cupid clearly hates me.

[ 27 ]

☆ ??'s POV, present tense

Lucifer is stupid if he thinks he can just give (Y/N) away.

Neither Alastor, nor Lucifer, are any match for me. I am immortal.

And (Y/N) is so pure, heaven would do anything to get her on their side of the clouds. They would pay any price for her, for she would be the perfect angel.

That price? It belongs to me, and I plan on taking what's rightfully mine.

☆ Second person POV, past tense

The air didn't feel right in your lungs. It felt too thick, too stuffy and too musty, like you were breathing through a dusty cloth. Your eyes were watering, as if smoke had floated into your tear ducts and clogged them, but there was no smoke.

Am I crying? You touched your cheek. It was cool and wet. I am crying.

You wiped the tears off on the front of your shirt and blinked a few times. You couldn't look Lucifer in the eyes—for you were scared of what you would see in them. The truth. It sat there, cold and raw. Lucifer would kill Alastor, and then he would send you to heaven.

Maybe it would be better in heaven. Maybe Alastor was toxic for you, and this would be for the best. Maybe it would all work out in the end.

Cupid must have hated you. Why would he strike you with the arrow of love if the man you wanted most was out of your reach?

You took a deep breath, but the sensation of breathing through a clogged air filter was still there. The fogginess made you sick, but instead of vomitting, you spoke. Staring down at Lucifer's polished, black leather loafers, you uttered with as much confidence as possible, "You can't kill him."

Lucifer was examining the way-too-shiny apple atop his cane when you said it. He remained silent, but the silence lasted too long. Eerily long.

"What makes you say that, dear?"

"Don't call me that, you fucking heartless reptile."

Lucifer's loafers didn't move, but suddenly, he was an inch in front of your face. With a gentle touch, he cupped your chin and lifted it, so your eyes could align with his. His mouth was so close to yours that you could feel the gentle heat of his breath floating through the already stuffy air and landing over your skin. Now that you were staring into his eyes from such a short distance, you realized that they shimmered with much more than just the truth.

In his bright orbs, you saw power. You saw feelings and emotions, like lust, hatred, disgust, anger; most of which were considered sinful emotions in the bible.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N), but I don't think I have done anything to deserve your pathetic insults. I have been nothing but kind to you." With the hand that wasn't under your chin, he touched your arm. "The least you can do in return is allow me to call you dear. Tell me, what's the problem with that?" he asked. His voice was quiet, and if you didn't know any better, you would think he actually cared about your response.

"You just said that you're going to kill the man I love," you said, hoping that if any spit flew out of your mouth, it hit him right in his stupid yellow eyes. "And now you have the audacity to call me that—"

You stopped talking.

Because the pain on your skin was so burning hot that you could barely breathe.

He wasn't trying to make his grip on your arm seem comforting anymore. It became a death grip, locking you in place, hurting you. His fingers were as hot as burning metal, sinking through your epidermis and into the flesh and bone below. The pressure and heat was so great that your head went dizzy. You didn't even have enough energy to scream, but you totally would have if you were able.