Page 8 of Exorcise Me (Hotter than Hell)

Hours later, we finally emerged from the bedroom, my body pleasantly sore in places I hadn’t known could be sore. Lucien moved around my kitchen with familiar ease, preparing coffee and what smelled like french toast.

I watched him from my perch on a barstool, admiring the fluid grace of his movements.

He’d pulled on a pair of my sweatpants, though they hung low on his hips, revealing the smooth planes of his back and the dimples just above his waistband.

His hair was still tousled from our morning activities, and a small mark bloomed on his neck—evidence of my own boldness that made me flush with remembered heat.

“You’re staring again,” he said without turning around.

“You’re worth staring at,” I replied, echoing his words from the night before.

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing a smile that made my heart stutter. “Flattery will get you everywhere, exorcist. Though perhaps not before breakfast. Even demons need sustenance after what we just did.”

I flushed again, memories of “what we just did” vivid in my mind.

Lucien had been an attentive and inventive lover, showing me pleasures I’d barely imagined existed.

But more surprising than the physical ecstasy had been the tenderness, the moments of genuine connection that felt deeper than mere desire.

“What happens now?” I asked, voicing the question that had been circling my mind.

Lucien placed a mug of coffee in front of me—prepared exactly how I liked it, with too much cream and sugar. “Now we eat breakfast. Then perhaps a shower. Then maybe I bend you over that couch and—”

“I meant in the bigger picture,” I interrupted, though my body responded eagerly to his suggestion.

His playful expression softened. “I know what you meant.” He turned back to the stove, flipping the french toast with expert precision. “The honest answer is: I don’t know. This isn’t exactly a common situation, even for someone as old as I am.”

“How old are you?” I asked, realizing I had no idea.

He considered the question while plating our breakfast. “Time works differently in my realm. But in human terms… around seven centuries, give or take a few decades.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “Seven hundred years?”

“I moisturize,” he deadpanned, setting a plate of perfect french toast in front of me. “Eat before it gets cold.”

I took a bite automatically, then moaned at the explosion of flavors. Cinnamon, vanilla, something else I couldn’t identify—it was heavenly.

“Don’t make that sound unless you want breakfast to be delayed another hour,” Lucien warned, his eyes darkening as he took the stool beside me.

I blushed but couldn’t help teasing him a little. “Is my ‘stamina’ a problem for you?”

His laugh was genuine and warm. “Touché, exorcist.”

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the domesticity of the moment striking me as both bizarre and oddly right. A demon and an exorcist having breakfast together after a night (and morning) of mind-blowing sex. It sounded like the setup for a bad joke.

“You’re overthinking again,” Lucien observed, stealing a piece of french toast from my plate despite having his own.

“Hard not to.” I nudged his fork away from my food. “This isn’t exactly covered in the exorcism handbook.”

“I should hope not. Those illustrations would be quite scandalous.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Be serious for a minute.”

“Must I?” But his expression sobered. “What do you want to know, Noah?”

I considered the question. What did I want to know? There were a thousand questions swirling in my mind, but one rose to the surface.

“Why me?” I asked quietly. “Of all the exorcists you could have… attached yourself to, why choose me?”

Lucien set down his fork, giving the question the serious consideration it deserved. “Because you hesitated,” he said finally.

“What?”

“That day at the Kensingtons’. When you were performing the exorcism ritual.

There was a moment—just a fraction of a second—when you hesitated.

I could see it in your eyes, this flash of doubt, of wondering if what you were doing was right.

” His gaze was intent, searching. “Do you know how rare that is? Most exorcists are so certain, so absolute in their conviction. But you… you questioned. Just for a moment, but it was enough.”

I remembered that moment—the brief flicker of doubt when Lucien hadn’t reacted to my crucifix the way demons were supposed to. The split-second wondering if everything I’d been taught was wrong.

“That’s it?” I asked, not quite believing him. “You upended my life because I hesitated?”

His smile was gentle. “I upended your life because in that moment of hesitation, I saw something familiar—a soul caught between certainty and doubt, between what you’re told to believe and what you actually see.” He reached out, his fingers brushing mine. “I saw someone like me.”

The simple honesty of his words struck me silent. He continued, his voice softer.

“I’ve walked between worlds for centuries, Noah.

Not fully belonging to the demon realm anymore, but obviously not human either.

I’m… liminal. And so are you, in your own way.

Too questioning for the rigid structures of your faith, too faithful to abandon it entirely.

” His fingers entwined with mine. “We recognize our own kind.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words. Understanding. Recognition. The sense that maybe, for the first time, someone saw me exactly as I was—doubts, contradictions, and all—and didn’t find me wanting.

My phone chose that moment to shatter the quiet intimacy, vibrating loudly on the counter where I’d left it.

Father Finnegan’s name flashed on the screen.

Reality crashed back like a bucket of ice water. I pulled my hand from Lucien’s, staring at the phone as if it might bite me.

“You should answer it,” Lucien said quietly, all trace of teasing gone from his voice. “He’ll only keep calling.”

I swallowed hard, then picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Noah.” Father Finnegan’s voice was tight with concern. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Is everything alright?”

I glanced at Lucien, who was watching me with unreadable eyes. “Yes, everything’s fine. I was just… sleeping in.”

“At noon?” Skepticism colored his tone. “That’s not like you.”

I checked the time with surprise. It was indeed past noon. Lucien and I had spent the entire morning in bed.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” I lied, guilt twisting my stomach. “What’s going on?”

“The Wellington case has been moved up. The family called this morning—the situation has escalated. I need you at the seminary in an hour for preparation.”

The Wellington case. The “serious” one he’d mentioned yesterday. My stomach clenched.

“I’ll be there,” I promised automatically.

“Good.” There was a pause. “Noah, are you sure you’re alright? You’ve seemed… different lately.”

I avoided Lucien’s gaze. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up before he could question me further, setting the phone down like it was radioactive.

“The Wellington case?” Lucien asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“A suspected full demonic possession,” I said, pushing away my half-eaten breakfast. “Father Finnegan has been monitoring it for weeks. The victim is showing classic signs—speaking in tongues, supernatural strength, knowledge of things they couldn’t possibly know.”

“Or they’re having a psychotic episode and need medical attention, not religious intervention,” Lucien countered, his jaw tight.

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.” He stood, taking our plates to the sink. The easy domesticity of earlier had vanished, replaced by a tension that crackled between us. “What will you do?”

“My job,” I said, but the words felt hollow. “I have to go.”

Lucien’s back was to me, his shoulders a rigid line. “Of course you do.”

I stood, moving to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lucien—”

“Don’t.” He turned to face me, his expression carefully composed. “You’ve made your choice, Noah.”

“It’s not a choice between you and my calling,” I insisted.

“Isn’t it?” His eyes searched mine. “If there is a demon there—a real one, not just a human with mental illness—what will you do? Will you banish it back to a realm you now know isn’t the hell you were taught it was?

Will you rip it from this world knowing it might just be lonely, or curious, or even in love with a human, as I am with—”

He stopped abruptly, looking away.

My heart stuttered. “As you are with what?”

Lucien shook his head, a bitter smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. Forget it.” He pushed past me. “You should get ready. Wouldn’t want to keep Father Finnegan waiting.”

I watched him disappear into the living room, confusion and frustration warring in my chest. Had he been about to say he was in love with me? The possibility sent a riot of emotions through me—fear, hope, exhilaration.

But there was no time to explore those feelings. Father Finnegan was waiting, and I had a job to do. A calling to honor. Even if that calling suddenly felt more like a burden than a purpose.

With a heavy heart, I headed to the shower, trying not to remember what had happened there just twelve hours earlier.