Page 49 of Touched By Death

Upon opening the door, I’m greeted by the sight of my brother sipping scotch in the armchair near the fireplace. With his foot kicked up on his knee, he’s the epitome of relaxation after a hard day’s work.

Shutting the door behind me, I wave a hand toward my bed, injecting an air of boredom into my voice. “Is there a reason why there’s a naked, dead girl in my bed with her wings removed?”

“Don’t you recognize her?” Lucifer asks, lowering the tumbler.

Sucking on my teeth and fighting the urge to throw him out, I lift my gaze to the wall behind my bed, where her small wings have been mounted like a fucking trophy. “Should she ring a bell?”

Lucifer doesn’t even attempt to wrangle the amusement in his eyes as he watches me remove my suit jacket. “The female angel from the club. You missed quite some party.”

“Why is it that you felt the need to kill this one? Boredom?”

He takes a long sip. “Since when did you become such a bore? It was just a bit of fun.”

With a disgusted snort, I discard my suit jacket on the end of the bed, annoyed by how close it lies to the dead girl’s foot. “It goes without saying that you need to keep your playthings away from my bedroom.”

“I was hoping you’d join us.”

“You’re tidying this shit up before you leave.” I point to the wall. “And take her wings with you.”

After draining his scotch, he stands up and places the empty tumbler on the mantlepiece. “Makes you feel powerful, no? To have their wings mounted to your wall?”

I don’t even bother with a response. My brother has always been power-hungry. I am too, but torturing angels for sport and keeping their body parts as trophies is not my thing.

I stiffen at the feel of his hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll let you have her ass as a peace offering. She’s dead, sure, but those holes are still warm. Come on, brother, when was the last time you let loose a little?” He jostles me, mouth too close to my ear. “Had some fun?”

“Why are you really here?” Shrugging him off, I turn to face him. “You haven’t bothered to pay me a personal visit in what? A century? What brings you here now?”

His lips curve into a dark smile. With a shrug of his shoulders, he walks past me to stroke his hand through the dead girl’s dark hair. She’s face down, propped up on her knees with her ass in the air. Congealed blood dots the mottled skin around the severed stumps. I’m no innocent angel—the sight of her ruined body, the bruises and cuts, stirs no emotion inside me. I don’t feel sympathy or disgust. I’m just annoyed that my pesky brother had to bring her here. Now I’ll have to change the sheets.

“Do I need a reason to see my brother? My own flesh and blood?”

“Yes,” I reply, deadpan.

Reaching out and tracing his fingers down the girl’s spine, he stops at the top of her ass, where his cum has yet to dry. “I recently had to teach my son a lesson.” With slow strokes, he smears his semen, tracing swirls and patterns. “But something tells me it’s not enough.”

“Your son is not my problem,” I respond, stepping past him and making my way over to the minibar across from the fireplace. After pouring myself a drink, I turn to face him again. “Why are you here?”

“I want your son to keep the girl busy.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “Did you not listen to a word I said the other day?”

He steps away from the bed and pretends to peruse my bookshelves. “You spouted some bullshit about Genesis being back from the dead.”

“My son is on his way to warn Daemon.”

His head swivels my way. “I won’t be held accountable if Daemon kills your son. Not when Dmitriy seeks out trouble by approaching him.”

With a shake of my head, I kick back the last of the drink and revel in the delicious burn as it travels down my esophagus. “Maybe you need to teach your son some self-control. He’s a hothead and a liability more often than not.”

Lucifer smirks, as if his son’s violent nature is something to be proud of. “He’ll take my place one day. He needs his dominant nature, or the world will eat him alive.”

Snorting, I place my tumbler down on the bar counter. “Your son will burn this place to the ground before he’ll ever let my son near Aurelia.”

“Aurelia,” he says, tasting the name like a fine wine, one he’s not entirely pleased with. Maybe because it doesn’t belong to him. “What’s so special about this one? A true fallen angel, like us.”

I stay silent, not liking his train of thought. The way his mind schemes.

---