Page 30 of Broken Shadows (Corrupt Shadows Duet #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Evie

Lorcan’s voice comes through in an unusual, panicked flutter.

Evangeline cannot know we are together. She will destroy you and until I can convince my dad of the truth, we need to play it safe, for you, Rosa, and Aiden too. You’re all at risk here.

We chose to come here, I say into his mind before he can blame himself.

Your aunt knows the bonds between demons well, he explains. She’ll know if I’m talking to you in your mind and that can only be done to a witch or human after imprinting, even partially. He pauses briefly, then continues through the bond. Evangeline is not a fool. I will not risk your life by risking her finding out, so we can’t do that when we’re together, okay? Just know, everything that is about to happen isn’t real. My feelings for you will never change, but you must play along.

I shoot a message back through our bond. Play along with what?

Lorcan’s voice splits into my mind in an instant. I’ll explain later, Little Witch. His voice echoes in my mind, thrumming softly as if it belongs there. Lucifer has left a dress for you in the wardrobe for the ball later. Remember that letter I gave you? Did you read it?

Not yet. I reply. It’s still in Rosa’s bag.

His reply comes all too quickly. Read it and hold on to the words. I must go.

Lorcan? What happened?

Silence greets my question, and I sigh. My stomach knots at the thought of him being in such close proximity to Evangeline. Who knows what she’s fucking capable of? If she’s anything like the rest of my family was, then I can only dread to think of the damage she will inflict. And from everything I’ve heard, she’s worse.

I need to find Rosa to retrieve that letter, but first, he said there’s a dress the actual devil, made for me, which is insane since I’ve never met the… man ? Demon ? No, Angel . He’s a godsdamn angel. It’s insane to think how much my life has changed. Sometimes I wonder if I’m trapped in some prolonged fever dream.

I climb out from the cocoon of darkness in the massive fourposter bed and push back the black, velvet curtains draping the intricately carved posts. I shudder as my bare feet hit the ancient stone and look around. Gomez has cradled himself on top of the tall, black wardrobe.

“Come here, baby,” I call, the echo of my words lost to the shadows shrouding the ribbed, vault ceiling. Everything here is in black and white, as if I’m trapped in a monochromatic dream.

His wings unfurl as he yawns, his beady eyes tracking me. Standing, his nose twitching before taking flight, his wings a soft rustle as he glides down to me, disrupting the shadows cast from the flickering, purple hues of the candelabras.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I ask when he yawns again. His wings flap twice, which means yes. I don’t know why I bother asking. If there’s ever an option to stay inside and sleep, he’ll take it.

I grab a handful of granola I pocketed from Rosa’s bag, and hold the clumps out for him in my palm. His fur brushes against my skin as he sniffs the air, then takes a clump between his claws and nibbles on it with his tiny teeth.

My heart rate slows, watching him do something as normal as eating out of my palm, as if we could be back in our apartment on a dreary Wednesday afternoon when it was just us.

After he finishes the granola, his small, black tongue gently licking the last few crumbs, he climbs onto my other hand. Those big, black eyes widen when he looks at me with such affection that I feel guilty for not spending as much one-on-one time with him lately. I remember when I found him, trapped in a thorn bush after he escaped from a zoo or a previous owner.

As soon as I saw him, I knew we had something special, the bond opening between us in a gentle hum. Since then, he’s been a part of my soul, and I can’t imagine being without him. My fingers dance over his back, stroking him slowly until a small sigh escapes him, his body heaving in one huff. His body curls against my palms, small claws gripping my fingers as I cradle him like I used to. My eyelids slowly close as I pull him to my chest, the warmth of his body seeping into my chest.

For a beautiful moment, everything is calm and beautiful. All the torture and painful memories are forgotten when it’s just me and my little familiar. But every moment must end, no matter how much I want to stay like this and go to sleep for a week.

“Here, baby.” I slowly lower him onto the bed, prop up a pillow at his side so he won’t accidentally roll off, then pull the cover over his stomach. “I’ll be back soon.”

He purrs against the bed, the sensation seeping through our bond, sending a tingle into my heart. “You sleep,” I say, then turn to the window.

I creak the glass windows open, but it does nothing to change the temperature in the room. There’s not even a breeze. The lack of weather is enough to drive a person mad.

My gaze drifts to the courtyard below as I grip the cold, stone sill. My morbid fascination forces me to lean further out to get a better look as the spirits forms swirl in a tempest of smoke and gray mist. One man, echoing his human form, moves in slow motion across the stone patio, the silence deafening as his mouth opens in a silent scream, reminding me of my dreams when I’m trapped between sleep and paralysis, where my body feels too heavy for my soul and moving even an inch is a struggle. To be in that state all that time must be Hell. I suppose here, that’s the point.

Tears of smoke drip down the man’s face as he trudges slowly forward, his fingers clawing at the air as if he might find some secret door in the air that can free him from this torture.

I understand the need for punishment, but as I stare out at the lost souls wandering the castle grounds, I wonder what they could have possibly done to deserve such a horrific fate—forever lost and broken.

My throat tightens as the realization washes over me—if I never met Lorcan, I would have joined those tortured spirits after my death. At least now I know I’ll be spared that, but I’m still going to end up in Hell no matter what. I’ve murdered people and as much as I want to be good, I know that the truth is I am inherently bad.

Having compassion doesn’t make me a good person. It just makes me human.

I turn to face the stone fireplace, a gaping hole of soot-stained logs upon a bed of ash and cast my death magic to heat the wood into a flicker of purple flames. The crackling instantly soothes my soul, and I turn to face the wardrobe. Surely Lucifer wouldn’t have made me a dress. I mean, he’s the devil, and when would he have had the time to bring it up here? We only recently arrived, and I’ve not left this room. Although, I guess, he’s the devil and can do anything here.

I grab the gargoyle handle of the hand-carved, black wardrobe door, and pull it open. Holding my breath, I glide my fingers over the glossy, swirl carvings, then gasp.

For all that is unholy! My gaze travels the length of the gown hanging inside. I never, in my wildest daymares, thought the devil would have created me a dress, and such a beautiful one, too. It’s almost too perfect to wear. Almost.

My fingers trace the luxurious layers of silver silk and black tulle billowing beneath the fitted velvet bodice, accented with black lace. Each thread embroidered into delicate roses shimmers like stars plucked from the night sky.

I retrieve the velvet hanger and turn to face the oval, silver-framed standing mirror. With a quick sweep of the drawers, I grab a pair of silver lace gloves and pull them up and over my elbows, then pair them with a pair of silver earrings.

It takes several minutes of careful maneuvering to undress, then pull on the corset, lacing the ribbons of the bodice and around my waist, but it’s worth the effort when I finally admire myself in the mirror.

Like the rest of the court, the room behind me is shrouded in a ghostly gray, purple candlelight flickering from the candelabras coated in dripping wax, illuminating the glass beads on the voluminous skirt as I sway.

I gasp, tracing the seven diamonds on my black choker—a stone, I realize, for each brother. This ball must be to honor them all being together again. The thought of being close to Samuel again sends a murderous, icy-hot vengeance through my body. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I take a long, slow breath in. I can’t react like this at the ball. Lorcan said we need to play along, and this is his world, not ours.

“You are stunning!” Rosa’s voice jolts me as she appears in the doorway, a pop of color in all the darkness. “I found one in my wardrobe too.”

“Lucifer made them for us,” I explain and look at her. “Damn, you are… wow, Rosa. Ezra is going to lose his mind.”

“Girl, I’m not dressing up for him.” Her lips quirk into a crimson smile. “But he will lose his mind.” She spins, her crimson skirt billowing outward, longer at the back, and shorter at the front, reaching the midpoint to her thighs. “Wow. The devil is quite naughty, putting me in this.”

I can’t help but agree. Spikes of black tulle cascade from the ends of her crimson, patterned skirt. Her cleavage is accentuated by a v-neckline and the shiny, black corset cinching her waist. Lucious, black stockings reach her knees, and tight curls flow down her shoulders.

“We should go,” I say. “The devil waits for no one.”

She chuckles and pulls a curling wand from her bag. “Not yet.”

I’m forced onto the stool in front of the black, sprawling dresser, watching as Rosa makes quick work of my hair. When she’s done, her red nails graze the circlet of black beads holding the waves of my dark hair into a half-up, half-down style.

“You are amazing. Honestly, I’d be lost without you,” I admit.

She shoots me an incredulous look. “I know.” Pausing as I stand, she says, “If Lorcan doesn’t immediately fall to his knees when he sees you like this, leave him.”

“Oh, wait!” I reach for her bag, rummaging through it until I find the letter. “I almost forgot. I need to grab the letter from Lorcan that I left in your purse.”

I unroll the parchment and trace my gaze over the inky, cursive text. My jaws slacks as I back up against the stone wall to steady myself.

“What does it say?” Rosa asks as I read it twice, the words nestling so deep into the crevices of my soul that my heart aches.

My Witch,

I didn’t know how to tell you this, and I know I should have told you when I first knew, so I needed you to have something tangible so you know my feelings for you.

Love, although a simplistic word, must suffice to express my uncontrollable feelings for you, Little Witch.

There is no word in existence that encompasses the depth, the all-consuming craving I have for you.

I will not say I love you beyond these written words. How can I when my soul fucking growls for you—You are my eternity.

Your Demon

I have to remind myself to breathe after finishing it. I’ve never had anyone love me. Especially not a demon who told me he cannot feel such deep, human emotions. Two weeks ago, I’d have been convinced he was manipulating me, but now?

“Girl, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Rosa teases, then glances around. “Although that is probably the case in this castle.”

I bring the parchment to my chest and close my eyes. “Lorcan, well, he…” I want to show her, but I’m not ready to part with his words, wanting nothing but to hold them as just ours. “He admitted he loves me.”

Actually, his words were you are my eternity, which feels so much more pronounced and intimate.

“Well duh,” she says as if it’s obvious, when for me it’s been anything but. “Do you love him?”

“I… I…”

She tilts her head up. “Don’t feel pressured to say it back to him if you don’t. He can swallow his pride. Honestly, it wouldn’t hurt for him to get humbled a bit. Although, maybe do that after we leave Hell, you know, when he’s not in control of what happens to us.”

“No, I do love him.” My stomach flutters into a thousand butterflies with broken wings.

She taps her crimson nails against her purse. “Well, if you want to be with him, then what’s the problem?”

“Problem?” My eyes widen. “He’s a demon. How can that work?”

“Or is that an excuse so you don’t have to be vulnerable?”

I huff out a breath. “This is why I don’t tell you things.” I tuck the letter in the gap between the wardrobe and wall.

“If you love him, and only if he’s good for you, then be with him,” she adds cheerily, turning to the door. “You have a habit of catastrophizing. Live in the present with me. It can all be taken from us in a second.”

“You’ve changed your tune on demons,” I say as I follow her, a trail of tulle and lace flowing behind me.

“Hmm.” She shrugs. “I guess Hell will do that to you.”

I tsk under my breath. “Or maybe another demon has you romanticizing.”

She shoots me a glare. “I don’t have a crush on Ezra.”

“Denial,” I sing-song, making her cheeks tint with pink.

“Shh, now hold on to me,” she orders, steadying herself on her black heels. A haunting melody grows louder as we descend the grandiose, silver-gilded staircase. I’m about to bring up Ezra again when we reach the bottom, but spot a man across the foyer, waving at us.

Dark curls adorn his head, and a trimmed, salt and pepper beard runs the length of his chiseled jawline. His silver eyes find mine, a gentle smile curves the wicked angular edge of his face. “Bellissima, Evangaline, Rosalia.” His velvet, midnight tux fits his muscular build, the cufflinks shining the same color as his angelic eyes. “I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I am Lucifer.”

Rosa chokes on her inhale. “ You’re Lucifer.”

Oh my gods. Or devils. With all the depictions of Satan floating around, I pictured him as something cartoonish with horns and tail, or at least something hellish. But just like his son, he appears human, except, unlike his children, he walks with an ethereal softness that can trick the most well-intentioned.

“In the flesh,” he states with a wide-toothed, affable grin. “Ah, Evangeline, you are beautiful. I have to say, the family resemblance between yourself and your aunt is unmatched.”

“It’s actually Evie,” I correct with a forced smile as he reaches us. “So, where is my aunt?”

“Ah, yes, she will be along shortly. So, you like my dresses,” he states, as if he can sense how we feel. I mean, damn, he probably can. The devil, an empath ?

Rosa answers first. “They’re beautiful. Thank you. So, did you sew them yourself or…?”

What the fuck kind of conversation is this? Are we really discussing fashion with Satan?

“No,” he says with a kind smile. There’s not even a hint of condescension in there and I wonder how anyone can think him evil. “It’s magic. You are well suited to my Ezra,” he tells Rosa. “My demons reported your interactions to me,” he admits, answering our unspoken question about how he knows. He extends his hand toward the heavy doors. “Anyway, please enjoy. We shall talk more later.”

“Thank you, Lucifer,” I say, struggling to find the words on how to describe whatever the fuck this is.

“You can call me Dad if you’d like, as you are my son's intended.” My brows shoot halfway up my forehead. I am not calling him Dad and I am not Lorcan’s intended. What even is an intended? Like his fiancé?

“I don’t know what you did,” Lucifer continues. “But I could feel my Lorcan’s heart more open earlier. He’s always been so depressed, even when I let him torture all those demons.” His shoulders slump as he huffs out a breath. “Perhaps it’s the Fallenmoore charm. I know it well.”

Rosa shoots me a wide-eyed stare and I shrug.

Lucifer waves us off, walking ahead of us, and the heavy doors creak open with a motion of his hand.

As soon as he disappears inside, Rosa grabs my hand. “Hell fucking Hell,” she exclaims as we walk inside into the large ballroom. “That was insane.”

“So is this,” I confess as I look around. Flickering, violet candlelight dances over the faces of ghostly spirits gliding around the cold, stone walls. I breathe in the scent of rose, lilies, jasmine, and vanilla, each forming a musk that somehow smells like both sex and death.

Rosa's fingers unclasp from mine as we take in the monochromatic tapestries of angels and demons hanging behind a quintet of violinists and a shiny black piano. A building melancholic serenade whispers from the demon hunched over the piano, his fingers gliding over the keys in rapid succession.

I notice most of the demons have taken on a human form tonight, all of them turning to look at us with stares as dark as charcoal, contrasting their pale, chalky skin.

Rosa shudders, whispering, “This is creepy.”

“Yep.” The spirits of human souls slip between the demons, their phantasmic forms swirling like smoke. They hover on the edges of the shadows as if they’re afraid to bring much notice upon themselves.

The doors open and six out of the seven brothers walk inside, all dressed in fitted, black tuxes, all with different color gemstones on their cufflinks to match their sin.

My heart balloons when I see Lorcan appear behind them, standing tall, draped in a midnight blue tux with his normally disheveled hair slicked back, making him appear more gentlemanly than I thought possible. My smile quickly evaporates when I see her on my demon's arm. My brain falters. Evangaline. Rose tattoos cover her body, just as mine do, and her brown gaze sweeps the room. She waltzes inside, clinging to my demon’s arm, wearing an ivory dress as if she’s his fucking bride.

I’m going to fucking kill her.

Lorcan adjusts the button of this ivory shirt, pausing briefly when he sees me.

Rosa squeezes my arm and pulls me to the side. “Don’t do anything rash.”

What the fuck are you doing with her? I demand through the bond.

Don’t react, he says into my mind, breaking his own rule, then severs our communication.

Rosa’s hand is squeezing mine, grounding me as I watch them make their way through the crowd of demons and spirits.

Lorcan towers over them all, draped in a cloak of shadows, his pastel-green eyes glowing when he extends his hand to Evangeline, the same hand that held me. Her palm slips into his, and she smiles at Lucifer across the room, as if a dance with Lorcan is some bullshit peace-making move. But the three of us know she secretly is loving every second of this. As if he she could ever have his heart.

I jolt as a hand lands on my shoulder, the strong hold spinning me on the spot. Samuel’s flat-gray psychopath eyes come to life when they bore into mine. “I’ve been wondering when I would get you to myself, Witch. Can I have this dance?”

His palm is in mine before I can tell him to go fuck himself, and he’s dragging me into the center of the room. The last place I want to be is in Samuel’s arms, but if it means I can be closer to Lorcan and my aunt and find out what in the unholy Hell is happening, then so be it.