Hell's Bells: Lucifer's Tale (Welcome to Hell Book 6) (10 page)

T
he chaos
of battle reigned all around him. Lucifer didn’t cringe though. He did not wipe the specks of blood that spattered his new outfit. Black jeans, black nylon shirt, toe flip-flops, oh and sunglasses, which he realized might have been overkill.

This outfit needs a cape.

Capes got caught. Better not to wear one. At least he’d changed. He’d almost run to battle in his mutant pajamas.

Strutting through the fighting masses, Lucifer spent a moment seething about how this had come to pass. He’d lost his mind to the light side and all because of a heart. His defective heart.

Nothing wrong with caring.

See that cage, the one you kept me in? Why don’t you pay it a visit?

Or how about I put you back in there?

The problem with a mental battle, especially one where you represented both sides, it was a lot harder to cheat.

His fight with his goody-two-shoes half felt like a bitch slap fest. But that all changed at the strident cry of his name.

“Luc!” Gaia called for him, but he couldn’t see her amidst the fighting bodies.

Where is she?
He vaulted onto the back of something chitinous and with his new height could see the battle-beach clearly.

Saw his sweet wench clutching at her midsection. Reeling backwards, his earth goddess fell. The quivering weapon, thrusting upright from her body, collapsed in a splash of liquid, but it wasn’t enough to wash away all the bright green blood as it flowed from the grievous wounds puncturing her body.

She’s hurt.

More than hurt. She was about to die. Ursula rose above her, a new watery trident held aloft, triumph in her gaze.

She’s going to kill my wench!

That evil fucking hag thought she was going to kill his woman? Like hell.

Rage exploded in him, a molten heat that coursed through his limbs and burned all futile resistance away.

Whatever shadow of good that still clung to him shed under his glorious return. He jumped from the crustacean, the force flattening it. He stood taller as he drew in the power he could harness around him.

I’m back.
And he was fucking pissed.

Lucifer strode forth. With each step, his bearing drew more rigid, his eyes burned more fiercely, and a snap of his fingers was all it took to have a fabulous cape streaming from his back.

The legion parted before him, sensing his greatness. As for the enemy in his path, he swept a hand and bowled them from his shores. They had no place on his land.

Ursula caught sight of him and paused before pulling her arm back, preparing to plunge her trident.

With everyone’s attention on him—where it belonged—Lucifer bellowed, “Drop that fucking oversized fork, you fishy-smelling hag, before I spear you on it and roast you over the coals of Hell!” By the time he finished yelling, smoke poured from his ears, and his entire body was wreathed in a red glow.

“You won’t hurt me. It would be a sin,” said Ursula with a smirk.

“I know. And I’m way behind on my quota.” He snapped his fingers, and chains shot up from the shore of the Darkling Sea and wrapped around her shape.

Idiots always forgot Hell was his realm.
Mine.
And while he might allow them to play in it for sport, ultimately, he ruled it.

When the hag would have spoken, he slashed a finger in the air and stole the air from her lungs and around her. He stomped, and with each step, the ground trembled. All of Hell trembled.

“I allowed your return to this realm because I thought perhaps you’d learned to behave, or at least not be so fucking stupid.” He stopped before Ursula, noting the fear in her eyes. Liking it.

He tilted her chin, and a cruel smirk twisted his lips. “I could have perhaps respected your need for vengeance against me, but you should have never, ever touched my wench.”

Only I touch her.

Most times Lucifer believed in a long, drawn-out tortuous retribution. Usually.

Today, he took a page from Muriel’s book.

He beheaded Ursula and, with a flick of his fingers to his legion, ordered them to, “Chop her to pieces and scatter her remains on as many planes as you can reach.”

A great leader didn’t bother to see if they obeyed. They would or face his wrath. Besides, he’d already wasted too much time.

He dropped to his knees by his wench, worried by her waxy pallor. With every second, she inched away from him. So he did the only thing he could. He stopped time.

T
weet
. Tweet. Chirp. Twirl.

The little birdies flew drunkenly inside her eyelids, bright red and blue, flapping about in all their cartoon glory, her subconscious mocking Gaia’s most girly swoon.

I think I’m allowed a bit of a moment, considering I’ve been stabbed with a fork!
The holes in her stomach stung. Not to mention leached her strength. Nothing like the poison of another dimension to bring a girl down.

To which her drunken birds, with no regard at all, uttered a shrill,
TWEET!
Translation: Suck it up.

Apparently, her subconscious birdies enjoyed channeling Lucifer’s creed.

Still, they weren’t as annoying—and welcome—as the voice cajoling her. “Come on, wench. Open those damned eyes. Stop being such a lazy ass. Napping in the middle of battle. Or is this your way of breaking your word? If you think you’re going to get out of the wedding by dying, then you’ve got another thing coming. I will chase you down in the afterlife. A deal is a deal. I am not letting you escape my grubby clutches that easily.” Then more gruffly. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

Sounded as if she was dead already because she could swear that exasperated tone belonged to Luc. Her Luc. The way he should be. Annoyed and bugging her.

Perhaps she’d suffered a concussion when she swooned. How else to explain her hopeful auditory hallucination?

“Have you forgotten I know when you’re faking? It doesn’t work in bed, and it won’t work now.”

As if she ever had to fake it. Lucifer would never leave her hanging. Even he wasn’t that selfish.

Did the voice truly belong to him? Fear made her want to keep feigning sleep just in case she dreamed.

Don’t be a coward.

She pried open a single eye and almost blinked it shut as she saw his dashing face, set in a dark scowl, hovering over hers.

Lucifer never was a man to give her personal space. She rather liked that, despite his claims they should remain aloof in public, lest she ruin his street cred. He often broke his own rule, staking his claim on her in subtle, at least to him, ways.

His face lowered so that his iris hovered only a few inches above hers. In its depths she could see the always-burning fires of Hell. “She lives,” he announced. “Not that I’m happy or anything about it one way or another. Really couldn’t give a damn.”

At that blasé announcement, she almost burst into tears of joy. She refrained because, much like a nervous hellcolt, the slightest sign of tears might send Luc bolting. She stuck to finding out if it truly was him. “What do you think of world peace?”

“Wish they’d get on with it because all this sinning cuts into my golf game.”

“Low fat diets?”

“Discriminatory to delicious carbs and calories.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?” The true question as to who controlled Luc’s body right now.

“Everyone knows it’s cinnamon apple pie. Your pie.” He licked his lips, and she could almost see the memory of the last time he’d licked her reflected in his gaze.

“It really is you. You’re back.”

Lowering his head, he brushed his lips over hers and let the wicked tip of his forked tongue tease the seam of her lips. “Damned straight I’m me. The Lord of Hell is back. Past time too.”

Wrapping an arm around his neck, she clung to him, noting that he held back, careful to not press against her wound. “But how?” she murmured against his neck, inhaling his familiar scent, a heady blend of sin and brimstone that, until now, she’d not even realized he lacked.

“How she asks? Because of you. I should say no thanks to you. You know, if you wanted to shake me up, you didn’t have to almost die. What were you thinking letting that hag distract you like that? Epic fail on your warrior skills there, wench.”

“So sorry I disappointed,” she retorted. “I’d just gotten some distressing news.”

“Nothing is worth your life.”

She ran her hand down his cheek, loving the burn of his heated skin. “I don’t know if I agree with that. Not that I would care what happens to you, of course,” she lied.

He noted her blatant fib and smiled. “Exactly. Just like I certainly didn’t go after Ursula to save you or anything. It wouldn’t be dignified for a man of my position. Not to mention, getting involved in the rescue-a-damsel business would set a bad precedent.” His expression soured in annoyance. “You know how I hate being gallant. It ruins my image.”

“So did wearing that apricot-colored ascot last week,” she said through a watery giggle of relief.

A moue of distaste twisted his lips. “Don’t remind me. I plan to perform a major campaign to restore my bad name. Can you believe the nerve of myself, dressing and acting like such fucking ninny? I should slap myself. And then set fire to my wardrobe. I am still utterly traumatized by the fact I got rid of my awesome collection of demonic alligator underwear.”

While Lucifer prattled on about the various things that he’d have to rectify—from the fact that he’d sung soprano, and not because someone kicked him in the balls, to the emasculating incident where he helped an elderly imp cross the road—Gaia used that halted moment in the space-time continuum to pull herself together. Literally.

Lucifer stopped time—
for me
—and, in the doing, stopped the flow of her sap. Or blood. The name depended on which scientist was playing with a sample at the time. She did so love screwing with them.

The fork wounds, on their own, weren’t life threatening, not anymore, but they sure did smart. She winced as flesh knitted together, winced even harder in fake pain just to have Luc’s fingers stay wrapped tight around hers as he prattled.

Caught in this moment in time, a moment she wished she could set in amber, she allowed herself to enjoy the relief and pleasure of having Luc back.

He eventually caught on to her ruse and stopped talking about himself to address her. “Are you done delaying the inevitable?”

No. She’d like to delay the inevitable a little longer. “And what is the inevitable?”

“You, in my lap, bouncing up and down and squealing your joy at my return.”

Sounded like fun. “I don’t know if I’d call it joy,” she hedged with a smile. “I mean, the other you did have impeccable manners.”

“How horrifying. He also put the seat back down after using the bathroom.”

“I know,” she said with a chuckle. “The staff couldn’t wait to tell me, figuring you had a girlfriend on the side.” She’d fed them to her roses for being tattletales. “I still can’t believe it’s you.”

All healed up now—or at least enough until she could enjoy a good root in her garden—she flung her arms around Luc’s neck and yanked him down to her. In true Lucifer fashion, he collapsed atop her, squishing her with his weight.

She loved it, although not for too long because a girl did have to breathe. After a moment, she shoved at him, and with a sigh and forbearing, “If I must,” Lucifer put himself on his forearms. “Have you quite finished polluting my sand with your bodily fluids? If I am not allowed to give you real, organic pearls to wear in public, then you may not dirty my beach.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, for bleeding to death.”

“Obviously not to death. For had you died, the whole world would have tasted my wrath.” For a moment, his eyes darkened, a dark endless abyss of night and cold, the cold of the dead in their grave. “If you’re quite done being a drama queen, get your ass off my beach and into this lap.”

Lucifer never did anything so simple as sit in the sand. With a flick of his wrist, he reshaped his part of the beach. Drawing her against him, he held her as the land around them gave him a throne.

“King of the Beach? Really?” she said as she stood on the sandy dais.

Seating himself, he reached for her and dragged her onto his lap. “I was actually going to go with The Dude King.”

“But you can’t surf.”

“Yet!” he said. “I know a minion who could give me lessons.”

“And I know the perfect girl for him,” she said, now familiar with this matchmaking game he liked to play. Why toy with mortal lives when demon and other Hell realm ones proved so much more interesting?

“I can’t believe you’re back and that you’re you. Ursula said that prissy heart in your body was yours all along. But she must have been lying. Did you finally rip it from your chest?” She placed her hands on his upper body, noting the hardness of his muscles under the black silk he wore. A steady beat met her touch.

He noted her surprised look. “My heart is still in there and still trying it’s best to drag me back over to the good-two-shoes side.”

“You mean you might turn back?” She couldn’t help a hint of panic.

“No, I think I’m safe now. I figure a few more days of corruption and my heart will turn black and shove that polite bastard out.”

Seated in his lap, Gaia gazed at him, so glad to see the familiar scowl, the naughty mischief, and the hard lines in his face, the kind that screamed, “Yeah, I’m an asshole, but you love me despite it.”

And she did. Just like he loved her. Enough that a threat to her life had snapped him back to himself.

I wonder if I should be flattered that I bring out the asshole in him.

“So when are you planning to remove your heart again?” she asked.

But before he could reply, time snapped back.

Gaia let the commotion of the battle’s aftermath wash over her. With her head cradled against Luc’s chest, she had no desire to move. And oddly enough, he didn’t make her. He actually allowed a public display of cuddling. And not a single snowflake to be seen.

Lucifer sat upon his throne of sand and presided over the beach, a beach they’d held their ground on and taken by force.

Fist pump for the legion. They won the day.

Clean up had already begun, with Remy and a few other minions holding open interdimensional portals to dump the corpses in. Funerals were for mortals.

It didn’t take long to get rid of the unwanted waste. The choicer sea specimens were hauled off and prepped for dinner.

Recycling was a way of life in the pit. Resources proved too scarce to waste, and there were a lot of hungry legionnaires. And Vikings.

Never forget the Vikings…

Hungry ones were never a good thing.

A few very large and lapping waves took care of the remaining filth on the beach, Neptune taking great delight in brandishing his mighty trident as he lorded it over the water.

Until a hellgull pooped on his head.

Judging by the smile tugging at Lucifer’s lips, not an accident.

With each bellowed order, the chest under her cheek rose and fell, the commanding tone a pleasant rumble. She basked in the arrogant superiority and ribald attitude Luc displayed. She soaked it in, a woman parched for the man she loved. A Dark Lord many had missed.

The pleasure in his return showed in the grumbles—“Taskmaster!”

“Look at him lording over us in his chair.”

“The boss is back, and there’s gonna be some trouble. Yay.”

My lover is back.

Mmmm. Lover. There was something else she’d missed during his absence. Having him. In her. On her. Anything with her.

She squirmed on his lap, and he noticed. Luc
always
noticed.

His lips brushed her ear, hot with promise. “Soon, wench. Very. Very. Soon.”

Why reply when she could wiggle against the hard bulge under her bottom?

He growled against her lobe before nipping it. “Such a naughty wench tempting me to ditch my duty.”

“I am so very naughty,” she whispered back. “Want to punish me?”

“Yes. Just you wait until later.”

Later? She pouted. He nipped her lower lip, totally inviting what came next. Gaia straddled him and totally showed his mouth who was boss until Muriel yelled, “Ew. My eyes. You’ve fucking blinded me.”

Her daughter, the one in a committed five-way relationship, was such a prude.

Because of Muriel and a beach full of other spectators, all Gaia could manage were nibbles and gropes. She didn’t tease alone. Lucifer also taunted, letting his finger dematerialize enough to go through her skirt so he could stroke the skin of her thigh without anyone noticing.

I noticed.
Her pussy noticed. Luc noticed and rumbled naughty things in her ear, always with the word later.

Later arrived after a few more hours because, of course, such a grand victory over the enemy deserved a celebration. As Hell’s version of daytime fled and bled into darkness, they feasted by the light of giant bonfires, the flames of which, fed by the fire demon contingent, leaped into the air in a primitive dance.

The smell of roasted crustacean had more than one mouth watering, and taste buds tingled at the smoky flavor, enhanced by the butter drizzled on it.

Delicious. Especially when hand-fed by Luc. Each succulent morsel he fed her left the tip of his finger in her mouth. She sucked it, each tug of her lips pulsing a spark of light in his eyes.

She fed him the same way, unabashedly groaning as he sucked her finger, all too easily imagining that same caress on another part of her.

By the time Lucifer whispered in her ear, “Ready for bed?” she was more than aroused. She was ready to rip the clothes from him and ride him until the cows came home. Which, considering they had no cows, would take a long, long time.

Without announcement, Luc stood with her in his arms. They escaped the party still in full swing through a portal Luc called with a snap of his fingers. In a moment, they’d gone from the noise and revelry of the beach to the silence of the hall outside his room.

He set Gaia on her feet, his hands on her waist. Finally alone and with a bed only steps away.

As her fingers reached to grab the handle to open the door, she found herself propelled against it. Luc’s body molded to hers, every strong, demonic inch.

About time.
She leaned her head against the door and took pleasure in looking upon his face set in a sultry smile.

“Well hello there,” she said, her voice husky. “I see someone is happy.”