Lucifer's Bride [Complete]

83

I hadn't realized my husband – the bold, brash, unforgiving Lucifer – could be so sentimental. He'd memorized Tarioc's life story for all this time, and never once did he try to divert the subject when I asked. He seemed genuinely proud to know Tarioc. I turned my head and stared up at the delicately tiled ceiling, happy to know my husband does, in fact, have a soft spot somewhere.

As I stared up at the marble ceiling, my thoughts switched to our marriage. Honestly, I'd lost track of the time I'd been here. I was so busy kicking Leyna's ass and trying to be a good queen that I'd completely forgotten how long he and I have been legally bound together. It can't be more than a few weeks.

"Lucifer. How long have we been married?" Maybe he's kept better track of the days.

"Five and a half months."

What?

"That long?" my voice betrays my shock.

"Yep."

I'm stunned. We can't haven been married for five months! It barely feels like three weeks!

"But how?" I turn to stare at him, begging for an answer.

He smiles down at me, running a hand through my hair. "Time moves much faster down here. What feels like days to you is actually weeks. That's what makes the eternity part of punishment here so awful. One day will pass, yet the damned sense it as a month."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. This place is more confusing that calculus, and yet he rules it as if it's the simplest form of equation. There's no stress for him here beyond traitorous succubae and escaping souls, so it should be easy for him. But for me, as an outsider, it's the most screwed up place in the world.

"Five small months," he grins down at me. "Only an eternity left to go."

I manage a small, honest smile. "I don't think I'll mind that."

A thunderous knock at the door snaps us out of our light mood. A quick succession of sharp knocks follows the first, indication that whoever is on the other side is annoyed and very impatient. Lucifer groans and gently pushes himself up, giving me time to haul myself to my feet before her rises to his full height. He reaches out with one arm and presses it against my stomach, forcing me back a few steps so I'm out of the way in case something goes wrong.

"Yes?" His voice shifts from calm and soft to thunderous and unforgiving.

"Sire?" Lilith's sickly-sweet voice comes wafting through the door, making my stomach turn and my blood boil. "Tarioc sent me here. He said you weren't feeling well."

A devilish smile crosses my husband's flawless lips. "Excellent."

He turns to me and spins me around, gently shoving me towards the bathroom. I go willingly, knowing that for our plan to work I need to be hidden. We reach the doors quickly, and Lucifer opens it just enough that I can slide through. He closes it until only a crack remains, allowing me to stay hidden within the shadows while I watch.

"Stay here," he whispers. "Not a sound until I beckon you."

I nod and blow him a kiss. He grins and reaches out in the air to catch my invisible kiss, fisting his hand over his heart once he does. He spins around and heads toward the bed, spinning around once he reaches it and sits down on the edge. He takes a deep breath and cradles his head in his hands, his wings going limp against his shoulders.

"Master?" Lilith calls out again.

"Yes." Lucifer answers, his voice shaky and broken as if he'd just been weeping.

The door cracks open a bit, and Lilith peeks around the door to scope out the scene, satisfied that I'm 'dead' and that Lucifer is heartbroken, she slips though the door and closes it behind her. There's a vicious smile on her lips, but it disappears after a heartbeat, replaced by a look of heartbroken empathy.

In true Lilith fashion, she's not dressed for the occasion. Supposedly I'm dead and this should be a sorrowful occasion, but she's all dressed up like she's going to a club. She's wearing a skin-tight floor-length ruby gown with braided fabric on the shoulders and an insanely deep neckline that stops at her bellybutton and shows way too much skin. There's a slit on one side of the bottom of the dress that reaches all the way to her hip. It shows every inch of her long legs and her ridiculously embellished six inch heels.

For Lucifer, this is a funeral. For Lilith, it's the Miss America pageant.

Lilith walks over to the bed, her heels clicking softly on the tile floor. She kneels down on the tile, placing a perfectly manicured hand on my husband's shoulder and giving him her best pouty-face. Lucifer keeps his face cradled in his hands, but his shaky breathing and cracking voice give the illusion of sorrow.

"Oh, master," Lilith purrs. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." Lucifer responds, still sounding horrified and heartbroken.

"I warned you she'd be easy to lose." Her voice is soft, but there's a tiny hint of joy in it.

Lilith starts stroking Lucifer's back, an action that almost makes me go nuts and storm out of the bathroom. Somehow, I keep my anger and possessiveness down – great, now I'm the jealous one – and stay quiet, waiting for the moment Lucifer calls me in to join the show.

"Humans always are," Lilith continues to stroke his shoulders as she rubs my demise into him. "They're fragile and uneducated about our world. It must have been painfully easy for Leyna to catch her. The bitch was always too ambitious for her own good."

"I killed her..." Lucifer trails off, his tone heartbreaking and overwhelming.

"But not on purpose," Lilith counters. "You were trying to protect her. She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was an accident."

Lucifer is silent for a moment, and I start to second-guess our game. Maybe he doesn't want to punish Lilith. Maybe he just wants to toy with her for a bit, then let her go. She is his favorite after all. My guts twists, hoping that isn't the case.

Finally, Lucifer lifts his head from his hands. His cheeks are stained with dark rivers of wetness, the tears leaving black streaks on his skin as they roll down his face. His perfect lips tremble in pain as he stares aimlessly at the wall. My heart actually skips a beat in pain and pity. I know this is all an act, but my husband is doing a dead-on impression of a grieving husband.

And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to...