Chapter 43
“It’s easy, Mara. Breathe slowly through your nose, search for your heartbeat, and calm it. If you must, reach for magic to help. But if you’re ever in a place where Vendra cannot provide, you can still do it yourself.”
My dad’s smile was always so calming. It made everything easier.
“Don’t think of why your body reacts. Think of how you can take control of it.”
I miss him so much it hurts.
“Love you, Mara darling. Control the one thing you can: Yourself.”
Losing one’s family is tragic already.
But losing them when they loved you with a fierceness that shaped every part of you? That’s pure torture. However, regardless of their fate, it’s moments like this, standing face-to-face with the ruler of the Beyond, when I am reminded of everything they gave me.
I steady my breathing and slowly seize control of my heartbeat. I’m proud of myself when Belial lifts his massive head and my pulse doesn’t even stutter. I don’t falter—not even as the woman beside him turns her blue eyes, flecked with gold, onto me.
She’s breathtaking in a godlike way. An oval face framed by dark black hair, poised and elegant. I can see so much of Lucifer in her—the nose, the cheekbones, the structure softened only by femininity.
She has to be Proserpina.
“Lucifer.” Even her voice is elegant, my Gods. She lifts her gaze to her son, a warm smile on her light pink lips. “You look so well.”
I glance up at him just as he returns the smile. “Thanks, Mom,” he says, draping his arm back over my shoulder.
He guides us farther into the room, and I take in the space, an echo of gothic opulence like the rest of the mansion.
It feels like stepping inside a cathedral, with towering arches and intricately carved black columns framing the hall.
Candlelight flickers along the walls, bathing everything in a deep red glow.
Crimson drapes hang heavy from the high ceiling; high-backed, throne-like chairs upholstered in matching leather line a long, regal table set with scarlet plates and goblets.
It feels like we’ve been thrown back in time, before modern society even existed.
I mean, I don’t hate it. It’s rich and heavy. Maybe a bit theatrical, but it has a lot of character.
“Who’s your friend?” Proserpina’s voice pulls me back just as she raises a glass to her lips.
“This is…” I look up at him, and there’s discomfort in his tense, strained jawline.
Ah, shit.
“I give you permission to say my name,” I slip through our connection.
Lucifer clears his throat. “I don’t really want to give them your name, dollface.”
“It’s fine. I’m sure your father has a way to get it anyway.”
“Still… I’d prefer not to.”
He takes a deep breath, and I watch him battle with himself. I send a reassuring sensation through the link. When he closes his eyes, he releases a sigh.
“This is Amarah.”
Belial, of course sitting at the head of the table like some infernal king, leans to his right and taps his wife’s hand. “Sweetheart, this is the Witch I was telling you about a few months ago.”
“Oh…” Her genuine smile from moments ago dims into something weary. “You have Verraketh.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lucifer steps ahead of me and pulls out the chair to the right of the space opposite Belial.
I tug the black floor-length gown down slightly, and sit.
He pushes me in, then takes the seat right beside me—at the far end of the table.
As far from his parents as physically possible while still technically dining with them.
I don’t know if it’s strategic or customary, but I’m grateful for it either way.
“Where is it now?” Proserpina asks. The question is genuine, but it makes unease scrape at the back of my mind, considering the truth.
“It’s safe.”
I can’t tell her I gave it to Vendra—or rather, to her warrior, Thornwyn. “I promise I’ll keep it safe. Nulla rimas speculi.”
When her eyes meet mine, I know I’ve said exactly the right thing. “You must be ancient to understand such an important piece of weaponry and to know Latin, our mother tongue.”
The corner of my lip curves into a smile just as someone pours liquid into the chalice before Lucifer and me.
“I’ve lived for merely twenty-seven years.”
“On Earth?”
I narrow my eyes, and for once I’m grateful Belial feels excluded, because he cuts in.
“Son, how was feeding after nearly twelve years of abstinence?”
Lucifer turns toward me as he answers. “Wonderful. I’m planning to overindulge once we’re alone again.”
My exhale is slow, controlled, my body wrestling my brain for dominance because fuck, the way he says that so casually makes me want to melt into the chair.
“Very good… Witch!” Belial calls for me like I’m a servant, and irritation spikes hard enough to make my jaw clench.
“Father, please.” Lucifer’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks at him. “Her name is Amarah. You should be respectful to some degree. She did, after all, do you a favor.”
“And I plan to ask for more.”
Steady, heart. Steady.
A soft caress brushes across the back of my hand where it rests on the arm of the chair. I glance down to see Lucifer’s shadows curling around it in an attempt to comfort me.
“She risked death to send me to the Vayl,” Lucifer continues, tone sharp but staying polite. “That’s enough favors for a mirror.”
I’m not going to comment, because it isn’t just a mirror. When I glance at Proserpina, she’s watching me curiously.
“Plus,” Lucifer adds, “as I’ve said, she’s mine. And if she’s going to be doing any favors for anyone, it’s me.”
I can’t help rolling my eyes, which shockingly earns a soft snicker from his mother.
When waiters appear around us, I look up to see pale, Mundane-looking men dressed in white or black tuxes. They look sickly. Sunken eyes, cracked lips, nearly colorless irises that never shift toward me or anyone else at the table. My server places a plate before me, covered with a silver cloche.
“It matters not to me,” Belial says. “You’ve brought her here, and I can’t imagine it’s just to wet your cocks.”
Wait… plural?
“Honey, please,” Proserpina sighs, though her tone stays warm. “Let’s not be animalistic at the table. Lucifer hardly joins us anymore, and I’d rather not scare him off. Plus, I like the girl.”
“You’ve known her for mere minutes.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Days, in the mortal world. And I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“Amarah,” Belial says, and honestly, I would’ve preferred he stuck to Witch. “You are a Yldarwright, correct?”
I reach for the cloche.
“Do not eat all of it,” Lucifer warns. “The food is heavy and will make you sleepy. The last thing I want is for you to fall asleep at this table.”
“I’m disrespected you think I’d just go to sleep right here.”
I feel his sigh in my head. “You have no idea, dollface. Just trust me. But, please eat, just don’t overdo it. Feed that cute, growling stomach of yours.”
“Stop listening to my stomach.” Why I say that out loud, I have no idea.
Lucifer laughs beside me, and that sound sends butterflies to fill my very empty tummy.
Mortified at myself, I finally mutter a response to Belial. “Yes, sir.”
“Pureblood?” he asks.
“Mhmm.” I lift the cloche, revealing the most delicious-smelling food I’ve ever encountered.
I don’t know if I’m truly famished, like Lucifer said, or if it really smells that good.
A roasted turkey leg, fluffy white mash of potatoes, I think, drenched in gravy, and a vegetable that resembles asparagus but without the stem.
“Not many of you left,” Belial says, “especially after that massacre.”
“Calm yourself, Mara.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Do you have a point, Father?” The sharp anger in Lucifer’s tone warms low in my stomach.
“Getting there.”
I pick up my fork, stab one of the vegetables, and bring it to my mouth. It tastes like broccoli—if broccoli had a hint of sweetness. Not sure I’m a fan.
“It makes your kind a hot commodity for favors like going to the Vayl… or here, to the Beyond.”
I force myself not to react. Instead, I stab into the mash and take a bite. As soon as I swallow, I look directly at him and shrug.
“Yes, you’re correct. I’m quite used up these days.”
“Dollface… don’t.”
“What? It’s true.” I smile, letting the food settle. He was right—I’m already getting full after just two bites. What is in this?
“No,” he mutters. “I mean don’t piss me off.”
I smile wider and shake my head.
“Then tell me why you opened the gates to come here. And last I heard, you were serving several life sentences in Thornegate.”
“She didn’t open the gates, I—”
“Does it have to do with why you killed one of my Grimhorns?”
It’s like I can feel Lucifer tense beside me, even though he’s not touching me.
I take a third bite before reaching for the cup filled with what I assume is red wine. From what I know, Demons don’t drink blood for sustenance. Just pleasure.
“A Grimhorn?” Proserpina asks, brows lifting. “How would she have come across one of those, sweetheart?”
I shift my gaze just as her eyes settle on me.
I’m well aware that Grimhorns only do Belial’s bidding—which should make anyone question why one would try to grab me and drag me off somewhere. It begs the question of who truly has those creatures wrapped around their clawed little fingers.
“Were you attacked by a Grimhorn, Amarah?”
The wine is surprisingly good, so I take another sip, ignoring Lucifer prodding through our connection.
“If you’re accusing me of sending one after her, wife, you would be wrong.
” Belial groans, and from the corner of my eye I see him take a long swig from his drink.
His cup is far larger than any of ours, but that makes sense.
He’s four times my size. It does make me wonder why Lucifer isn’t bigger. Maybe that’s his mother’s side.
I also wonder if that’s why he’s so soft—physically and mentally—with me.
“Why aren’t you answering me?” I can’t quite place the infliction in his tone. Anger? Upset?
“Yes, I was. Twice, actually.”
I’m just lifting my glass again when my chair is abruptly tugged toward Lucifer. The wine nearly spills over as I dart a sharp look at him.