Page 62 of Wicked Believer
Lucifer is both devil and angel.
To me especially.
My shoulders sink, my posture slumping. If only Imani knew how some of Lucifer’s power lives inside me now. But even after what he did to the Righteous, he ...
He’s not monstrous. Not truly. At least, not like they claim.
My mind turns to when I first fell in love with him, the night he cast the aurora borealis over the city.
I have to hold on to that feeling. Believe in him, in the goodness I know he’s capable of, in us now more than ever.
Because if I don’t . . .
Well, then the immortal abilities I’ve been hiding—the way Lilith or fate or God or whoever the hell oversees the universe when He’s gone has made me complicit—is ... terrifying.
Monstrous.
Without question.
I shake my head, my thoughts turning back to Imani’s question. We both know she hasn’t told me anything about whenour boss—I frown—first started Apollyon Incorporated, but the way she says it gives me the chance to opt out, if I want to ...
To avoid thinking about what all this means for Lucifer and me.
But the fact it’s taken her this long to tell me, coupled with her you-sure-you-wanna-know look makes me think that it’s more than a little juicy, and honestly, I could use a gossip-fueled distraction right about now.
I can’t believe I’ve spent all this time with her as my mentor without actually asking.
“Spill the tea,” I whisper, leaning in.
She launches into a tale that’s nearly two decades old. One that starts with a young aspiring model and ends with her plucked from obscurity into a life of total glitz and glamour ...
Never to worry about anything ever again.
A modern-day fairy tale.
Until the devil comes calling for his due, of course ...
“Is that true?” I scrunch my nose in a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me face, though she can’t see my expression from where my head is perched on her shoulder.
“Girl, don’t be naive.” She laughs. “I ain’t you, though I could be.” She shrugs. “But it made you stop crying, didn’t it?”
Together we both chuckle as I lift my head, swiping at my swollen eyes.
“Promise to tell me the real story eventually?”
She snorts. “Maybe if you get enough drinks in me.” With that, she whips out her portfolio. Today the fabulous purse she’s carrying is an Yves Saint Laurent, the gold YSL emblem gleaming at me. “You still wanna go through with this whole proposal thing? I wouldn’t blame you if you’d changed your mind after all this.” She waves toward the closed door to indicate the protesters down on the street.
I nod, settling onto the stool beside her and pulling some of the papers toward me, thinking of my revelation with Azmodeus yesterday. “Actually, I have a new idea, a change in direction, and I’d love to know what you think.”
She nods, prepared to listen, as I settle in for a long explanation.
This will take some convincing.
But even as it feels as if my whole world is spinning out of control, I can’t help but think this is the right move, the one thing I know without a doubt belongs to me.
The choice to pave my own path forward.
Fate can suck it.
