Lucifer (Dark Angels Book 1)

by Mandy Lee

  Hearing the clink of metal on metal, Luc turned back to the bed and looked directly into Katia’s astonishing mismatched eyes. They were the most captivating eyes he had ever seen. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Katia let out a blood-curdling scream. Luc took a couple of steps toward the bed, arms out in front of himself, palms up. Katia scrambled backwards to the corner of the bed as far as her cuffed wrist would allow. “Who the fuck are you? Don’t come any closer!” she yelled as she yanked on the cuff tethering her to the bed.

  “Calm down and stop jerking your arm like that; you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Hurt myself? Hurt myself?!? Fuck you! Like you give a shit!”

  “Oddly enough, despite appearances, I do. So, stop it okay?” Luc added quietly as he continued forward until he was able to perch on the edge of the bed again. He reached forward slowly toward Katia’s wrist in order to get a closer look at any damage she may have done in her struggles. Without warning, Katia kicked out and caught Luc in the ribs, knocking him onto the floor.

  “Okay, now that was completely unnecessary.” Luc stood, rubbing the sore spot on his ribs. This woman was small but mighty, definitely stronger than she looked. “I just wanted to see if you’d cut yourself on the cuffs.”

  Katia narrowed her eyes at him accusingly. “You drugged me!”

  “Yes.” Luc said matter-of-factly.

  “With what?”

  “Horse tranquilizer.”

  Katia’s jaw dropped as she took this one in. “A horse tranquilizer! Are you crazy?”

  “Don’t worry; it’s not harmful to humans. There shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”

  Rubbing her face with her free hand, Katia yanked on her cuffed wrist again. Shaking his head, Luc took a tentative step closer to the bed again. “You should really let me look at that to make sure you haven’t cut yourself.”

  “I’m fine. Now tell me where the hell I am.”

  “Interesting choice of words. That’s exactly where you are, hell…in a manner of speaking anyhow.”

  “Great,” Katia murmured, “I’ve been kidnapped by a lunatic.”

  “Not a lunatic, just a guy doing his job. There’s someone you should be familiar with that wants to collect what you owe. You must have known that someone would come for you sooner or later.”

  “Could you possibly be any more cryptic? That’s like saying “the thing with the stuff in the place that’s not here.” I mean, seriously, where am I? And who the fuck are you?”

  “Outer-Sheol, my apartment to be specific. And my name is Luc — not that it has any bearing on your situation.”

  She was looking at him like he’d just escaped from the mental ward. Not the reaction Luc had expected. Satan’s souls typically fought him when he came to collect, but they weren’t confused about the specifics of what was happening; they’d never doubted who he was or where he said they were. The deal was always clear — they got what they wanted in the human world because of demonic magic. In return, Satan owned their soul, to be collected at a time of his choosing. They were all made aware of Sheol and certainly knew that demons existed because they’d have had to call on one in order to make the deal in the first place. If this woman wanted to take the confused, innocent route, Luc had no time to play that game.

  “Look, you can pretend not to understand what’s going on if you want, but it won’t change the outcome.”

  “Then could you possibly shed a bit of light on what the outcome of my situation is?”

  Sighing and rolling his eyes, Luc decided to nip this crap in the bud. “As per your agreement when you sold your soul, Satan has decided to collect. I’ll be dropping you off in his custody as soon as I can find a demon to give us a ride.”

  Katia continued to stare at him like he had two heads, a look of confusion mixed with fear. “Let me get this straight. You think that I sold my soul to the devil, and you also think demons exist?”

  “I guess that’s the short and dirty version.”

  Luc watched as a dizzying array of emotions flitted across Katia’s face, finally settling in a mixture of hope and determination.

  “You know,” Katia began kindly, “I’m friends with a doctor down at Grace Hospital. He was there for me when my parents passed away…maybe we can go talk to him…he might be able to make the demons go away.”

  Luc looked at Katia in total confusion. This was new — a human trying to convince him that he was insane. How could she not know what was going on? The weird thing was that she didn’t look like she was lying. …Then again she had been with the witch…

  Walking back to the corner of the room, Luc resumed his seat in the wingback chair, steepled his fingers, and gave Katia a long look.

  “The man you were with at the café…what is your relationship to him?”

  Katia’s expression fell. He’d clearly not given her the response she’d been hoping for.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but we work together as musicians at the Met.”

  “You looked pretty comfortable together for colleagues.”

  “He’s my pianist. I play the violin. We’ve worked together for a few years. So yeah, we’re comfortable.”

  “You kissed him.” Luc tossed out to her in an accusing tone that even took him aback.

  Katia threw up her un-cuffed hand and sighed. “We were on a first date, okay! Again, it’s none of your business.”

  Luc frowned inwardly. He couldn’t understand this growing sense of irritation that was setting up shop inside him at the thought of Katia and her date. Getting sidetracked by a pretty face could only lead to trouble. Luc already knew enough about trouble and wasn’t in the market for more. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Luc almost sent up a prayer to Heofon to deliver him from this woman. “The ring he wears, do you know what it is?”

  Shooting Luc a quizzical look, Katia nodded. “Sergei told me it was a family ring that had been passed down for several generations.”

  Nodding, Luc leaned his elbows on his knees and sharpened his gaze on her. “Do you know what it means?”

  “Well, no, I just assumed it was part of the family’s crest. Sergei is descended from a very old, noble Russian family.”

  Pursing his lips, Luc nodded. “Yes. The family that bears that crest is very old and was connected to the nobility.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes sizing each other up. As Luc watched her, Katia broke eye contact and looked down at the blanket she was sitting on and picked mindlessly at an errant thread. She peered up at him through her lashes, her eyes narrowed in thought.

  She took a deep breath and spoke quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

  Luc raised an eyebrow and nodded at her.

  “Did you manage to drug my latte at Insomnia somehow?” Katia visibly held her breath as she waited to see how he would react to her question.

  Confused, Luc shook his head and frowned. “Absolutely not. Why do you ask?”

  Katia frowned. “It’s just that ever since I noticed you at the café, I’ve been seeing this weird light around you. I know it sounds crazy…maybe I’m going nuts…probably am.” She waved her free hand in a dismissive gesture, looking back up at Luc as she did so. “I guess I was hoping it was a drug that did it, not just me going loopy.”

  Luc’s jaw dropped and he stared at her in shock. It wasn’t possible! Humans weren’t able to see the aura that surrounded angels. His mind spun trying to make sense of this new information. After all this time away from Heofon, his aura should barely be visible. Yet here was Katia telling him she could see it. He could barely see it anymore for Sheol's sake! As the blackness inside him had spread, his aura had become increasingly faint.

  Luc had picked up a low-level energy pulsing off her skin whenever he had touched her, like static electricity. He’d assumed it was residual energy from being in constant close contact with the witch, but evidently he had been mistaken. There was only one conclusion here, and it certainly complicat
ed matters. Katia couldn’t be human. “What are you?” He asked Katia.

  “I’m not sure what you mean…I’m a musician…?” Katia raised her eyebrows at him.

  Shaking his head, Luc tried again. “No. That’s not what I meant.” Exasperated, he tried again. “What are you?”

  No sooner had the words left his lips when a shimmering began in the air a few feet from the bed. Katia rubbed her eyes and squinted at the anomaly. Suddenly, the wavering patch of space began to tear away from its surroundings. With an audible rip, a dimensional doorway tore open revealing a handsome man with glowing yellow eyes in a designer suit.

  Amir stepped through the doorway into Luc’s bedroom, the tear in the fabric of space weaving shut behind him. As Luc rose to greet him, a scream pierced the air. Katia was terrified, screaming and yanking at the cuff securing her to the bed. Even from a couple of feet away, Luc could see the blood that had begun to run from the violent friction of the cuff against her skin, the droplets standing out like rubies against the milky whiteness of her wrist. “Shit! Amir don’t move; she’s freaking out. I’m gonna have to put her out before she really hurts herself.” Luc dashed over to the bedside table, tore it open, and pulled out a syringe. Good thing he’d thought to keep an extra dose just in case.

  Throwing himself across the bed toward her, Luc plunged the syringe into her arm and depressed the stopper. In seconds, Katia’s screams stopped and her breathing began to slow. Moving to her side, he pulled her gently into his arms. Lethargically, she tipped her face upwards to look him in the eyes. The tracks of tears running down her face caused his breath to stick in his throat. For the first time in centuries he felt like someone had taken a hammer to the wall of ice around his heart, a small piece breaking away and melting into his blood. Reaching out, Luc traced the path of her tears. “I’m so sorry,” he said, voice catching as she drifted back into the darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  The light from the gothic, cast-iron sconces illuminated the winding stone staircase leading down into the dungeons. Moisture seeped in from between the stones in the walls feeding moss that grew in patches. Pink-tinged from drawing its life from the bloody river below the castle, the patchy plant life gave off a scent of rot and death. His footsteps echoed on the stone flags as Satan made his way down to the cells located in the bowels of the castle. This was a visit he made on a regular basis. Only a select few of his minions knew about this particular prisoner. Locked behind two separate doors, crafted of charmed Wolframite, was one of the most powerful beings in the world. If his plan went off without a hitch, this prisoner would play a part in Satan’s ultimate bid for power. Smiling to himself and whistling “who’s afraid of the big bad wolf,” Satan congratulated himself on the impending success of his plans. Centuries ago, he had given up on this route to becoming the most powerful force in existence. That had all changed thirty-five years ago. In the larger scale of things, three decades wasn’t long to wait for a plan to come to fruition, but he was still anxious to get the show on the road. It was only a matter of time now. He had almost all of the pieces on the chessboard in play and now only waited for delivery of his queen. Earlier that day he had received a report from his minion, Voss, that she had arrived in Sheol. Soon the binding would take place and he would leave this shithole for good. Time to get cracking on ideas for re-decorating Heofon's palace.

  The heat began to waft toward him from enormous boilers set up to dispell the chill surrounding the castle. It was cold as a witch’s tit here, one thing Satan wouldn't miss when he finally got to take ownership of his new kingdom. Finally hitting the landing, he began the long walk toward his VIP’s cell. Striding along the hallway, he smiled at the sounds of pain echoing from the cells around him. Nothing brightened his day like the dulcet tones of suffering. Being stuck in this fucking castle sucked, he had to get his kicks somehow. The balance between the Dark and the Light be damned. Things had changed too much for his liking over the centuries. His demons had begun to break his hold over them. Now only a few species remained who existed only to serve. The others had become so human, able to decide the fate of their own souls. That was all going to change…soon. Soon he would be able to put a stop to the positive influence of the angels and fae...all creatures of the Light. He’d fill his dungeon with them, ripping off their wings and feeding them to his sisters. He would leave this place and conquer Heofon and the world of man.

  Reaching the door to the specially-charmed cell, Satan reached out and placed his palm near the handle. The sound of tumblers rolling echoed around him. With one final click, the door swung open. As he entered, he muttered a command and the door swung shut behind him. Marching forward, he repeated the process with the second door. Satan emerged on the other side into a large room, the walls, floor, and ceiling were all cold stone. Heat from the boilers was unable to penetrate the thick stone and Wolframite doors. Satan’s breath puffed out in front of him like a fluffy white cloud. A thin layer of frost was evident on the stone walls surrounding the single barred window on the far wall. The dungeon level of the castle looked directly out onto the winding vines that crept around the building, allowing some of the black sludge to ooze through the cracks of the window.

  The room was dimly lit, with one sole candelabra standing on a small wooden table in the center of the room. Charcoal drawings were stuck to the walls and littered the floor, along with a multitude of books that sat in messy piles, leaning like mini Towers of Pisa around the room. A large four poster bed sat in the corner farthest from the frozen window. Satan’s VIP sat on the bed sketching as he usually did. There wasn’t much else for him to do down here to pass the time. Walking over to one of the walls, Satan took in the sketches covering the space in front of him. The same woman figured in all of the drawings, her face shown from different angles and in various expressions. In some of the sketches, she was smiling; in most, she simply had a heartbreaking look of longing.

  “Very life-like.” Satan said, motioning to one of the sketches on the wall.

  “Is it?” Came a voice raspy from disuse.

  “Yes, surprisingly so.”

  “Interesting.”

  Peering through the dim, flickering light at his prisoner, Satan looked him over. “We are expecting a guest soon I'd like you to meet. We should probably get you fixed up a bit before then.”

  Looking up from his sketchpad, the prisoner raised his eyebrows. “Really? Is there something wrong with how I look?”

  “Not wrong, per se.” Satan replied cryptically.

  Sighing, the prisoner placed the sketchpad down on the bed. “Considering you’ve never given me a mirror, I wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “You’ve never needed one before. This is different. I imagine our special guest will be anxious to meet you.” Satan replied, reaching down and picking up a book off the nearest pile. It looked as though it had been read countless times — the spine was cracked and splitting in several places, multiple pages were dog-eared. The Count of Monte Cristo, he smiled wryly, how fitting.

  Replacing the book on the top of the pile, Satan motioned toward the drawing of the woman. “Why do you keep drawing her?” he asked, genuinely curious about the answer. His prisoner had been drawing the same thing since he was old enough to hold a pencil. Now, with this whole saga quickly coming to a close, he could entertain his curiosity.

  “She’s in my dreams. I feel like I know her, not sure why.” The prisoner answered matter-of-factly.

  “Interesting,” Satan replied. Narrowing his eyes, he turned back to his VIP. No matter how many times he came down here to visit, he couldn’t believe what he saw. It was remarkable really — it shouldn’t have been possible. Shaking his head, he turned and left the room without another word, the doors clanging shut behind him in succession.

  The prisoner rose and moved to stand in front of the charcoal sketch his Master had been examining before his departure. Reaching out, he ran his fingers down the line of the woman’s jaw. He sighed
and dropped his hand back down to his side and turned into the light revealing a face that only the Master himself had ever laid eyes upon. He had a thin, pale face; full, but chapped, lips; darkly-arching eyebrows; defined jawline; and a tangled mass of jet-black hair. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, held it for a moment then exhaled and opened them to stare at the flickering candle with one emerald eye and one blue.

  Chapter Nine

  Katia was floating on the softest, fluffiest cloud she could imagine. All of her cares and worries had been swept away and she felt lighter than she had felt in what seemed like forever. Sighing, Katia wondered if she was dead. If this was Heaven she was all in. No, she thought, she wasn’t dead, just having a wonderful dream. It was much better than the last one. That had been the strangest dream she had ever had — hot guys walking through invisible portals and staring at her with electric eyes, being kidnapped by handsome glowing strangers that believed in witches and demons. She was definitely going to have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist when she woke up, but for now this dream felt heavenly.

  As she reveled in the softness all around her, Katia began to hear snippets of voices.

  “…tell her about her friend…”

  “…your exceptionally well-timed visit…”

  “…asked for my help, so I came…”

  “…does she know…”

  “…don’t get your knickers in a twist, my man…”

  “…give a shit what you think…”

  “…take a breath and start thinking with your big brain…”