Cult of Two

Blood Poisoning

Breakfast was always a tense affair. With Sabrina at one end of the table and Lucifer at the other, it felt more like a standoff than a simple family meal. He leered over her like she was something to be eaten instead of the surprisingly delicious dragonfruit crepes she was currently devouring. The astral projection had taken a lot out of her.

Magick was... intense, to say the least. It boiled one's blood like a potion in a cauldron and left the caster aching to expel the energy they had been given or replace the energy they had lost. The ways of replacing or expelling excess energy varied depending on the type of spell and the witch.

The Lupercalia was the perfect example of this. Energy was absorbed from the other participants and expelled through the act of sex. If sex wasn't an option, witches also picked fights or went hunting.

On the other side of the coin, there was replacing lost energy. There were a lot of ways to do this. Moon bathing was a good one. Sleep was another. Ambrose seemed to sleep for days after a difficult spell-cast, and Sabrina consumed copious amounts of food.

Unfortunately, Lucifer seemed to notice her increased appetite.

"You have quite the appetite today, daughter."

She rolled her eyes and reached for her glass of water. It wasn't glass, not really. It was a goblet made of crystal because they couldn't just drink out of cups like normal people.

"So?" she asked. Wasn't Hell a place of excess and indulgence?

"Is there a reason for this?" he questioned, although he clearly knew the answer. He just wanted her to admit it. He wanted her to damn herself over and over again until she walked back down the bloodred road and into his arms.

As if.

"The Queen and I had a particularly eventful morning," Caliban announced as he waltzed into the dining room. The Plague Kings were hot on his heels. His cocky tone and smug grin clearly implied that they were engaged in activities she didn't even want to consider. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the distraction.

"Our apologies, my queen, for keeping your fiancé from you," Beelzebub said.

"We had important matters to discuss," Asmodeus explained.

"Don't let it happen again."

She plastered a sweet, false smile on her face and turned her attention back to Caliban. His eyes were already on her face, and his hand was reaching towards hers. She reached forward, placing her hand in his.

He took a moment to fiddle with the engagement ring on her finger before leaning down to press a kiss to the back of her hand.

This whole display, the ring included, was carefully orchestrated to convince her father that they were romantically involved, and to a lesser extent, piss him off.

He had stated that she was supposed to be his queen, yet she was consorting with Caliban, who he considered to be a lesser being.

What she hadn't counted on when she had suggested this tactic, was the way his lips would burn against her skin like a brand. Or the way he would soothingly run his thumb over the spot he kissed, as though he knew what he had done.

That didn't mean she liked him, though. She most certainly did not. He was a pompous, arrogant, self-centered bastard, but he was a pompous, arrogant, self-centered bastard who was making an effort.

She supposed that she should try to make an effort, too. After all, they were going to be spending a lifetime together.

She didn't have to like him to be nice to him.