afford to lose you too.”
“Beyond hope?” Rag grinned, reaching out to grab Remi by her slim hips and drag her onto his lap. “Baby, I’ve been hopeless since I laid eyes on you.”
Glory made a gagging motion as Remi sank against her husband with a soft look, and Mags laughed again.
Luce drank in the scene like a man dying of thirst. These were his people, his family, and there was a strong possibility that these moments of peace and normalcy would soon be few and far between.
Everything was such a mess, his son hated him, all their lives were spiraling out of control, and it was all his fault.
He sighed deeply, and Rag laid a hand on his forearm.
“You’re going to break the counter again, Luce,” he murmured, those deep grey eyes burning into his soul and making Luce long for another steel gaze.
How long had it been since he had last been face to face with Michael?
Entirely too long, a small voice inside him whispered.
And isn’t this the perfect excuse to seek him out?
He squashed the idea. Now was not the time to open that can of snakes. He released the counter he’d been unconsciously gripping tighter and tighter, and narrowed his eyes at the hairline fissure that now marred the surface.
“Now look what I’ve gone and done,” he muttered, the tiny crevasse in the surface seeming to mock him and his utter failure to resolve this mess. “Another thing I’ve broken because I didn’t pay attention.”
Remi hopped from Rag’s lap and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Oh no you don’t!”
Luce looked at her blankly.
“You’re not about to sink into a funk,” she ordered, and Rag immediately reached for his wife to drag her back into his lap. Remi dodged him and advanced on Luce with a look that clearly threatened bodily harm.
He backed up until she had him trapped against the wall, and she stabbed his shoulder with her nail. “You are a moody, emotional brat. We all know you’re prone to these sulky moments, where you lock yourself away and come out decades later with some new hobby and a new haircut and all is well.”
He gaped, mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out, like some sort of startled fish. Remi continued, relentless and indifferent to his dismay.
“We do not have time for that, Luci. We don’t have time to sit and wait for you to deal with your feelings, because this is no longer about you. Yes, you fucked up! You have a lot to make up for. But do it by being involved, not by shutting down like you always do.”
Luce shoved her away so hard, Remi’s back hit the counter. A look of shock flitted across her face, and Remiel hissed and prepared to rush back at him, angling to rake her nails down his face. She never even got close.
It took half a thought—barely a whisper of effort—and Luce sent her flying back again, up and over the counter, into the opposite wall. She thrashed and screamed at him for a moment, tugging against invisible ropes that pinned her to the plaster, and then went deadly still.
“You let me down right now, Lucifer,” her voice was hard and cool, a shard of ice that pierced the sudden silence of the room. “You can’t just—”
“Shut up.” Luce didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to.
Pure power dripped from each word, from his slightly spread stance, from the soft golden glow in his dark eyes.
A hush spread across the room to witness the display.
It wasn’t often that Luce lost his temper with any of them, and Remi was the only one hotheaded enough to provoke him to it.
“Luce,” Mags placed a hand on his shoulder, only to be shrugged off.
“No,” he commanded, “stay out of this, Mags.”
She reluctantly obeyed, but exchanged a concerned glance with Rag, who just clenched his jaw and shook his head. The furious expression Remi wore promised no forgiveness for anyone who interfered.
Mags slumped back onto her barstool. These two stubborn idiots were going to destroy the kitchen again. “Please,” she sighed, knowing full well that they were going to ignore her, “no permanent damage. I was planning on making a lasagna later.”
“You feel like you’re entitled to speak to me that way?
” Luce advanced on Remi slowly, golden sparks trailing from his eyes, a dark aura faintly shimmering over his form.
“Just because you’re my friend, because I recognize your anger and allow your outbursts, you can kick me when I’m down and treat me like a child?
I am ancient, Remiel. I was ancient before you existed. I have seen the making of worlds.”
“Yeah, and you’re real fun at parties,” she sneered. “Tell me something I don’t know. Just because you don’t want to hear something doesn’t mean I’m going to bite my tongue.”
“It’s about respect, Remiel!” A wave of power swept out, pressing her harder into the wall. “It’s about tact and knowing when and where to speak on something.”
She grit her teeth against the strain. “This doesn’t feel like respect.”
“Because it’s not,” he snapped. “If you don’t give it, neither do I. You toed the line when you compared me to my brother earlier, and now you’ve jumped that line into a pot of boiling water. I am not like my brother, but I am equivalent in power.”
He abruptly released her, and Remi dropped to a crouch, glowering at him.
“Yes, I know your power,” she said, cold and calm. “I happen to have a portion of it, if you recall.”
Her eyes grew bright, a ruby cast overtaking her dark irises. For the second time today, red markings spread across her pale skin like spilled ink—a thick band across her eyes and the bridge of her nose, rough streaks from temples to jaw. The war paint of Wrath.
Lucifer hissed, a golden glow coming to his palms as he moved into a defensive stance. “Again? You must be joking.”
“I have no room for humor in this fury,” she spoke low, her voice husky with rage. “I’m tired of your ‘woe is me’ bullshit. You are not the only one who has lost or suffered, and you will not be the last.”
“Silence!” Lucifer roared, and he lunged.
Remiel dodged his reach, focusing on her anger and frustration, and using it to form a weapon.
A glowing red light grew between her palms as she circled Lucifer, who kept his furious gaze trained on her and matched her step for step.
The light spread, wrapping around her hands and taking the shape of a menacing pair of brass knuckles, spikes jutting from them as she clenched her fists.
“You plan to fight me, truly?”
Remi sneered. “You're overdue for an ass-kicking.”
He laughed hollowly and echoed her words from that morning. “You can try.”
Remi sprung forward without warning, bringing her fist up to catch Luce under the jaw while he was off his guard. He reeled back a step, then caught himself against the counter.
“I’ll succeed,” Remi said, eyes flashing.
“No,” Luce growled. “You will not.”
He brought his hands up, cupping her jaw like he might a lover, and his eyes and hands radiated golden light.
He didn’t squeeze or make any movement, but Remiel gasped, sucking in gulps of air like she was drowning.
The war paint faded from her pale skin. Her glowing weapons vanished in a puff of smoke.
Luce released her and let her sink to the floor, where she curled over herself and struggled to regain her breath.
To Remi’s credit, she didn’t tremble or cry or even speak a single word.
Luce turned his back on her, closing his eyes tightly and forcing the power to drain away.
The golden aura faded to a slight shimmer before vanishing entirely, and when he opened his eyes, they had returned to their normal brown.
“Why do you push me like this, Remiel?” he sounded almost as old as he was, and the air seemed to hang on his shoulders with a tangible weight.
“Because someone needs to,” she said, surprisingly calm. Rag reached out a broad hand, and she slipped her smaller one into it, letting him lift her back onto her stool. “Someone has to be honest with you, and I can take the fallout, so I do.”
“You have no right to challenge me whenever my moods displease you.”
“Sometimes you need to face reality, Luci.”
An emotion somewhere between rage and disappointment glinted in his eyes.
“I am well aware of reality, Remiel.” He flexed his hands and curled them into fists, fighting the urge to lash out at something. “For this second infraction in a single day, your reality for the next month will be to take all of Camiel’s shifts at soul reception, in addition to your own.”
He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room without looking back, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
Remi groaned, resting her head on the countertop. “I am so fucked.”
“You’re lucky that’s your only punishment,” Mags said, frowning at the cracks in the island. “He’s not in the best mental state right now; he could have killed you.”
“The Deadly Sins don’t break so easily,” Remi muttered darkly. “We earned that title for a reason, you know.”
“We can’t afford for him to go AWOL right now.” Rag laid a hand on Remi’s back, giving Mags a pleading look. “Surely you understand that.”