Page 56 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Forty-Seven

Charlotte

I don’t know what to make of Jax’s reading—or her prophetic vision, I guess?—as I ask Dagon to speed back toward the penthouse, toward Lucifer.

I still love him, after all, and I barely know Azrael.

But I won’t deny there’s some kind of weird attraction between him and me.

An understanding that seems to run bone deep.

I find Lucifer alone in his home office, having recently returned from Hell, if the smell of brimstone on him is any indication, and poring over what appears to be—

“Are those—?”

“The Dead Sea Scrolls? Yes.” He doesn’t glance up from where he’s reading.

“And why are you—?”

He clears his throat. “I’m trying to locate something.”

“Locate something?”

He rubs his temple like he’s quickly growing impatient with me. But I don’t have time to be annoyed at how dismissive he’s being.

“About your Mother,” I say.

That gets his attention.

“She wants vengeance against God for locking you and your siblings away.”

Lucifer sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he looks at me. “I’m aware.”

“And you also said she’s the one who told you that God’s growing tired of humanity, correct?”

He inhales a deep breath, holding it. “I’m not certain I understand where you’re heading with this.”

“What if she lied?” I say, going all in on my play. Let the chips fall where they may, I guess. Who wants to accuse their Goddess of a future Mother-in-Law, God’s furious ex-wife, of lying? “What if she lied to both you and Michael?”

Lucifer’s brow pinches. “And why, pray tell, would she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“And do you have any evidence of this?”

“No, nothing, but . . .”

Lucifer’s eyes narrow before he stands, gathering his papers. “Now, you’re talking nonsense, Charlotte. I don’t have time to listen to any half-baked theories. They—”

“They’re not half baked.” I press my palms flat on top of his desk to support my weight. I tell him about Jax’s vision then. About the dreams I had about his Mother even before he ever met me. “She’s been manipulating us all from the start. Don’t you see?”

Lucifer waves my accusation off, heading to the cabinet to pour himself a glass of whisky.

“Even if that were true, little dove, even if you had any proof, what would it change? What purpose would it serve? Michael is hell-bent upon starting the apocalypse whether you, I, my Mother, or the whole blasted universe like it or not.”

My mind reels, my eyes darting back and forth as I struggle to connect all the dots. “What if she’s planning something worse?”

Lucifer leans against the edge of his desk beside me, raising his brows.

I glance toward the floor, my hands drifting up to my neck to touch my mother’s crucifix. “I would have done anything to get back at Mark for what he did to me. Anything .” I lift my gaze toward him.

Lucifer nods once, like he understands, before he takes a sip of his whisky and sets it down on the desk. He stares past me for a moment, as if deep in thought. “That may be true. But to what end? To what point? For what purpose would she—?”

“To punish Him. To punish Him for what He took from her.”

Lucifer goes still, our eyes locking. “You mean for the love she freely gifted Him?”

Neither of us is talking about his parents anymore.

I shake my head, placing my hand over his. “It’s not freely given if He wasn’t honest with her. If her love was wrapped up in His manipulation.”

Lucifer swallows visibly, pushing off the desk. “Be that as it may, Charlotte, this is all conjecture, speculation. Unless you have—”

He staggers, clutching at his side.

“Lucifer?”

His face pales.

“Lucifer?”

I step toward him, but then he collapses onto the floor.

“Lucifer!” I run to his side, my hands flitting over where he now lies on his back, his eyelids flickering like he’s struggling to remain conscious.

I don’t know how or why I choose what to do next, but suddenly, I’m gripping his shoulders, shaking him as I shout, loud enough the whole penthouse has to hear me, “Azrael!”

Azrael appears from a cloud of smoke that swirls at my side, his eyes falling to Lucifer as he swears loudly. “I told him he was overdoing it,” he growls.

Without saying anything further, he lifts Lucifer up underneath his arms, hauling him into a nearby chair.

I run to the door, meeting a frenzied, concerned-looking Ramesh there. “Call a doctor. Now .”

Ramesh nods and rushes off.

I turn to find Azrael holding the half-drunk glass of whisky Lucifer abandoned on his desk. He splashes it into Lucifer’s face, but Lucifer doesn’t stir until Azrael hauls back and slaps him.

I sputter.

“Fucking hell, Reaper,” Lucifer growls, finally rousing as he paws at his cheek. “Next time use something bottom shelf.” He groans before he lurches to the side and spits out a glob of blood onto the office floor, from where he must have bitten his cheek.

Azrael ignores him. Abruptly, he grips Lucifer by his hair. Lucifer grumbles, attempting to swat him off as Azrael roughly pulls his head back, shining a penlight he snags from his back pocket into Lucifer’s eyes.

Meanwhile, all I seem capable of doing is standing there, my throat constricted with worry as I watch the Angel of Death manhandle my future husband.

Now might be the time to say something.

“What the hell is going on?” I cross the room to Lucifer’s side, shouldering Azrael out of the way with a chastising frown as I perch on the edge of the armchair so I can get a good view of Lucifer.

His face is pale, the dark circles under his eyes I’ve been so concerned about even darker than usual. Some of the color’s returning to his cheeks, though his eyes are still hazy, and a clear sheen of sweat coats his skin.

I place my hand to his forehead, my eyes widening in shock as I realize ...

Holy hell. He’s burning up.

“What’s happening?” I ask, glancing toward Azrael. “Why’s he like this?”

Azrael looks toward me, a hint of confusion and then pity in his eyes, before he turns toward Lucifer. “You didn’t tell her?” he growls.

“Didn’t tell me what?” My eyes dart between them.

Azrael gives Lucifer a furious glare, like if he doesn’t start talking fast, Azrael will give him a real reason to pass out.

And to my shock, Lucifer actually listens.

“I lost my power,” he whispers softly, his eyes narrowing into thin slits as he casts daggers toward Azrael with them.

“You what ?” My gaze flits over him, my hands moving in tandem in search of what injury could have caused this.

Lucifer mumbles something unintelligible in Azrael’s direction as he pops open one of the buttons of his dress shirt before unceremoniously ripping it open the rest of the way. He lifts the undershirt he’s been wearing lately to reveal—

I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth.

His torso is covered in stitches. Dozens and dozens of them. Someone used a blade to run him clean through. The skin around the stitches is red and inflamed, like it might be infected, and over his heart there’s a new puckered scar from where Michael must have—

I gulp.

Where Michael branded him with his angelic sigil. Azrael’s been giving me lessons in more than just celestial battle training. He’s seen nine apocalypses now—yes, nine —and my coffee dates to go over the play-party details with Azmodeus have been, well, enlightening.

“He needs a doctor,” I say to Azrael. “A human doctor. Now. This is infected.”

“I’ve never needed a bloody doctor in—”

I shoot Lucifer a furious look, and he falls silent. Uncharacteristically prudent.

“I’m on it,” Azrael says, before he disappears.

No wonder Lucifer nearly passed out. If he no longer has his powers, that likely means he doesn’t heal the same way he usually does, and if he doesn’t heal like usual, does that mean he’s ...

“Mortal,” he finishes my thought. “Yes, though only when I’m topside.”

My fingers shake as I trace over the raised lines of Michael’s sigil. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears gather in my eyes as I think of all the agony he must have been in.

Without me.

And for what?

Because I was angry? Because I didn’t like the choices he was making?

Or was it because he’d kept me at arm’s length? Made me feel like he couldn’t trust me?

All that seems so childish now.

“To open the first seal, I had to give up my earthly powers, Charlotte,” he says softly. “That was the penance my Father expected me to pay.”

“Your Father?” I breathe, my eyes sweeping over the extent of his wounds. “He did this to you?” If his injuries are this bad now, how bad were they when he ...

“My brother actually,” Lucifer answers. “At my Father’s behest.”

So still on God’s orders.

My jaw tightens.

What parent, God or not, would ever do something like this to their child?

Suddenly, Lilith’s anger feels justified.

Azrael reappears on the far side of the office, drawing our attention. “The doctor’s on his way.”

I give a curt nod in thanks before I look away.

The way he’s watching Lucifer, the worry on his face. The way he touched him as if Lucifer and his body were incredibly familiar, it’s almost like he ...

“You were there, the night this happened?” I ask, shoving the train of thought aside.

“Unfortunately,” Lucifer grumbles, wincing a little as he tries and fails to readjust his position in the chair.

Azrael gives him a reproachful glare. “I haven’t seen him look that bad since they severed his wings.”

“Severed?” Suddenly, the reality of that seems even more horrifying than it did previously. I glance between them.

There’s a long and sordid history there that I can’t even begin to comprehend.

Not fully.

“Why? Why would you give up your powers like that?”

Does he truly hate humanity that much?

Lucifer shakes his head, like he knows what I’m thinking, though I can’t hear him on the other side of our connection. No wonder it’s been so weak. “I thought the trial would be something more trivial. I did it to protect you.”

I frown. My fear and worry for him quickly twist into frustration. “Don’t you dare pretend that you did it for—”