Page 108 of Lustling

There’s no holiness here. No mercy. Just sharpened grandeur and ash. Just the throne.

And the man who sits on it.

Lucifer Tenebris. A name that burns like cinders in my mouth. My blood. My ruin. My curse.

He hasn’t changed. Ageless. Agonizingly regal. Cloaked in shadow and molten gold, his horns twisted like barbed crowns, his wings unfurled just enough to remind the room they exist. He reclines like a monarch too bored for conquest, yet every flicker of his gaze is a guillotine, ready to fall.

His eyes land on me. The air stills. My chest tightens—not from fear. Not anymore. From fury. From the kind of hatred that has fermented too long.

Beside me, Bastion goes rigid. Behind me, Cassiel paces carefully, measured as ever. We cross the floor in silence, our boots whispering against obsidian veins.

And then?—

Cassiel falters.

Not a stumble. Not subtle. His entire body jolts as though struck by lightning. He crumples, hard, to one knee. A guttural gasp tears from his throat, ragged and unholy.

“Cassiel—” I whip around as Bastion lunges to catch him.

Cassiel’s wings quiver, his fingers clawing at the floor. His back arches—and not with pain. With something fouler. Needier.

“She’s still feeding,” he rasps, sweat streaking his temples. His voice cracks. “I can’t—can’t stop it.”

The sound that follows him is obscene. Low. Hoarse. Desperate. It starts in the back of his throat and ends in a broken moan that makes Bastion flinch like he’s been struck.

And then I see it—his veins glowing faintly, lit from within like molten rivers. The bond flaring white-hot across his chest, his neck, his skin crackling like storm-lightning.

She’s starving. She’s still reaching for him. For us.

And gods help me, my lips almost curl. “She’s still with us,” I murmur, heat sliding into my voice. “Good girl.”

Cassiel shudders violently. His thighs tremble, his hand scrapes at the obsidian. Then he moans again—louder, raw, helpless. Bastion recoils like he’s been doused in blasphemy.

“Is he—” Bastion stares, horrified. “Deimos, is he literally?—”

Before I can answer, the voice cuts.

Velvet. Cruel. Slow.

“Well,” Lucifer drawls, amusement curling like smoke, “that has to be a first.”

We freeze.

Lucifer leans forward on his throne, predator’s grace in every inch. His mouth twists into something obscene. A smile carved for mockery.

“A seraph,” he purrs, “brought to his knees in my throne room. And not by blade. Not by chains. By orgasm.” He tilts his head, golden eyes glittering. “Tell me, little light—did your cock betray you? Or did she whisper something filthy across your bond?”

Cassiel clenches his jaw, his body trembling, shame painted across his skin like warpaint. He doesn’t answer.

“Oh, come now.” Lucifer’s voice is soft poison. “No need to blush. Happens to the best of us. Or was this your brother’s doing?” His gaze cuts to me, cruel and knowing. “I remember how possessive you get.”

“Fuck off,” I snarl, even as my pulse rages beneath my skin.

Lucifer chuckles, low and pleased. “Ah. So the succubus still breathes. Still feeds. Even chained. Interesting.”

Cassiel staggers to his feet, trembling, pale, his wings twitching from aftershocks. He looks like he’s been skinned raw. But his voice doesn’t break. “She’s strong. Stronger than any of us thought.”

Lucifer waves him off, bored. “Or just hungry. Desperation will make a woman do anything.”