Page 3 of Exorcise Me (Hotter than Hell)

The restaurant was exactly as Lucien had described it—small, intimate, with soft lighting and incredible smells wafting from the kitchen. The hostess greeted Lucien by name, which should have been concerning but somehow wasn’t the strangest part of my day anymore.

“Your usual table, Mr. Lucien?” she asked with a warm smile.

“Please, Kaitlin.” He gestured to me. “I’m showing Noah here what real food tastes like.”

She gave me an appraising look. “Ah, so this is Noah. You described him perfectly.”

I nearly tripped over nothing. “He described me to you?”

Kaitlin just winked and led us to a corner table, partially secluded by a decorative screen.

“How often do you come here?” I asked once we were seated, menus in hand.

Lucien shrugged elegantly. “Time works differently for my kind. I’ve been enjoying this establishment since it opened five years ago, though not always in this particular form.”

I lowered my menu. “What does that mean? ‘Not in this form’?”

“It means—” he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially “—I don’t always look like sex incarnate. Sometimes I’m more subtle.”

I nearly choked on my water. “You’re not—that’s not—”

“I’m teasing, Noah.” His smile softened. “Though your reaction is delightful. You blush all the way down your neck, did you know that? I wonder how far it goes…”

I raised my menu higher, using it as a shield. “Can we talk about something other than my physiological responses to your inappropriate comments?”

“Of course.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “What would you like to discuss? The metaphysical implications of demonic existence? The flawed dogma of your seminary training? The fact that your blue shirt does indeed make your eyes look remarkable?”

I lowered the menu just enough to glare at him over the top. “Let’s start with why you’re really here. The truth this time.”

Lucien’s playful expression faltered, and for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of something else—something ancient and perhaps a little sad—behind his eyes.

“The truth?” He traced a pattern on the tablecloth.

“The truth is, Noah Callahan, that you interest me. You’re an exorcist who hesitates before condemning.

You carry doubt with your devotion. You see nuance where others see only absolutes.

” He looked up, meeting my gaze directly.

“Do you know how rare that is? To find a human who might actually look at me and see something beyond ‘demon’?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. It felt too honest, too raw for the strange day we’d had.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived to take our order. Lucien ordered for both of us—presumptuous, but I had no idea what was good here anyway—along with a bottle of wine that made the waiter’s eyebrows rise appreciatively.

“I don’t drink much,” I said after the waiter left.

“Tonight you do.” Lucien leaned back in his chair, studying me. “Tell me something, Noah. Have you always wanted to be an exorcist, or did you fall into it like most humans fall into their professions—through expectation and limited options?”

I fidgeted with my napkin. “My family has served the church for generations. My father, his father before him…”

“So expectation, then.”

“No,” I said defensively, then sighed. “Maybe a little. But I do believe in what I do. There is real darkness out there.”

“Yes,” Lucien agreed, surprising me. “There is. But darkness isn’t the same as evil, Noah. Sometimes darkness is just… different. Misunderstood.”

The waiter returned with our wine, pouring a small amount for Lucien to taste. He nodded approval, and soon our glasses were filled with deep ruby liquid.

“To new perspectives,” Lucien said, raising his glass.

I hesitated, then raised mine to meet his. “To… challenging assumptions.”

His smile was worth the small concession. We clinked glasses, and I took a sip, surprised by the rich complexity of the wine.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien asked, watching me with those unnerving eyes. “Humans create such beautiful things when they’re not busy destroying each other.”

“Do demons create beautiful things too?” I found myself asking.

Something flashed across his face—surprise, perhaps even pleasure at the question. “We do. Music, mostly. The kind that makes you feel things you can’t explain. Dreams, sometimes. And certain types of desire.” His gaze held mine. “The kind that burns but doesn’t consume.”

I took another, larger sip of wine.

Over the next two hours, we talked. Really talked, in a way I hadn’t talked to anyone in years. Lucien asked about my childhood, my training, my doubts. He listened with genuine interest, occasionally challenging my assumptions but never dismissing them outright.

In return, he told me about the demon realm—not the fire and brimstone version I’d been taught, but a place of ancient beauty and complex politics.

He described music that could change the color of the air, gardens that grew emotions instead of flowers, and the lonely isolation of being caught between worlds.

“Most of us don’t actually want to harm humans,” he explained as we worked our way through truly incredible pasta. “That’s propaganda spread by both sides. Most demons just want to experience the human world—your art, your food, your ridiculous reality television shows.”

I laughed, surprising myself. “You watch reality TV?”

“‘The Bachelor’ is a guilty pleasure,” he admitted, eyes twinkling. “The drama is delicious.”

By the time we finished dessert—a tiramisu that actually made me groan out loud when I tasted it, causing Lucien’s eyes to darken in a way I tried not to think about—I realized I was enjoying myself.

With a demon. A very charming, funny, intelligent demon who looked at me like I was more interesting than anyone he’d met in centuries.

It was dangerous. It was forbidden. It was… nice.

As we walked back to my apartment, the cool night air cleared some of the wine-induced warmth from my head. Reality began to seep back in. I was an exorcist. He was a demon. This couldn’t work.

“You’re overthinking again,” Lucien said, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “I can practically hear the gears grinding.”

“I’m thinking about what happens next,” I admitted. “This—” I gestured between us “—isn’t supposed to happen. Exorcists don’t befriend demons.”

“And yet here we are, defying convention.” He bumped my shoulder lightly with his. “Perhaps the universe has a sense of humor.”

We reached my apartment building, and I paused at the entrance, key in hand. “One night,” I reminded him. “That was our agreement.”

Lucien looked up at the night sky, stars barely visible through the city lights. “One night,” he agreed. “Though time is such a flexible concept, isn’t it?”

I pushed open the door, already knowing I was making a mistake that would either ruin me or remake me entirely.

Maybe both.