Page 101 of Pray for Scars
I shake my head, pressing further against the wall. My breaths come out in rasps. I barely manage to speak at all. “No. You can’t do this...you should leave now, Jeremiah. Before they find you.”
He takes his hand away from the wall, yanks my own up and examines my palm.
He brings the blade to my wrist.
My hand starts to shake in his, the rest of my body rigid. He looks up.
“You’re scared?” he whispers. His eyes go wide. “Of me, Sid?”
Slowly, I shake my head. Over and over and over again. Like if I keep denying it, it’ll be true. I won’t be scared of him. We’ll be fine. This will all be okay.
Maybe this will be another memory I’ll make disappear with all the rest.
Lucifer’s brother…is this why I’ve always loved them both?
He presses the blade to my wrist. “The 6 have a strange tradition to claim their spouses, to bind themselves to one another.” He pushes the blade softly against my palm. Softly, but I still see a slow trail of blood as he moves, still feel the sting of the blade. “And I’m not letting anyone ever touch you again, you understand? This mark,Coagula, it’ll make sure they leave you alone.”
I try to yank my hand away. He keeps the cold steel against my wrist but meets my gaze once more.
“Don’t,” he scolds me. “I’m going to fix you, Sid. I’m going to fix what they ruined.”
I can’t see his scars, can’t see what he did when he thought he had lost me, but I know they’re there. Does he want us both to be maimed? Both fucked for each other?
It’s freezing in here, so cold I should be able to see my breath, but I’m sweating, and I have to lean against the wall at my back to keep me up. I’m going to faint, and if I do, I don’t know what Jeremiah will do to me while I’m out.
“Jeremiah,” I whisper, his name raw in my throat.
He stills the blade, his beautiful green eyes searching mine.
“What are you going to do?”
He smiles. “Own you.” He looks back down at the knife against my flesh.
But before he can drive the blade in deeper, we both hear a door creak open at his back. Softly, it swings closed again. Footsteps echo in the warehouse.
And then I see him. In the dim lights of this twisted place, my brother’s new fortress, I see him.
Lucifer.
My fallen angel.
I swear to God he’s whistling something that sounds eerily like theHappy Birthdaysong.
“One down,” he says quietly, then takes a drag from the cigarette between his fingers. I see blood on his hands. His face. He exhales, a cloud of smoke obscuring his beautiful features for a second. “One to go.” He tosses the cigarette to the stone floor, slides his hands in his pockets, and stalks toward us, his steps echoing on the cement.
Jeremiah doesn’t move. He still has the blade on my palm, sinking into the soft pad of my hand. He’s still looking at me.
Lucifer steps closer, until he’s only a few feet away, hands still in his pockets, more blood flecked on his neck. On his face. Beneath his blue eyes. His skeleton bandana is gone.
At the sight of him, something shifts inside of my mind.
Fear giving way to…relief. I can breathe easier. Even in this shit, even in this fucking mess, even with blood on Jeremiah’s brow, even with his blade against my skin, with Lucifer here, monster that he is, I can breathe.
This is no place for a hero. I’ve never needed one of those. Heroes back down when blood spills. Villains fucking dance in it.
Jeremiah presses the blade in deeper. I wince at the pain, but don’t give him the satisfaction of crying out.
I see Lucifer’s midnight blue eyes on my palm. But his expression is carefully neutral. Almost...intrigued.
