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Chapter One

Hell was working as a coffee shop barista during the Monday morning rush. And believe me, I knew Hell. As Lucifer’s daughter and a celestial—or what humans called an angel—I was well versed in torture. But this…this was a special kind of torment. Serving overpriced lattes to clueless humans and “working for the man” at minimum wage gave me a whole new perspective on suffering. I used to have a purpose and a future. Now, I was little more than a wingless aberration who pretended to care about milk foam and flavour shots, all while secretly longing for the good ol’ days of battling hellspawn and causing mayhem.

“I asked for a tall, half-skinny, half-one percent, extra hot, split quad shot—two shots decaf, two shots regular—latte with whip. It’s not a difficult order,” the dark-suited man standing across the counter barked. He shoved a full cup back at me, his brow knotted in what I presumed was his version of a “glare.” It hardly inspired any fear—I’d seen far worse.

He glanced at my nametag, then raised his chin and stared down his nose at me. “I don’t know what this is, Lily , but it certainly isn’t what I ordered.”

I forced a smile. This wasn’t the first irate customer I’d dealt with today, and it wouldn’t be the last. It seemed everyone loved to take their anger out on baristas, as though we were responsible for all their shitty life choices.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I said, my words infused with more sarcasm than his lacking wit could comprehend. “Allow me to make it again for you.” Notice how I didn’t admit to any wrongdoing? That was because I’d made the coffee correctly the first time. But I’d long since learned that arguing accomplished nothing.

“Do you need me to write it down for you?” he asked with an amusing “sneer.”

“Oh, no need for that. I’ve got it.”

I poured out the coffee and started again, all while whistling a jaunty tune and envisioning sticking a long and broad sword up his tightly puckered arsehole.

“One tall, half-skinny, half-one percent, extra hot, split quad shot—two shots decaf, two shots regular—latte with whip coming right up!” I called out, my voice syrupy sweet. But inside, I was cursing his existence. At least in Hell, I could have stabbed him when he pissed me off. But stabbing on Earth was, sadly, illegal. Stupid humans and their stupid rules. No maiming, murdering, or massacring allowed. Pfft.

“You better make it right this time,” he grumbled. “No wonder you work here. Can’t handle a real job.”

I shot the dickhead a look that would have curdled a hellspawn’s blood, but he was too busy tapping away on his phone to notice. Oh, the hellfire I could unleash on his ass. But I restrained myself, and only because I didn’t particularly want to smell burnt ass hair this early in the morning, or you know, scare the poor humans.

“Hey, buddy.” A large hand clapped down on my irate customer’s shoulder. “How about you lighten up and just let her fix the order? No one wants to listen to you being a douche.”

I recognized him instantly—his name was Jack, and I’d been serving him coffee for the last year. He always ordered it black with no frills. We’d exchanged quick pleasantries a few times, but I never imagined he’d step up for me like this, especially in front of the whole shop.

My customer turned, his sneer vanishing the instant he laid eyes on Jack. Towering over the jackass, Jack’s sheer size was enough to intimidate anyone into silence. It didn’t hurt that he was attractive too, with his wavy brown hair and strong brows that framed his dark eyes. A chiseled jawline with a short beard completed his look, adding to his rugged charm. He looked like the epitome of every handsome hero that starred in the countless romantic comedies popular here.

“Who the hell are you?” my customer asked, his bravado crumbling in front of everyone.

“Just someone who likes his coffee without a side of bullshit machismo,” Jack replied, his grip tightening on the man’s shoulder. He ducked his head and said with a threatening smile, “So, how about you do us all a favour and take your coffee to go?”

The dumbass muttered something disparaging under his breath, then whirled back around to face me. He snatched the lidded cup out of my hand, and with one final attempt at a withering glare—to which I gave him a cheerful wave—he stormed out of the shop. Too bad he’d left his dignity behind.

“Well, that was fun,” Jack commented as he sidled up to the counter.

Chuckling, I shook my head. “You and I must have two very different ideas of fun.”

“That so?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Call me old-fashioned, but fun for me involves a lot less verbal abuse.”

He laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “Fair enough.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice softening. “For helping me.”

He gave a half-nod while still smiling at me.

“Now, what can I get you?” I asked.

His grin widened. “How about a date? Maybe dinner this Friday? My treat, of course.”

Giggles broke out behind us from a few women in line, but I just stood there, confounded.

“A date?” I repeated. “You want to take me out on a date?”

“Well, someone has to make up for that guy’s rudeness.” Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “And…I like you. I’ve been meaning to ask you out for a while now.”

He had? In the ten years I’d lived on Earth, I could count on one hand the number of men who’d asked me out. Mostly because I rarely gave them the chance. I avoided all romance, hesitant to form any lasting attachments. And for good reasons too.

See, I had a lot of baggage—and none of it came with a cute luggage tag.

My memory was…well, unreliable, to put it mildly. It wasn’t until I’d watched a few television shows that I realized the word for my condition was selective amnesia. I remembered the basics—my childhood, my upbringing, and the grueling years I’d spent training with my father’s people, who’d been obsessed with forging me into Lucifer’s perfect weapon. I even remembered uncovering a prophecy that claimed I was destined to destroy Hell and my father along with it.

Talk about awkward family dynamics.

Of course, I hadn’t told Lucifer I’d discovered the prophecy—because I wasn’t an idiot. I had, however, confided in my so-called best friend Deidre. Big mistake. She’d run straight to Lucifer and spilled all my secrets. Apparently, friendship meant diddly-squat to her.

Predictably, my father hadn’t taken the news well. He’d never intended for me to learn about the prophecy, and knowing his daughter was fated to kill him probably hadn’t done wonders for his ego. His reaction had been classic Lucifer: explosive anger, over-the-top theatrics, and an unhealthy dose of punishment served with a side of spite.

What I couldn’t remember was how I’d ended up here—or how I’d lost my wings. All I knew was I now had two jagged scars stretching across my shoulder blades and down my back. Someone had clearly ripped them off, and given my father’s history of pettiness and violence, it seemed wise to assume he’d been the one responsible. I was no genius, but even I could do that kind of math.

But the icing on the hellish cake? Every time I tried to dig into those missing memories, I suffered pain so extreme, it felt like my skull might split open. After the dozenth migraine and zero progress, I’d told myself to stop trying.

Why he’d sent me to Edmonton, of all places, I had no idea. Nor did I know if he ever planned to drag me back to Hell. So, keeping a healthy distance from humans seemed the smartest—and safest—choice.

But Jack intrigued me. Something about his commanding nature and confident air stirred a pleasant, familiar feeling inside me. It reminded me of someone else, though I couldn’t quite remember who. Maybe it was time to stop worrying so much and take a chance? Get to know someone other than my coworkers. It’d been ten years, after all. Who knew what Lucifer had planned for me? I certainly didn’t.

“Lily?”

I blinked and forced my thoughts back to the present. My coworker Jazz stood next to me, a playful gleam in her eyes.

She nudged my shoulder and scooted me away from the computer. “I’ll take over here. Why don’t you take a break,” she said, offering me a wink before turning to the next customer.

I took a few steps down the counter, and Jack followed, allowing the line to finally start moving again as Jazz started taking the customers’ orders.

When we came to a stop at the far end of the counter, I met his gaze and sank into the warmth, excitement tickling my stomach. I had to admit, he definitely gave me “The Feels.”

“Well?” he asked when I didn’t respond. “Are you interested in going to dinner with me?”

Oh, I was definitely interested. Which surprised the hell out of me, considering no one else had interested me in the past ten years. Maybe I was a sucker for romantic comedies too.

Finally, I nodded. “That sounds great.”

“Perfect!” He flashed me another smile. “Does Friday night work?”

I grinned, barely able to suppress the ridiculous flutter in my chest. I was an immortal celestial, not some human teenager with uncontrollable emotions, but apparently, that didn’t stop the anticipation bubbling up inside me. “Friday sounds wonderful.”

“Excellent.” Jack pulled out his phone. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you the details. I presume you’d prefer to meet at the restaurant?”

Truthfully, it didn’t matter to me where we met. I didn’t have the same fears as other women, considering my background. If he tried anything untoward, he’d learn really quickly just how well I could defend myself. But I was used to playing the part, so I nodded. He pulled out his phone and I recited my digits.

After typing them in, he glanced up at me. “It’s not a fake number, is it?”

“No,” I said, laughing. Not that someone would admit it was, I supposed. “It’s mine.”

“Great! Watch for my text,” Jack said, grinning. He rapped his knuckles against the counter, then turned to leave.

After a few steps, I realized something and called out, “Wait!”

Jack turned back around.

“What about your coffee?” I asked.

His eyes widened, then he laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made me smile. “You’re right. How could I forget? Same as always, please.”

Smiling, I poured him a black coffee and handed it across the counter. “No charge. My treat, as a thanks for rescuing me.”

Jack winked and took the cup, our fingers briefly touching. My heart quickened, and I quietly chuckled. It’d been a long time since I’d felt anything like that.

“Enjoy your coffee, Jack,” I said.

“Oh, I will. Looking forward to Friday. See you then, Lily.”

I watched him leave. He held the door open for a mother with a stroller, then paused to give me one last smile before walking out of sight. With a sigh, I turned back to the counter. Jazz had handled the line like the pro she was, chatting and laughing with customers as she efficiently took their orders. A few of the women kept glancing my way with sly grins, as though Jack and I had just provided them with their entertainment for the day.

Shaking my head, I slid back into position next to Jazz, and we worked through the rest of the rush in our usual smooth rhythm. But the second the coffee shop quieted down, Jazz whirled on me, her eyes gleaming with excitement and curiosity.

“Okay,” she said. “Do not leave me hanging. Dish, girl.”

I grabbed a cloth and started cleaning the counter. “Oh, it was nothing.”

Jazz scoffed under her breath and leaned in, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder in perfect waves. She stared at me with bright blue eyes that mirrored mine—so much so that when I first started working here, I’d wondered if she was an angel like me. The question had quickly answered itself after watching her for a couple of weeks. It’d become painfully clear when she’d accidentally spilled a full cup of boiling hot coffee on her hand. She’d suffered third-degree burns that had taken months to properly heal. Hot temperatures harmed me, but not to that extent. And I healed similar injuries within hours, not months.

Angel or not, though, she was undeniably gorgeous. I wasn’t lacking in the looks department myself—being a celestial came with its perks. But the real difference between us, aside from my midnight black hair, was how we used our beauty. Jazz wielded hers like a weapon, effortlessly charming men into doing her bidding, including leaving generous tips. Much as I loved—and needed—money, that kind of attention didn’t interest me.

“Come on, Lily,” Jazz said with a wistful sigh. “I saw the way he was drooling over you. Spill.”

I laughed, my cheeks flushing. It wasn’t every day a guy looked at me like that—I never gave them a chance. Any time someone showed interest, I shut them down. Hard. But there was something different about Jack. I didn’t want to push this guy away. I wanted Jack to drool over me.

“He asked me out to dinner on Friday,” I said, giving the counter another rub-down.

Jazz’s eyes widened in surprise. “Dinner? On a Friday night? You?”

I stifled a laugh, understanding her confusion. To her, I was practically a nun—a comparison she’d once made that had sent me into fits of laughter. Oh, if only she knew the truth. I was less Sister Act and more Rosemary’s Baby .

“Well, it’s about time!” she exclaimed.

I snickered and gave the counter one last wipe. “It’s just dinner. Don’t read too much into it.”

Scoffing, Jazz leaned forward and swiped the rag from my hand, tossing it into the sink. “Oh, come on, Lily. Don’t downplay this. In all the years I’ve known you?—”

Five, to be exact.

“—I’ve never seen you show interest in anyone. This is monumental. He’s freaking hot, and he stood up for you.” She pretended to swoon, slumping dramatically against the counter. “Mother, may I?”

“True,” I admitted, a small smile playing on my lips. “But let’s not start planning the wedding just yet. I’d just like a good, uh, foot rub, ya know?”

“Foot rub.” Jazz burst out laughing. “Yeah, let’s hope he gives you a good foot rub . A wonderfully orgasmic foot rub.”

I laughed. Her excitement was contagious and had me genuinely looking forward to Friday, seeing as how I’d never experienced a good foot rub before—at least not that I could remember.

“Hmm,” Jazz hummed, leaning closer. “I hope you have something killer to wear.”

I presumed she didn’t mean my swords and daggers, of which I had an entire collection.

“Because all I’ve ever seen you in is an apron.” She tilted her head and grinned. “Although, he might enjoy that, especially if you don’t wear anything underneath.”

“Jazz,” I said, shaking my head.

“My point is you can’t wear this to a date.” She plucked at my jeans and t-shirt beneath my barista apron.

“Why not? He clearly likes the look,” I teased.

Jazz rolled her eyes so hard I was afraid they’d get stuck. “You better be joking. Girl, you are not wearing that. Okay, after our shift, you and I are hitting Whyte Ave. There’s a boutique nearby I think you’ll love. We’ll find something great.”

I paused, tempted by Jazz’s offer. Shopping was one of my few guilty pleasures. A girl could easily lose herself in the many, many department stores Earth had to offer. Especially the yarn stores. My toxic trait was believing I could knit. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t take Jazz up on her offer—duty called elsewhere. Specifically, at Wraith & Whiskey, the bar where I slung drinks for vampires, werewolves, and other paranormals. Living alone wasn’t cheap, especially with pets to feed. Multiple mouths required multiple jobs.

But Jazz didn’t know about my second job. And seeing as how humans didn’t know about the paranormal world—other than what existed in fiction—I kept my bartender gig a secret. Thankfully, Jazz didn’t invite me out too often, which made it easier to manage my double life.

“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I have other plans.”

Jazz frowned. “Other plans? When do you ever have plans?”

“It’s just some family stuff,” I said, feigning nonchalance.

She stared at me, then sighed dramatically. “Fine, but I’m not letting you off that easily. We’re going shopping before your date. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said. “How about Wednesday? I don’t have anything planned then.”

“Great!” Jazz practically bounced on the spot. “Wednesday it is. And don’t even think about bailing on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, knowing full well that she’d hunt me down. According to the Gospel of Jazz, dressing to impress for a date was non-negotiable. The only problem was her idea of classy didn’t match mine. She was probably picturing me in six-inch heels and a skirt short enough to flash panty lines—neither of which appealed to me. Raised by Lucifer and his minions, I was a warrior at heart. My idea of “dressing up” involved armor and weapons, but Earth’s authorities didn’t love that look.

Still, shopping with Jazz sounded fun. Maybe I could talk her down from killer to something a bit more casual—and budget friendly. If I had spare cash, I would have loved nothing more than to splurge on something fancy. Alas, life in Edmonton was costly, and I needed every last dollar for necessities, like heat, water, and power.

The rest of the shift flew by without any more drama, thank goodness, and I could finally clock out. I hung up my apron, grabbed my purse, and checked the time. Five minutes to make it to the bus stop for the first of two buses needed to get me home. I had to eat and change before tackling my shift at Wraith & Whiskey, which was just another quick bus ride from my place.

As I hurried toward the door, Jazz called my name, and I glanced back.

“Wednesday,” she reminded me with a grin. “Don’t forget.”

I grinned back. “Wouldn’t miss it!”

“Now go! Before you miss your bus.”

I waved goodbye and dashed out the door, hoping to catch my ride in time. My boss at the bar didn’t appreciate tardiness, and considering he was a vampire, I definitely didn’t want to end up as his midnight snack as punishment.