Page 132 of Wicked Believer

When Lucifer enters the playroom, I know for a fact I’m in for more of this torture since the sight of me on my knees turns the look on his face from one that’s oddly grim to supreme satisfaction.

He’senjoyingthis, the asshat.

Day one of my brat taming. Day one of the apocalypse.

I stiffen.

He must know about my ridiculous freefall experiment by now. Hehasto.

I’ve spent more than a few moments wondering if somehow my misguided attempt might have tempted God into letting this all happen, but no matter how I spin it, that seems a little self-obsessed, even by Lucifer’s standards.

I watch as he approaches me, fully expecting that to be the first thing out of his mouth, but he catches me off guard. “I hear you were supremely well behaved today.”

I blink at him, too stunned to speak.

Which means . . .

Azrael didn’t tell him about my skydive incident last night.

He kept my secret for me.

I don’t know exactly how I feel about that as I hold my head low, not looking toward Lucifer. I try to tell myself it’s because I’m too tired or because I haven’t been given permission to do so, but a small part of me feels ... guilty for hiding something so pivotal from him.

I frown at the thought.

No.

No, I willnotblame myself for treating him the same way he treats me. I won’t give in so easily. No matter how stupid an error in judgment.

I don’t know what possessed me to take such an over-the-top gamble with my safety. Maybe some naive need to test the boundaries of my own immortality? Challenge God to finally be there for me?

Hell if I know.

But in truth, now that I’m a bit more distanced from it, I feel ashamed of how I risked myself.

Ashamed for not being stronger.

For not being able to handle the impossible implications of my own eternal existence. The apocalypse, our fate, Lucifer’s cruelty ...

All of it.

Not to mention I’m still furious with him for even agreeing to open the freaking seals for Michael in the first place.

I thought things would be so much better if I had more understanding of what he was doing, but now ...

Now I’m simply worried in a whole new way.

“You can look up now, little dove.”

I lift my head, trying to infuse the look I give him with all my confusion for why he’s keeping me at arm’s length, but then my gaze falls to the way his left leg drags slightly, to how he keeps his elbow tucked too close—like he’s trying to cradle a hidden wound in his ribs—and instead the emotion that liesbeneathmy uncertainty bubbles over, and my eyes begin to water unexpectedly.

The anxiety. The hurt. The worry. It’s all there.

I blink, trying to push my feelings away, but that only sends several tears cascading down my cheeks. “Are you all right?”

He’s hurt. I can feel it.

And our connection is weak, barely hanging on by a thread.