I hear music.
It’s faint, making me believe it’s coming from outside. That’s the beauty of New Orleans. There’s always music, even in the middle of the night.
But when my heavy eyelids slowly open, I find that it’s daylight. And the clock on the nightstand flashes 9:06.
However, that’s not what causes me to sit straight up like my pillow is on fire. It’s the fact that this isn’t my pillow at all. This isn’t my bed. And I’m naked.
I’m in Lucifer’s room.
I am butt ass naked in Lucifer’s fucking bed.
“Shit!” I bite out, my now wide eyes taking in the strewn clothing littered on the floor. My panties. My fucking panties. Oh my God…oh my GOD. What happened? How did I get here?
I take inventory of my body and find that there are no defensive marks or wounds. Half of me is relieved that he didn’t force himself on me, but the other half…I can’t even deal with the alternative scenario.
I came in here willingly.
I took off my clothes willingly.
I got into his bed and most likely fucked him willingly.
There’s got to be an explanation for this, something perfectly logical that will be cleared up as soon as I see him.
But I know. I know.
My insides are sore, but that good kind of sore after sex. The kind of sore that makes you want to squeeze your thighs together and contract your inner muscles just to feel the phantom of fullness. My lips are swollen and my nipples are still pebbled from being sucked.
How?
This doesn’t make any sense.
“Think, Eden. Think,” I say aloud.
I run it all back in my mind, although the details are foggy, as if I’m conjuring my memories through a crystal ball. I remember getting dressed, getting my hair and makeup done. Then we were driving somewhere, yet I can’t remember the direction or the destination, like it was cloaked in shadow. It’s all blank from there. However, there are things… A caress along my cheek. My fingers running through strands of silk. A jolt of pain in my chest.
I can’t see the memories, but I can feel them. They last only a second, and then they’re gone, as though maybe they don’t belong to me at all.
Footsteps approach and I hurriedly cover my naked frame. I’m obviously unarmed and I can’t be sure of who or what will find me.
The door opens and Lucifer enters holding a tray of food. My stomach flips, but it’s not from hunger.
“I thought you might be starving.” He sets the tray beside me on the bed.
His smile is dazzling, his clothes crisp yet the jeans and black t-shirt are much more casual than what he usually opts for. Even his hair looks different, as if he didn’t even bother with styling it. He looks…happy. Buoyant. Normal.
I pinch myself. Hard.
“Shit!” I curse, rubbing my skin where an angry red welt is already forming.
Ok, not a dream. Then maybe I’ve been vacuumed into some weird parallel universe where this is not really Lucifer, and I’m not a Nephilim demon hunter.
“Who are you?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off this weird version of Hell’s landlord.
“Uh, Lucifer,” he replies, eyeing me suspiciously.
“And who am I?”
“Eden, are you—”
“Shit!” So I am Eden. “Are you still…you know…the Devil?”
There are shadows in his gaze, and the beaming smile he just donned is gone. Ok, maybe we have the same names in this universe and—
“Yes. I am. You know that.”
Fuck.
I’m out of explanations, which only leaves me with the obvious scenario.
“I’m naked. In your bed. I’m naked in your bed. What the fuck happened?”
Right before my eyes, his expression goes cold and impassive, and the light is shuttered from his stare.
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. But…oh my God. Did we…did we do it last night?”
Lucifer huffs out an aggravated breath. “Did we do it? You mean, did we fuck?”
“Yes.” I can barely choke out the words. “Did you…fuck me?”
Lucifer shrugs. “I fucked you, you fucked me, we fucked each other, yadda, yadda, yadda. Yeah, we fucked.”
I cover my face with my hands, fighting back confused, frustrated tears. Why can’t I remember?
“I can’t believe…oh God. I can’t believe what I’ve done. And with you. You, of all people. How fucking stupid can I be? How? How did this happen?”
“Well, first you ripped my pants off and started sucking me off like I was a popsicle on the fourth of July. Then I licked your pussy until you came in my mouth. Twice. And then I fucked your tight little hole until you were almost sobbing.”
I shake my head furiously. “Stop. I don’t want the details. Just tell me how.”
But he ignores my request and continues to recite each dirty detail. “I’ll admit—you can suck a mean dick. And you taste good as fuck too. Not much of a screamer, but my cock twitches just thinking about how you moaned and begged for me. My only regret is not fucking you in the ass. You have a marvelous ass, by the way. I think you would have enjoyed it.”
“Will you stop?!” I shriek. “Tell me how I got here. Did you drug me? Cast some type of evil spell on me? This isn’t fucking funny, Lucifer. You know there’s no way I would’ve slept with you.”
“You want the truth?” He raises a brow.
“Yes.”
“Ok. We went to a party hosted by a Dark One. You drank a lot of champagne that was laced with an enchantment from Aurora who is an Orexis. The Orexis deal in desire magic. I told you to stop, and you wouldn’t. Then you let complete strangers feel you up and I had to stop you from having a threesome in public. After that, you kissed me and begged me to fuck you.”
Releasing a whine of defeat, I let my head fall back to the headboard. As outlandish as it sounds, what other explanation could there be? And Orexis magic—whatever the hell that is—isn’t the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
“So I was drugged. Or spelled or whatever. And this desire magic…it made it so we couldn’t control ourselves, right? Like we couldn’t stop what we were doing even if we tried?”
I’m trying to make sense of this. I need to make sense of this.
Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Sure.”
I shake my head once more. “We can’t…we can’t tell anyone. It’s bad enough that it happened, but if it got out… If the Se7en or—oh hell—if Legion found out, they wouldn’t understand. Even though we were spelled, they’d all hate me more than they already do, and I’m having enough trouble living with what I did. I can’t bear their disappointment too.”
Lucifer snorts a laugh. “No problem. It’s not a big deal anyway. Not like I was going to record every salacious detail in my diary.”
He picks up the tray of food and turns towards the door.
“Oh, and if you could remove yourself from my bed, that’d be great. I’d like to change my sheets.”
The bedroom door slams behind him on a mystical gust of wind. Seconds later there’s a deafening crack and the sound of glass shattering and silverware clanging.
My knees are weak when I stand, and it takes considerable effort to get my panties on. I have no idea where my dress is, so I grab the terry cloth robe hanging up in his bathroom. When I open the door to cross the living room, I find that Lucifer is gone. The tray has been snapped in half, the plates broken and food and debris are splattered on the wall. My bare toes brush a pile of black fabric that I realize is my dress, so I pick it up and quickly escape to my room. I have no idea when Lucifer will be back, and I don’t want to be anywhere near him when he returns. I’ve been humiliated enough for one day.
I’m so out of sorts that I climb into bed still wearing my borrowed bathrobe and last night’s panties. Just to busy my mind, I pick up the remote and resort to flipping through the channels of the TV mounted on my bedroom wall. I don’t want to think about what I’ve done because if I really concentrate on those fractured memories, the guilt would be palpable enough to strangle me.
I had sex with the Devil.
And according to him, I liked it.
It’s not only that I betrayed Legion when he needs me the most. I went against any moral fiber I had and willingly spread my thighs for Satan. What does that say about me? I mean, I know I’m not the picture of virtue, but Lucifer? The ruler of all evil? Who does that?
Maybe it’s residual Dark magic or staying up all night doing God only knows what, but I’m exhausted. My limbs are sore, and there’s a radiating ache between my legs that could probably use a dose of Advil. After blankly staring at the Food Network, I succumb to sleep. And sleep welcomes a dream…
It’s too bright here.
Fluorescent lights, white walls, and nothing else. I look down and see that I’m dressed in the same color. There’s so much of it that it hurts my eyes, and even though I blink against it, the very essence of its harshness is burned into my eyelids. I try to shield my retinas with my hand but find that my arms are restrained, as well as my legs. Another tug yet the leather straps don’t give an inch. I’m strapped to a bed that’s more like a table. It’s hard and unforgiving on my back. I struggle against them using all my might, but it’s no use.
I’m dreaming. I know that, but this time is different. I’m not just a spectator anymore, searching for breadcrumbs. I’m in it. And I can’t get out.
There’s an oddly strong scent that stings my nose, like bleach and chemicals.
The sterile white walls and bright lights. The noxious scent of severe cleaning agents. The hard table and straps.
Hospital. I’m in a hospital.
I hear hysterical screaming in the distance, the blood-curdling kind that speaks of unimaginable horror, fear, and agony. I feel it. The sound shoots right into me, right down to my bones. What pain it must be born from. How can anyone bear so much misery?
A gurgling sound and then it stops, cut silent as if the person has passed out. Or worse. I know it’s worse.
I should be relieved. Whoever that was has been freed from their suffering. But when the screaming resumes, the dread rattles my insides again. Because this isn’t the same voice. Now it’s someone else’s turn to be tortured.
Once again, the wailing is strangled from the victim’s throat. But I know it’s not over. I know that in just a few minutes, it will start again. And that scream will sound closer. And the ones after that will be even nearer than the last. Until it’s right in the next room.
Until it’s me who’s screaming.
Five. I count five separate cries, each growing in intensity. Coming towards me. Chasing me.
I have to get out of here. I bite down on my fear and try to focus all my mental energy beyond this small, white room. Maybe if I can tap into the mind of the one inflicting all this pain, I can will them to stop. I can force them to turn their methods of torture on themselves and put an end to all this.
But I know I can’t.
Because I know that the villain in my dream is the demon I have to save. Even if there’s nothing left worth saving.
Still, I try.
I push through concrete and wood and plaster, and I reach for a kernel of consciousness. That one little speck of him that still has to be there. But then everything goes completely dark. No. Not just dark. Empty. Yet, the emptiness is palpable, sticky even. It clings to me, as if it knows I’m there, and it pulls back. I try to retreat. But the sticky blackness is everywhere, latching onto my power like a dozen leeches. I’m trapped and helpless, completely at the mercy of him—of them. All I can do is lay there and wait for them to release me. Or to find me.
Another round of screams begins, and I lie there and listen with tears streaming down my face. Number six. I already know whose number seven. Even worse than that, I know exactly the fate I will suffer. Because as I’m trapped in the black sludge, I’m bearing witness to the torment, as if they want me to see.
They want me to see.
Come and see, a voice whispers in my ear.
And I can’t close my mind off from looking…from feeling. I can’t make them stop.
She’s just a girl, maybe a few years younger than me. Her brown hair is dull and stringy, as if it hasn’t been washed in weeks. However, her pale skin is nearly as white as her clothing. Maybe she hasn’t felt the sun on her face in months, maybe years. And she never will again.
She stares up in horror as her shirt is ripped from her body, revealing small breasts and light pink nipples. There’s no way to cover herself; she, too, is strapped to the table. The sharp end of a blade meets the top of her belly, right between her breasts. And it begins. He—they—begin to carve.
Bright red blood pools onto the hard table as Legion takes his time to get every symbol right. Every line and curve is exact as he cuts into her flesh to create the Demoori Sheol characters that are now committed to memory. When he’s finally done, he tenderly brushes away her tears, smearing her face with blood, then he undoes the straps. He lets her go.
A tiny seed of hope begins to bloom inside me. Maybe I got through to him. She’s injured, but she can be saved. And if I can just push harder dig deeper, maybe no one else has to die. We can end this right here.
He hands her the knife, and that hope deflates. What is he doing? No. No! I wanted him to stop, not sacrifice himself. But I quickly realize that I’m wrong on all accounts. Because the young girl with the Demoori Sheol symbols carved into her belly presses the blade to her throat and nearly decapitates herself with one deep slice. Blood sprays everywhere, painting the white, sterile room deep red. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming.
He’s coming for me next. Even though I know this is just a nightmare, I can’t help the dread that floods my system and squeezes my insides like a vise.
I count the seconds until I hear the door open. I hold my breath as I listen to his footsteps approaching. And my eyes grow wide when he steps into view.
Legion.
My strong, dark, devastatingly beautiful Legion.
But it’s not him. Not anymore.
His eyes don’t swirl with silver, backlit with the very stars that shimmer the night sky. They’re wholly black. And he doesn’t look at me like I am his sun and moon. It’s as if he doesn’t see me at all. His smile is wrong, his gait is wrong, everything about him his wrong.
This is not the demon I love. This is The Many.
“Hello, little one,” they croon. That bone-chilling voice…the way it crawls underneath my skin. It’s the most frightening thing I’ve ever heard.
My first instinct is to beg, to plead. But that will do me no good. That will only fuel them. They find pleasure in human weakness. And I’m not human.
“Let him go,” I demand, mustering all my resolve.
They laugh, those multi-layered voices coming together to scratch against my spine. They unsheathe a blade and hold it to my chest. Then one by one, they pop every button of my white shirt until I’m exposed. I thrash against the restraints.
“I’ll kill you,” I seethe. “All of you. Every last one of you. I will kill you myself.”
The Many turn the blade in their palm before bringing the knife down to my skin. Smiling, they slowly trace my nipple with the sharpened tip. I have to swallow down bile to keep from choking on it.
“What a pretty girl,” they sickeningly muse. “Your insides are probably just as pretty, aren’t they?”
Then without warning, they nick my breast with the edge of the blade, causing me to cry out. I struggle to keep my composure, but the sight of them bringing the knife up to their lips—those lips that I have dreamt of kissing again—and tasting my blood completely unravels me. They close their eyes and give a moan of approval.
“Mmmm, we can taste the Seraphim in your blood. We’re going to enjoy you,” they murmur. “Every piece and every drop. Don’t cry. Your beloved will feast as well.”
My beloved.
He’s still in there, still alive within The Many.
My head is pounding, but I try to push against the sticky blackness, expending all my mental strength. Blood trickles from my nose and trails into my mouth, but I don’t even taste the metallic tang over the bitterness of rage on my tongue. They can’t have him. They can’t have me.
There’s a tiny speck of light within the darkness, but it’s out of my grasp. It flickers, its radiance waning like a dying star. My Legion. I have to reach him, even if it takes every ounce of my power. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do. If I can just touch him and let him know that I’m here and I’m fighting for him, maybe it will be enough to bring him back.
The Many take great pleasure in torturing me…touching me. They press the knife to my breasts and torso, just enough to break the skin and watch my blood pool. They’ve graduated from licking it clean off the blade and now simply lean over to suck it off of me, taking extra time around my nipples. My skin is crawling and I feel I may puke, but I merely close my eyes, refusing to acknowledge the pain and humiliation. They’ve been driven to distraction by their bloodlust, and I’m the main course. So they can carve me up until they hit bone, but I won’t stop. This may be the only chance I get.
The Many move on to cutting off my pants and at the sight of my bare flesh, their excitement serves as the chance I need to move in closer to that tiny glimmer of light. The closer I get to it, the more it flickers, as if it, too, is using all its strength to make contact. I’m so close…so close that I can feel the heat of fading starlight. The sting of fresh cuts along the insides of my thighs is nothing compared to the aching need to reach him. I know that light is Legion. It has to be. And when I feel The Many’s blood-stained fingers stroke my delicate folds, I throw it all towards him. The hurt, the shame, the rage, I use it all to stretch as far as I possibly can, forming myself into an arrow to sink right into the heart of that light. I cast away the pain and surrender it all to him, because he is so much greater than my flesh and bone. I bleed for him. And I desperately hope that my sacrifice is enough to give him life.
The touching stops. The knife clangs to the floor. And when I open my eyes, I see him. Legion. But it’s not him. Not the way I remember him. Not the way he should be.
His skin is ashen, his cheeks hollow. There are dark purple circles around his eyes, which are flat and lifeless. His lips are dry and cracked, and there are lesions all over his skin.
He’s dying.
“Eden,” he breathes, his voice hoarse as if he’s been shouting for hours, maybe days. “Eden, I’m so…I’m so sorry.”
He rushes to undo the restraints and picks up my shredded clothes, but he’s so weak and battered that the tasks seem to drain him. I quickly sit up with no regard for my own injuries and cup his face in my hands.
“What have they done to you?” My lips tremble and my voice cracks on a sob. “Legion…what have they done?”
He swallows with great effort. “I fought. Every day, every time, I fought to stop them. I can’t…do it anymore. Please. Just end it. End it all now.”
I shake my head furiously. “No. No, I can’t.”
“You can. Just…use your light. All of it. End this now. I can’t…I can’t hold on much longer. I can’t let them hurt anyone else.”
“I won’t do it,” I cry. Tears tinted with dried blood run down my face. “You have to stay with me. Please. Just stay with me a little longer. I will find you, I swear. Just don’t give up. Please.”
I pull him in closer, bearing his weight as his body sags with exhaustion. He presses his cheek to the top of my head and wraps his arms around my half-naked frame, holding me with what little strength he has left.
“I’ve lived a long time,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s ok. It’s ok, my love. You can do it. I’ll be ok.”
I sob into his chest, noting the feel of bones where mounds of muscle once were.
“But what about me? What about me? Because I won’t be ok. Do you get that? If you’re gone, I won’t be ok.”
“You will,” he whispers before kissing the top of my head. “You will live a long life. You will find happiness and love, the kind that you deserve. The kind that I’ve always wanted for you.”
I shake my head, not wanting to hear any of it. “It’s not fair. I just found you. We need more time. We need more time.”
He lifts my chin to face him and gives me a painful smile. Tears gleam in his eyes.
“My love for you will live for eternity, firecracker. I may perish, but it…it will remain immortal.”
He presses his lips against mine, and I swear I feel that flicker of light implode within my chest, shooting silver beams of stardust into my bloodstream. My eyelids flutter closed, and I melt into him, desperate to touch more, to taste more, but it’s not enough. There will never be enough time, never enough of this for the rest of my days. So even if we have mere seconds or millennia, I will never have my fill of Legion, the demon who will forever reign over my heart.
When I open my eyes, he’s gone. And I’m alone in my bedroom at The Saint, still wrapped in Lucifer’s bathrobe.
I unravel the tie to find streaks of dried blood all over my skin, but the cuts are gone. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if the Demoori Sheol symbols were carved into my skin from collarbone to belly button, I wouldn’t give a damn. Because Legion is dying.
I had him… I had him in my arms. I felt the last remnants of his heat. I tasted his tears on my lips. I had tried so hard to convince myself that I could eventually be ok if we couldn’t save him, but I know that I was ingesting my own bullshit. There is no life without him in it. My world is meaningless if he doesn’t exist within in it.
I.
Can’t.
Live.
Without him.
I somehow manage to make it into the bathroom through shaking sobs. The second I step into the shower to wash off the blood, I crumple to the ground, my cries crippling me. Every ripple of pain is like a shockwave that cuts through muscle and bone. The ache in my chest surges, radiating with an emptiness so overwhelming that I can’t breathe. This is what dying must feel like. And if I didn’t know that Legion was still alive, I’d succumb to it. I’d let this wave of misery wash over me and pull me under. I wouldn’t even struggle against it.
I have no clue how much time passes before I find the will to stand up and turn off the water. My muscles are weak, my throat is sore, and all I want to do is crawl back into my bed and shut out the world. But the second I step out from behind the shower door, a jolt of electric fear zaps me back to reality.
Three words that were whispered by a distorted, inhuman voice are now etched onto the foggy vanity mirror. And I know deep in the pit of my stomach that they were more than an invitation to bear witness to The Many’s horrors inside my dreamscape. They were a message…for me.
Come and see.