Chapter 45
Ithought I could keep my hands off him but, and I will never tell Amarah this…
that was stupid of me. I’m not going to tell her because I’m not an idiot, but the idea itself absolutely was.
I hated being away from him for a few days, and after four hundred years I thought I could manage not touching him?
Pfft. Delusional thinking.
After finally finding a way to peel myself off him, he guided me to a half bath to wash up where he mentioned that he’ll have to shower before seeing his father. That really does piss me off.
We’ll dive deeper into that later, and with Amarah present. She deserves to understand it just as much as I do, because while he left me, doing so dragged her into this journey.
It does make sense now, though. Why he left. If his father threatened my life, slipping out of my world entirely would’ve been the easiest way for him to protect me.
However, I’m still pissed, because fuck Belial. He thinks he gets any say over what’s mine? I don’t care if his sperm created Lucifer. My little deviant owes nothing to that ruler of hot rocks and corpses.
As we move back through the foyer, I take in the vintage style of the home.
Dark wood lines the walls and the slightly vaulted ceilings.
Stained glass decorates the front door and the archways—elements that, in the mortal world, have been outdated for a millennium.
It has charm, though, which doesn’t surprise me coming from him, but there’s nothing feminine about it.
Although Lucifer is submissive to me, I’ve never treated him like a woman.
I prefer his masculinity. If I wanted a woman, I’d have one—which now I do. I love his sharp features and strong frame beneath me just as much as I love Amarah’s softness. His groans and moans are those of a God, where hers are like a Siren ready to drag me into the deep.
I’ll take them both. Without question, without argument.
As he turns us down a hall lined with paintings reminiscent of the mountains we used to climb together, I take it in.
I’ll need more time to explore this place; when we were together he saw my spaces, but I never once stepped into any of his.
Which… again, makes sense, considering we are quite literally in the Beyond.
“Want to tell me who she is to you?” he asks, voice dropping to a whisper.
I chuckle. “Long story, but the short version is I broke her out of prison, forced her into a blood pact so she could open the gates to get to you, accidentally got bonded to her, fell for her, and now… here we are.”
That earns a soft laugh from him. “Bloody Beyond. Nothing can ever be simple in your life, can it?”
“No… no it can’t.”
He gently pushes open a door that leads into a small sitting area—too small to be a bedroom or a living room, but cozy enough.
A fire crackles in the fireplace. A single couch sits across from it.
Bookshelves line the walls, not overflowing, but stocked enough to show their purpose.
And resting on the lone piece of furniture is Amarah, back to us, a knitted blanket draped over her.
Zuhara is curled beside her, head resting on my girl’s hip. Her large eyes open when we enter.
“We didn’t get far. Poor thing was exhausted,” she whispers.
I cross the room and drop onto one knee in front of the couch.
The feline doesn’t move, just watches me curiously.
Amarah’s chest rises slowly, her breathing even.
Instead of picking her up, I gently brush her hair away from her shoulder and down her back, positioning it so it won’t snag if she shifts.
Lucifer approaches behind me, then lowers himself beside his Familiar. “The scars… she didn’t have them when I met her. I saw her back, and obviously her face. And even though I didn’t see her naked before today, I can’t imagine the one carved into her lower stomach was there back then.”
My fingers trace along her arm, watching the fine hairs to see if she reacts. She’s good at keeping her heartbeat steady, but her body can’t hide how she feels when I touch her. When she doesn’t stir, I settle further onto the ground and glance over at my Incubus.
He’s watching her, curiosity and want flickering in his violet eyes.
“She got them as punishment for a crime she didn’t commit when they threw her in that prison.”
“Are they dead?” His tone is calm, but unlike my girl, he can’t keep his heart from telling me how angry that makes him.
“Yes, but they deserved so much worse.” I drag my hand across her upper back, counting a dozen small lash marks. Some deep, others shallow. And beneath them, the ones I know hurt the most. The memory of them. “I can’t heal her either, which pisses me off.”
“I like them.”
I know he doesn’t mean the way she got them, but it doesn’t lessen the anger that flares in me at the words.
“For someone like me—who can’t even be marked by ink—they’re…
exquisite. Not the one near her groin, though.
That one, we’ll fix. But the scars on her back, on her face.
They don’t diminish her. I’d even say they belong.
Living with the memories but not the evidence…
that can mess with your head. I think you and I both understand how damaging that can be. ”
He’s right, of course.
I look at Amarah and see a survivor. Someone who’s beaten odds that shouldn’t have been survivable. A fighter who wears the scars of trauma and rises stronger, not because of them, but because she simply can.
She shifts slightly, and as she begins to turn, I move my hand to give her room. Both of her hands slide under her head, and when her eyes flutter open, she gives me a soft smile.
The crack on her forehead doesn’t escape me.
Fucking unrelenting hex.
“You okay?” she asks, voice thick with sleep.
“I’m okay, little slayer. Get some rest.” I place my palm against her cheek and run my thumb across the fissure in her skin. The fact her anxiety and worry manifest physically like this is insane.
Suddenly, her gaze drops, and when I follow it, Lucifer has his hand on her hip. I look back to her face, pleased to see her smile widen.
“Glad you didn’t fuck it up.”
I chuckle, keeping it low.
“Hard to deny the brute,” Lucifer hums.
“I am quite hard to refuse, I’ve heard. Sometimes impossible.”
Amarah rolls her eyes and shakes her head. I imagine they’re both thinking the same thing. ‘So full of yourself’. It’s amusing how similar these two are, yet different enough that they’re far from identical.
“Go back to sleep.” I reach for the blanket, but she catches my wrist.
“Is there a bed in this place?” she asks, glancing toward Luce.
“Yes, dollface, there’s a bed.”
She cups my cheek. “Can we lie down together?”
I place my hand over hers and nod. “Nothing would make me happier.”
As soon as she starts to sit up, everyone moves except me. I slide an arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her off the couch.
Lucifer leads us out of the small room, up a set of stairs, and down a dimly lit hallway. They have electricity here—I saw outlets in the first room—but everything is lit by candles. Must be a Beyond thing. Who knows.
He opens the last door on the left, and I’m not surprised it’s nearly identical to the room we arrived in.
Same layout, same style, the only difference being the sheets, which are red instead of black, and a large window without stained glass.
It casts a deep crimson hue inside, which Lucifer quickly mutes by sending shadows across it.
I’m about to set her down on the bed when she says, “Let me take this dress off. I’ll be more comfortable.”
I set her gently on her feet, then pull off my shirt.
Probably should’ve changed—I’ve got both Lucifer’s and my cum dried on it.
As she comes back into view, her dress is on the floor and her hair is draped down her back. No underwear. And before I can let my filthy mind wander, she climbs into the bed and scowls at me.
“Don’t even think about it.” She crawls under the blanket, covering herself completely before turning to face us. “I’m tired, and I think you two need to sleep as well. Wait—” She’s so damn cute, nose scrunching, curious expression softening her tired features. “Do Demons sleep?”
“We do,” Lucifer answers. “But I’m alright. I’m going to shower—”
“It wasn’t a request…”
I can’t help the full laugh that bursts out of me at her tone.
“You can cuddle with him or me, but you’re getting into this bed.”
Her gaze sheepishly comes to look at me as she whispers into the bond, “How’s that? Could I be a dom?”
I glance at Lucifer, whose cheeks are turning a deep shade of red.
“Not you too.” He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t.
“No, little slayer,” I say through the bond, amusement in my tone. “Unfortunately, you couldn’t. But cute attempt.”
Gesturing toward the bed, I command, “Get in bed now, little deviant.”
His shoulders jump, and he immediately moves to the side closest to us.
He strips off his shirt first, revealing well-defined shoulders and the curve of his hip muscles.
When he sheds his pants but leaves his boxers, his thighs flex…
and I remind myself of her very clear statement about being tired.
I don’t experience drowsiness the way mortals do, but I know the moment I get under those blankets with them and close my eyes, sleep will take me anyway.
Lucifer glances at me briefly before slipping beneath the covers in front of her.
“I didn’t ask you that night,” she says as I move around to the other side of the bed, stripping off my pants. “I mean, it isn’t like we had the time or anything.”
Lucifer hums in question.
“Dollface. If you had called me that for the first time today, I’d have hated it. I see the cracks that happen—like I’m some porcelain doll shattering. But… this was before that. Why?”
I move in right behind her, adjusting so my front curves naturally along her back.