Page 21 of Touched By Death

“I’m no one.”

“That’s right,” Lucifer agrees, looking down at me. “You’re an embarrassment of a son.” With a tip of his chin to the guard at the door, he orders him to release me.

Rough hands undo the chains around my wrists, causing me to collapse to the floor in a heap. Barely able to hold my head upright, my wings droop on the dirty, blood-caked ground.

As Lucifer walks up to me and yanks my head up with a tight grip on my hair, his muddy boots pin my feathers to the stone floor. If I weren’t so weak, I’d challenge him for the degrading act. But this is Lucifer, the most powerful angel around, and I just so happened to be born with the curse of being his heir.

“Disrespect me again, son, and I won’t take it so easy on you.”

His footsteps retreat, and I’m hauled to my feet by the guard, who drags me out of the dark room and into the brightly lit hallway. I squint against the light, my head pounding from the blows I’ve endured. Tossing me to the hard ground, he walks off without another word, leaving me to lick my wounds. I release a pained groan and roll over onto my back. Everything hurts. Even my bones fucking ache.

I eventually manage to climb to my feet and make my way to my room. Collapsing onto the bed, I black out.

* * *

“We need to fucking kill Lucifer,” Dariana snarls, waking me with her high-pitched voice as she paces the room. The mattress dips, and her soft fingers brush up against the bruising on my cheek. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

With my arms beneath my pillow, I burrow deeper, escaping her ghosting touch. “How did you know my father let me go?”

“A little bird sang. We left class as soon as we got word.”

“Great,” I mutter, too exhausted to say much else.

“You’re healing, but slowly.” The mattress shifts again and then she returns with a balm. “Shift onto your back.”

I do as she says, wincing at the throbbing pain. My ribs are on fire.

Unscrewing the lid and applying cream to a sore cut near my eyebrow, she keeps talking. I let the soothing tone of her voice dull some of the ache.

Ronan sits at the end of the bed, staring out at the blackness outside the window, his shoulders slumped. Alaric watches me from his spot near the door, where he leans against the wall.

“You had us so worried.” Dari’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I brush her off before slowly scooting up in bed, trying my damn hardest not to let on how much pain I’m in.

My pride hurts more than anything.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “My father felt the need to teach me a lesson, is all.”

“Is all?”

I don’t care much for the note of sympathy in her voice. Rubbing at my tired eyes, I ask, “What did I miss while I was otherwise occupied.”

“I hate how you make light of the situation,” she hisses, screwing the lid back on. With a sigh, she looks to Alaric, and I stiffen at the unspoken words flowing between them.

“What was that?”

“What do you mean?” Alaric asks, his eyes skating to mine.

“That look you shared just now.”

“There was no look.”

Narrowing my gaze, I move to leave the bed, but Dari stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “We kept an eye on her while you were gone.”

Relief washes over me, and I sink back against the pillows. “The stalker?”

“Hasn’t made an appearance.”

“That’s good.”

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