Page 50 of Hunted By Fear

Lucifer fell from grace, just like so many of my brothers, and I stood by and watched. Kai didn’t hold it against me, but I get the feeling he never enjoyed his heavenly work. The rest of them, though, I can’t be sure.

Lucifer was a seraphim, the highest order of angel, second only to God, the same as Rome.

How could one not hold a grudge against those who got to stay behind? Rumor has it that he went around ripping out the wings of any angel who dared cross him for hundreds of years before he descended to Hell, never to come topside again…

Until now, that is.

The question is why?

Of all the things he could do here, all the people he could visit, why me?

“What do you want?” I ask, unable to fight my curiosity another moment.

His eyes move over my skin slowly as if taking in every inch of me from head to toe before a smirk pulls at his lips.

“You're just as bad as the rest of them,” he says with a chuckle. While I don’t know what he means for sure, I can sure as hell guess.

I don’t deny it. I don’t know what I feel, can’t put a name to it, but I know it’s there. With every passing day, it’s more impossible to deny. Lucifer might be the King of Hell now, but once upon a time, he was like an older brother to me. There’s no sense in trying to hide this from him when he can still read me like an open book.

He throws his head back and laughs, and I see the gleam of his fangs that gives his smile a sinister feeling I’m sure he revels in.

“It’s good to see you again, brother. I’ve missed you, and so has my moonlight.” I’m shocked enough by his words that Idon’t realize what he means by ‘my moonlight’until he’s already stalking toward me.

I don’t get a chance to ask as he grips my shoulder, and the world twists and turns around me in the familiar way it does when teleported. Somehow, it’s a lot harsher on my stomach when I’m not the one to do it, but I only have to choke down my lunch for a moment before my feet hit the ground and the nausea melts away.

We stand, me still in only a towel, at the edge of the River Styx, the entrance to Hell.

“You could have at least let me put clothes on.” He looks over at me and down at my towel as if only just noticing that’s all I have on.

I call bullshit, though; he’s just being an ass.

For a moment, I worry he will leave me like this, but he raises his hand, and with a snap of his fingers, I’m fully dressed. Though it’s not at all something I would have picked. I have to admit it's better than the towel.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, looking myself over.

The jeans are black and ripped up, with a million pockets, and a plain maroon shirt. The boots have a bunch of straps, go almost to my knees, and feel heavy as fuck.

The last thing I need is to finally see Aeri again in just a towel so she can see just how much I’ve missed her; yeah, no thanks.

“Girls love a bad boy. You’re welcome.” He rolls his eyes as if that were obvious. “Also, you should put those away, or they might not be so white when you leave,” he says, nodding behind me, and with a start, I realize my wings are out.

It must have been instinct when I found him in my room.

I tuck them away, biting back the urge to ask him what he means about them not being so white. I imagine wings are a sore spot for him, and the last thing I want to do is piss him off.

What’s that saying the mortals always use?

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?

I have no idea what it means, but I get the gist, and this seems like one of those situations, because despite everything, Lucifer seems to be in a pretty good mood.

With my wings tucked away, Lucifer scoops me into his arms just the way he did with Aeri not long ago.

“Is this really necessary?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the annoyance from my tone. Of course, he notices.

Looking down at me, his face is a mask of indifference I’m not used to. In Heaven, he was much more expressive, vocal, and in your face. Now, the only emotion I can see is in his eyes, and it’s just barely there. I only see it because I know what I’m looking for—the mirth that shines back.

“No,” he says simply, and I pull a face. If this isn’t necessary, then why the hell is he doing it? “You're free to end up with soup for a brain if you want.”