Page 196 of Wicked Believer

She’s a powerful Seer. No wonder Lilith wants a piece of her.

Lucifer’s Mother loves her fucking prophecies.

Michael, that predictable fucker—who Isoregret gifting my old sword to—looks furious at Charlotte’s sudden appearance. “I thought I told you to stay out of my way.” His voice is full of self-righteous fury.

Fuck, I regret ever dating him.

Lucifer never would let me live that particular rebound down.

But when you’re as old and ancient as we are, well, everybody ends up fucking everybody sooner or later. There’s no such thing as a choosy immortal.

Or a heterosexual one, for that matter.

Charlotte smiles, giving a devil-may-care shrug. “Why don’t you ask Lucifer how good I am at listening?”

I chuckle. Lucifer’s little siren is ballsy.

A she-devil in her own right.

Clearly, she’s been taking a page out of her “Daddy’s” playbook.

Though it won’t be long before Lucifer’s not the only one she calls Daddy.

Come hell or high water, I’ll make her mine.

She turns her attention to the guy with the knife on her friend. “I’d say I’m sorry that Michael fucked you and the other members of the Righteous over, but I’m not, so ... Sorry, not sorry?” She shrugs like she couldn’t care less about this whole thing.

Though I know that couldn’t be further from the truth.

She’s a freaking Chaos Muppet.

How did I not see it sooner?

She and Lucifer are starting to make a whole lot more fucking sense. Even without Lucifer’s malicious bitch of a Mother having a hand in it.

“There’s only one way to expose a false prophet for what he is, did you know that, Ian?” Charlotte turns her attention back to Lucifer’s brother. “You let him speak his truth for the masses. Say hi to the world, Michael.” She points up toward the high-end cameras mounted on the ceiling and gives a cheeky wave.

The church’s livestream is broadcasting this whole thing.

But Michael’s truly in this for the blade.

He withdraws the sword I gave him so long ago, and Charlotte’s eyes go wide.

Like hell will I let him use it on mine and Lucifer’s woman.

Because until she makes her choice, she’s exactly that.

Ours.

I can’t speak for Lucifer, but I won’t ever make her choose.

I seize the moment to reform as I tackle Michael, just as Lilith lunges forward like the venomous snake of a son she gave birth to and tears into the guy with the spear who’s got a hold of her precious Seer. She’s been a total man-eater since God majorly fucked her over.

Not to say that I blame her.

The asshole with the lance gets what was coming to him.

Within a few seconds he’s nothing but blood, a few wayward limbs, and viscera. Charlotte’s friend is screaming for her ever-loving life behind the gag before I’m pretty sure she passes out from shock. Charlotte pales like she’s all of two moments away from doing the same, but then her eyes narrow on where the Holy Lance has now clattered to the floor, and she darts toward it.