Page 29 of Signed in Blood

I can lay them to rest.

I consider the future I don’t have until this very moment, trying to bury the past with his body.

I waited, taking refuge in that.

Then I remember who the fuck I am.

My eyes begin to slowly shut. The second he’s dead, I completely shut my eyes and feel for Lucifer to take me back to hell…

Except, it doesn’t feel like that anymore.

To me, it might be my fucking heaven.

Chapter Thirteen

Lucifer

* * *

The dull thud of her falling into my bed alerts me that my little piece has given into my desire for her to return to me. I watched her through the crows and her rage was beautifully creative. The fire crackles in the den as I pour us both a red blend into silver chalices from the Dark Ages.

The blood spattered on her neck and face are an exquisite touch. She’s so fucking gorgeous with the evidence of her violence painted on her fair skin.

She’s still, not moving an inch. Her chest rises and falls steadily and the thin black negligee delicately lifts with each breath. With a deep V at her chest and ending just above her knees, the sight of her is a tempting one. A piece I’ve wanted to see her in since that first night she stumbled into my path.

Fate is a funny thing.

“Lilith.” I greet her with a tone of seduction.

Slowly her head turns on the pillow and she lifts herself. The soft fabric sits in a puddle beneath her as she crosses her legs and stares back at me.

Something’s changed in those deep green eyes. Something heady and addictive.

“Lucifer,” she practically whispers. “I did it, didn’t I?” she questions as I hand her the chalice.

Before I sit on the bed, I remove my suit jacket. The bed groans gently as I take my place by her side.

She sips the wine and as she does, her eyes close softly.

The red liquid lingers on her lips and I’m eager to taste it. To taste her.

Staring into the den she whispers, “I killed him,” and then she looks up at me, almost hopeful. “Didn’t I?”

“You did,” I tell her and lean over to kiss her forehead. A soft simper plays on her lips from my touch. As I lean back she takes a gulp of the wine and savors the decadence. Her smile… I haven’t seen that look on her since…since she was alive. It soothes a part of me that worried she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to kill. How foolish we both were.

“Vengeance looks good on you,” I compliment her.

Her eyes flash and she looks down at the wine before looking back up at me. “I’m a murderer.”

Disappointment chills the atmosphere. As if what she’s done is a bad thing. As if she has regrets.

“I can’t believe I could do that,” she murmurs and then sets the glass of wine on the nightstand.

With a heavy inhale I leave my chalice next to hers and take out my handkerchief to wipe the splattering of blood off her.

“Let me,” I tell her as she flinches slightly. “You never have to fear my touch.”

“I’m starting to fear my own,” she confesses and I despise it. I understand the conflicting emotions. It’s one thing to want revenge, it’s another to live with yourself after you’ve taken it.