Page 227 of Crimson Promises
“I need to speak to Lucifer.”
They sucked in a deep audible breath. “You dare use the master’s first name.”
I drew my eyebrows in.
“You are not worthy of uttering his name.”
I rolled my eyes. “I assure you, he has no problem with me uttering his name.” Imagine if they knew how intimately familiar I was with their supposed master. “Why didn’t you attack me like last time?”
“Master sent a message to all members of his realm that you were freed and no longer to be harmed.” So, Lucifer intended to keep his end of the agreement with Ben.
My hands crawled up to the base of my neck. I didn’t understand. I said the prophecy as he had instructed. It had been the only way to save Ben. He should be here alive and well then. Did something else happen?
I shook my head. I needed to stop trying to justify Lucifer’s behavior. He took Ben from me despite the hope I had that, deep down, he was a decent person. Lucifer Morningstar was every detestable thing Ben said he was. I was the idiot who believed he could be more.
Lesson learned.
“Well, can you send a message to your master that I need to speak with him? Urgently.”
“Who are you to think that you can command us? The master is an important person, and you are no more than the scum beneath his boot.” The words it spat were clear and direct, causing the fine hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. Ireallydid not want to bring this up. But this demon refused to cooperate, and time was running out. I needed to speak with Lucifernow. I didn’t have time to convince this creature to retrieve Lucifer.
I rolled my shoulders back, puffed out my chest, and held my chin high, trying to mimic the casual deference but imposing posture that Lucifer had annoyingly perfected. “I am the future Queen of Hell and Lucifer’s betrothed.”
The voice emerged again, but it now spoke with a sense of urgency and regret. "Forgive us. We are unworthy servants,” it began, its voice quivering. “We acted in ignorance, not realizing who stood before me. Last time, we were acting on our master’s orders to retrieve and lure you to the Underworld by any means necessary. Without harming you, of course. We got carried away last time. Those were not his wishes.”
Each word seemed heavy, laden with genuine remorse. I shook, despite the apologetic tone, the weight of my previous encounter with the book pressing down.
"You are Aurora, the chosen one, betrothed to our master Lucifer. Destined to be the Queen of Hell, Stars, and the Moon,” it continued, sounding almost awed by the revelation. "I deeply regret our earlier insolence. Please accept my most sincere apologies."
For a moment, the room was filled with a palpable tension. I could almost visualize the cootie catcher wringing its nonexistent hands, anxiously awaiting my response.
"I will summon Lucifer immediately," it declared, desperation tinging its voice. "It is of the utmost importance that he meets you without further delay."
“Thank you,” I responded curtly.
The paper's message ended as suddenly as it began, the weight of its words hanging heavily in the air. The black sheet then began to revert, unfolding and flattening itself until it was once again just a page in a book.
Fueled by my mounting impatience, I paced the room, my toes sinking into the plush carpet. The soft flickering of the sconces echoed the erratic rhythm of my heart.
Deep breaths, Aurora. Deep breaths.
“Would it be wrong of me to assume that your palpitating heartbeat is out of excitement to see me?”
I jumped at the sound of his silky voice. I turned to face him fully.
The soft, muted glow of the sconces only intensified when my eyes found him. There he was, leaning casually against one of the glass display cases. Lucifer, in all his maddening glory. His blonde hair, tousled and wild, seemed to drink in the room's golden light, setting it aflame. And those eyes—a blazing, intense red—were locked onto me, watching with a depth and intensity that threatened to pull me under.
His cheekbones were sharp, sculpted as if carved by God himself.They probably were.They cast shadows that only accentuated the raw allure of his jawline. Every inch of him exuded a power and elegance as terrifying as it was enchanting.
Despite the countless times I'd seen him, he was still the most breathtaking being I had ever laid eyes on. Every detail of him seemed designed to ensnare: the curve of his lips, the chiseled plane of his chest visible through the open V of his shirt, the dark trousers that clung to him just so.
But that infuriating, casual demeanor got to me the most. As if he didn't have a care in the world, as if this meeting, this room, was just another fleeting moment for him. Anger bubbled within me at his nonchalance. How dare he look so at ease, so undeniably gorgeous, in a situation with my heart threatening to break free from my chest?
And yet, with every pulse of anger, I felt a parallel tug—a pull of desire that I couldn’t ignore. The audacity, the raw and unapologetic confidence he exuded. With every second he continued to lean there, smirking ever so slightly, my resolve weakened. The flames of my anger and desire twisted and danced together, forming a maelstrom of emotions I wasn't quite ready to face.
As much as I wanted to hold onto my anger, to use it as a shield against the whirlwind of feelings he incited within me, a part of me—a treacherously large part—wanted to close the distance between us, to touch and be touched, to lose myself in the storm of him.
“You called, futurewife,” he drawled.
