The Devil's Angel (Devil Series Book 2) (7 page)

Lucien backed against the wall. These things, these creatures, were diablos: evil spirits who’d been invited into human bodies.

He shook his head in disgust. Humans could be so stupid and naive. Every once in a while, there would be one who desired more than they’d been given: more talents, more money, more everything. They want the best life has to offer for free. And because of their idolatrous attitude, they seek out evil, unknowingly or purposefully, believing only darkness can give them what they want. The ultimate reality, however, is that evil gives nothing without a price.

Once a human invites the evil spirit into its body, it takes over gradually, destroying every part of their humanity. The spirit, excited by its new form, will live out every human experience as quickly as possible for it knows that in just a short matter of time, its presence will change the human’s outside appearance until all traces of the human disappears. The end result is a diablo, a creature incapable of feeling any kind of pleasure or pain.

“Time to go,” the short man said, stepping toward him. Behind him, two fully changed diablos jerked toward him.

Lucien inched toward the bottom of the steps while scanning the room for his target. He found Jax not far away, inhaling a joint. Lucien reached behind his back and withdrew a dagger.

Three more diablos joined the others in their slow pursuit. When Lucien reached the bottom step, he tossed the dagger with such a force that all but the tip of the handle disappeared into the side of Jax’s head. The man fell to his knees; grayish, blood-tinged ooze leaked from the wound.

A diablo with patchy white hair snagged Lucien’s arm, but Lucien shoved him away. He turned to go up the stairs, but two other diablos pulled him back. Others soon joined in, tugging him in different directions as if they might tear him apart. There was no organization, no communication between them, only chaos. One bit his leg—the teeth were sharp and sunk to his calf. He would’ve kicked it away, but he was too busy fighting two others who were trying to gouge his eyes out with long human-like claws.

The diablos weren’t strong, but their numbers made their strength ferocious. Lucien rolled over, causing several of them to lose their grip. He stood, kicking a few more as they circled him. Before their circle was complete, he darted for the stairs and disappeared.

***

That night, so many years ago, he hadn’t been prepared for battle. Tonight, however, he would destroy them all.

Lucien charged down the steps—a dagger in one hand, another in his boot, and a pistol behind his back. When he reached the bottom, at least two dozen diablos turned to look at him. One by one, they all stood.

“Go back to hell,” Lucien growled.

He tossed the dagger first, almost severing a diablo’s head. He whipped the gun from behind his back and pulled the trigger again and again. Bullets tore through flesh, spraying the walls with blood and shards of bone. Bodies of the undead collapsed into each other, blood oozing in rivers across pale white skin.

Lucien managed to squeeze off another round of bullets before he was finally attacked. A fully changed diablo shoved Lucien hard, making him stumble to the ground. A nearby, partially changed diablo scrambled up his feet. Lucien kicked it hard in the face with the heel of his boot; the bones in the creatures face collapsed under the force.

From behind him, cold damp hands gripped the underside of his jaw and pulled up as if attempting to rip off his head. Lucien grunted, flexing his jaw muscles tight, then stretched up and found the skull of the beast. Digging his fingers into its balding scalp, Lucien twisted hard until its neck bones made a series of pops. The creature fell limp, nearly collapsing on top of him.

All of a sudden, Lucien’s legs were jerked forward by two diablos, each one gripping his ankle tightly. They were dragging him quickly toward the back of the room where there was nothing but darkness. Lucien clawed at the concrete ground, trying to stop their momentum, but when that didn’t work, he leaned up and slipped the other dagger from his boot.

With lightning-quick movement, he sliced off one of the hands around his foot. It fell to Lucien’s side, the fingers writhing like a worm cut in half. With his right leg now free, he kicked at the arm at the other diablo, snapping it in two.

Lucien jumped to his feet just as something hard smashed against his head, temporarily stunning him. With stars in his eyes, he turned around to face his attacker. A diablo held a two-by-four in both hands. He swung at Lucien’s head again.

Lucien raised his arm and stopped the board inches from striking his face. With his other hand, he tightened his fist and smashed it against the monster. The diablo barely flinched. When that didn’t work, Lucien kicked him hard in the gut with more effective results. The diablo stumbled back and dropped the board.

As Lucien reached for it, he noticed a glimmer of silver at the top—a bent over nail. In one swift movement, he straightened it, and then in an upswing, smashed the board into the side of the diablo’s head. The creature’s limp body crashed into the wall behind him, shattering several of the cinder blocks. The noise excited a primal instinct within Lucien, and he grinned wildly.

Air poured into Lucien’s lungs, filling him with newfound energy. He sprinted around the room, using his bare hands to kill as many as he could. The feel of their bones breaking beneath Lucien’s fingers reminded him of his own evil tendencies. He was no different from them. Demons from hell.

Diablos were retreating to the back of the room and into the darkness. Lucien pursued them carefully, especially when he realized the room was filling with an unnatural fog, forcing him to rely on his other senses.

Not far off, metal scraping against metal echoed through the room. Lucien moved faster, ignoring the blinding smoke until he reached a closed metal door. He tried to open it, but it was locked from the other side.

Beyond the door, diablos scurried away to some secret destination. Lucien punched and kicked at the door, letting out the last of his rage. The door sustained many dents, but never yielded.

Lucien slumped to the ground in the darkness, exhausted, but at least he felt better. Eve had made him out to be something he wasn’t, made him begin to feel things he shouldn’t.
Ever.
But this killing spree reminded him of what he was and what he deserved.

After several minutes, Lucien finally left the diablos’ hole in the ground and returned to the hotel, no longer angry but frustrated. He must make Eve fear him. She knew what he was and was still unafraid. This knowledge made him nauseated, forcing him to lie down. Someone as beautiful and good as Eve should never be near the likes of him.

As the hours passed, and he thought more of Eve, he wondered again if he’d met her before. That would explain how she knew him, and why she seemed so familiar. It wasn’t her appearance he recognized, but the way she spoke and the graceful movements of her hands. Even the way her lips turned up, one side slightly higher than the other, was familiar.

And then suddenly he remembered.

He had met her; at least, he thought he had. It was years ago in New York City, and the woman there had been a witch—a powerful and evil one. Lucien hated witches. They were always cruel and narcissistic. But that woman he’d met in the park wasn’t the Eve he knew today. There had been no light in her eyes, only darkness and an unquenchable hunger for power. They couldn’t be the same woman. A relative perhaps?

Maybe that explained why Eve had sought him out, to get revenge for some cousin he’d insulted. Unlikely, but why else then? No matter. He knew what had to be done.

He moaned and dropped into his chair. Why was Eve so foolish? Didn’t she know Lucien could snap her like a twig if he wanted? He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew if he didn’t sufficiently instill fear in her, then she may continue her dangerous game. If not with him, then maybe with another vampire. Lucien had to end this.

Shortly before Eve was to return, Lucien perched in the tree across from her house. He was colder than usual, and yet he was perspiring, a rare occurrence. There could only be one reason for this: Lucien was about to crush the most beautiful thing to ever come into his life.

Just as she promised, Eve arrived promptly at 8:00 p.m. She walked inside her house, leaving the door open behind her. Lucien knew this was meant for him. The act of her assuming he’d rush to her flamed his anger, so he decided to make her wait.

After some time, he finally entered her home and found her in the kitchen. She stood across the room from him, eyes steady, hands at her side. He didn’t wait for her to speak—he couldn’t bear it.

Before he could second-guess himself, Lucien stormed over and shoved Eve hard against a wall a few feet behind her. She crumpled to the floor; dust from the broken drywall puffed into the air.

“No one plays games with me,” he said.

Eve struggled to stand, one hand pushing her upward, the other steadying herself against the dented wall. Her eyes slowly met his, but Lucien didn’t see what he wanted to within that gaze. She was not afraid.

He appeared before her in a blink of an eye. “I’ll make you fear me.”

Lucien reached for a nearby table and flipped it upwards. It crashed into the ceiling, splintering into a hundred pieces, then fell to the floor along with the glass light fixture.

Continuing with the destruction, he raised his balled fists and smashed them on top of the kitchen counter. Bits of shattered granite flew in all directions. Lucien took hold of the metal sink and ripped it free. He tossed it across the room. It went right through the wall and into the living room. The sound was deafening.

He risked a glance at Eve, hoping he would see fear, but there was nothing. Maybe a hint of sadness. There was still one thing left he could do that would get results. The thought sickened him, but it had to be done. It was for her own good.

Lucien pressed her hands to the wall and forced his lips upon hers, nearly crushing her. It was not a passionate kiss, but one made to intimidate and scare. He waited for her to push him away, knee him in the groin, anything! But when that response never came, he pushed even harder, needing her to not only fear him, but hate him, too.

With surprising strength, she forced her arms away from his grip, but instead of decking him, she wrapped them around his neck and kissed him back just as fiercely.

Lucien’s head spun, and he stumbled away, utterly and completely defeated.

The silence in the room was worse to Lucien than death. He didn’t dare look at her, couldn’t bear to see the expression on her face.

Very slowly Eve moved to the kitchen table in obvious pain. When she reached the table, she collapsed into the only unscathed chair.

Inwardly, Lucien moaned.

What have I done?

“Lucien,” Eve whispered. “I will never fear you.”

Lucien slumped to the floor, unable to speak. He could feel her eyes staring at him for what felt like an eternity. The weight of her gaze was paralyzing. How could she stand to look at him?

“You must be hungry,” she finally said and stood carefully, her body swaying as if she were dizzy.

“No, please,” he begged.

She waited a moment before sitting back down, then asked, “Did you do anything fun while I was away?”

The ridiculousness of the question made him look at her, something he regretted instantly. On the right side of her temple was a deep gash, a cut she must’ve sustained by one of the many fragments of debris that had been flying across the room, thanks to him. A granite shard most likely.

Despite her injuries, Eve was smiling kindly. He couldn’t return it. How could he? Instead, he stood, taking with him a dishtowel that had been fallen from its crushed drawer. In one swift motion, he gently scooped Eve up, and before she could take a breath, he was upstairs in her room laying her down in her bed.

Lucien smoothed her hair back, then firmly pressed the towel to the bloodied wound on her head. Her skin was pale and moist.

“One day I will beg for your forgiveness,” he said.

“I will never ask for it.”

He knelt down by the side of her bed. “Don’t talk, just rest.”

Eve gave a small smile, her eyes fluttered closed, and soon her breathing became steady.

Lucien watched her for a long time, memorizing every part of her face, the little details he hadn’t noticed before. Like the tiny freckle just above the right side of her lips, or how her right eyebrow was arched slightly higher than the other. She was perfection in every way.

Eve continued to sleep, so much so that Lucien grew worried. He’d never known her to sleep this much. Maybe she was hurt worse than he thought.

Lucien rapped his knuckles nervously on the side of her couch, finally resorting to pacing the room. If anything happened to her … The thought sickened him. Time to take her to the hospital.

He leaned in to wake her, but noticed something strange. The cut on her temple was gone! Only dried blood remained stuck against her skin. How was that possible?

He searched her face for an answer. She wasn’t a vampire, but she couldn’t be human either. Possibly a witch, but she was asleep, so couldn’t have performed a spell to heal herself. Regardless of what she was, he grew increasingly concerned when she didn’t wake up even after he tried to rouse her.

“Eve?”

Her eyes moved back and forth beneath her eyelids. Lucien moved to touch her cheek, but froze inches above her face. He’d never done something that tenderly before. Would he even know how?

Slowly, as if she might crumble beneath his touch, he gently caressed her porcelain skin with his thumb. Air caught in his lungs when it tingled. He withdrew his hand, unable to find meaning in the strange phenomenon.

“Please, wake up, Eve,” he whispered in her ear.

He kept his lips close, breathing softly in and out. She smelled of lilacs in springtime. Lucien could collapse next to her and never want for anything more.

Eve moaned and finally opened her eyes.