Page 107 of Wicked Believer
I give a curt nod. “I can live with that.” I rise onto my toes, kissing him on the cheek before I turn and head toward the elevator, callingover my shoulder, “But don’t think I’m not still furious with you about this whole Michael business.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He places his hands in his pockets as he leans against his desk.
I watch him as I go, smiling to myself as the elevator door inside his office closes, and I glance down at my new ink. Soulmates. With the devil.
It has a nice ring to it, if you ask me.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lucifer
I watch Charlotte walk out of my office, fully aware for the first time in my long existence that I might have made a grave error.
It isn’t until I’m standing in the middle of that blasted church near Seventh again, striding up the length of the center aisle toward the small prayer group gathered in the first several pews, that I realize how thoroughly the revelation has disturbed me.
“Back so soon?” Father Brown opens his arms in a welcome gesture.
When the few parishioners that join him lay eyes on me, they scatter like flies.
I watch them go, mildly amused at how they flee, as he sighs and forms a cone with his hands, calling out, “We’ll resume next week.” He turns his attention back to me as I start to pace. “What brings you here, Lucifer?”
Abruptly, I round on him, raking a rough hand through my disheveled hair “What did you mean when you told me not to make her choose?” I demand.
Father Brown quirks his head at me. “It depends. What did you think it meant?”
I shake my head, wagging a furious finger at him as I advance on him, my words rapid fire. “Ah, ah, ah, Father, I have neither the time nor the patience for any of your cultish bullshit. I practically wrote the handbook on manipulation. You willnotanswer my question with another question. Answer me.”
To my shock, Father Brown doesn’t appear the least bit fazed by how manic I’m being as I continue to shake my head, pacing back and forth like a madman.
I’m coming out of my own skin like a bloody lunatic.
Perhaps I am.
Mad, that is.
Out of my mind in love with her.
This is what she does to me.
In my most private moments. The ones she never sees.
I’m unbalanced, distracted, unhinged, only for her. So ridiculously tormented, so deranged, that here I am standing in the middle of a bloody cathedral, for fuck’s sake, talking to a goddamn human priest who dares call himself a member of my Father’s clergy.
She makes me question myself in a way I never would have done previously.
As if she has become my moral compass.
My guiding light.
The best and worst parts of me.
I drop into one of the pews and bury my face in my hands. Just when I thought I had everything under control, thought Iknewwhat was best for her, for us, for the sake of our shared futures, I was forced to stand there and watch as she walked away with my heart pulsing in her hand. Cut to the quick by my own choices. As if I no longer hold any true power here.
In the face of my love for her, I’m powerless ...
Exactly as I feared.
I cannot stand it.
