Page 46 of Ruthless Demon

“If the angels don’t have time to recover, neither do the demons,” I blurt, already sensing the issue.

He nods. “That exactly. He hasn’t told the council, but they aren’t stupid—well, they aren’tallstupid. They’re seeing the same signs I am.” Lucifer sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Cephalus is going to run our troops to death trying to get ahead of me and Heaven at the same time.”

That sliver of fear grows, wriggling and writhing down my spine to wrap around my heart like a constrictor. “Do you think he’s going to get you killed? I mean, do you think that’s on his list of contingencies?”

Lucifer gives me a long, meaningful look. He rubs his palms together and breaks eye contact, making my stomach twist in new terrible ways. “This is what I see. Cephalus’s strategy could have a few different outcomes for me specifically. First, it could keep me too busy to work against him, and he’d simply have to drum up new battles every few days without getting too many of us killed in the process. Or, the attack strategy could actually work, and we’d win the war, or at least force a surrender.”

A shudder runs down my spine. “I’m not sure I like the idea of either side winning this war.”

He gives me a small smile and squeezes my knee. “I feel the same. Frankly, I don’t see this strategy winning the war. Maybe it’ll force a retreat long enough for them to regroup, but it isn’t going to tip this conflict in our favor. I’m not sure anything will, since we’ve stood at a stalemate for millennia. A little human influence isn’t going to change that.”

“So what are the other alternatives? This is a lot of trouble to go to just to keep you busy.”

“There would be easier ways,” he admits with a lingering, sultry look. “One alternative is that he pushes too hard and I die in battle, either by negligence or design. Or, in keeping me away so long, he loosens the bond between us and does to you what he did to Naamah. Let mother get inside your head, then use you as a weapon against me.”

I shake my head adamantly. “Wouldn’t happen. Trust me, they’ve tried. The thing is, a person can only be manipulated to the point of a conscious decision. Good manipulators hide the decision, making it seem inevitable. But I know that, and I know that giving up on us is a tantalizing choice for your mother and sister to push me to, so I simply refuse.”

He smiles at me, his eyes soft and warm. “If the council adapted as quickly as you do, we would have evolved our strategy ages ago.”

“Well,” I say with a playful smile as I move closer to him, sliding my hands from his knees to his hips. “Maybe all Hell needs is a little bit of my influence. Seemed to work wonders for you.”

He grins and takes me in his arms, battles forgotten as we tumble into bed.

Later,sated and content, I fall asleep in his arms. The future is hazy and full of horrible possibilities, but we don’t have to think about those tonight. Tonight, we’re together, and the battles can wait until morning.

“Or not,” I mutter grumpily into my pillow a couple hours later. Someone is beating on the door like the world is on fire. Seeing as we’re in Hell and all, maybe the world really is on fire.

“Yes?” Lucifer bellows.

The door creaks open just enough to show the pointed, greasy face of one of the lower-level demons. My temper flares immediately, knowing that someone is calling Lucifer away from me again. I’m not psychic or anything, but these guys are always running around delivering messages and bringing people places. I wonder if the denizens of Hell have been introduced to cell phones yet. Even a pager would make more sense than having these neurotic little beings show up all over the palace at stupid hours of the night.

“A million apologies, Majesty,” the little demon squeaks. “The King summons you to a war council.”

Lucifer sits straight up, radiating murderous energy. “You tell the King that I’m sleeping.” He slams back down onto the pillow, expecting the demon to do as he says. Instead, the miserable creature stands in the doorway, wringing his peculiar little hands and whimpering. Lucifer’s eyes are shut tight, but the scowl he wears clearly shows that he’s still very much awake and hating every second of it.

“I-I-I beg your pardon, sir,” the demon whimpers. “But there’s been an attack.”

“There’s always an attack,” Lucifer snaps. “It can wait until morning.”

“I’m afraid the King disagrees, Majesty. The angels have attacked our outpost in Atlanta. The damage was crippling and swift. The King proclaims that such an act cannot go unanswered.” The demon’s voice is trembling, but his chin is tilted at a proud angle. If conviction wins wars, they should start sending these guys.

Lucifer says a lot of things under his breath which I don’t quite catch. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a string of demonic cuss words. He sighs heavily and rolls over almost on top of me and channels his temper into a hard kiss full of burning passion.

“I have to handle this,” he tells me in a low growl. “Atlanta’s strategically important.”

“That explains a lot,” I murmur sleepily, sarcasm not quite landing in my exhaustion.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

With both of us speaking too softly for the demon at the door to hear, it jumps back in surprise when Lucifer vaults out of bed. I watch it cower behind the door, trembling, as Lucifer pulls clothes on. Maybe I should feel sorry for the little thing, but all I can work up is impatience to get back to sleep and vague concerns about war in general and Lucifer in particular.

Before long, I’m alone in the dark room. When Lucifer was away, I’d sleep in a tight little ball in the middle of the bed. Now that he’s here but not in bed, I find myself spreading out in a luxurious cat stretch across the expansive mattress. My body, relieved that my eyes are finally getting with the program, immediately relaxes. Sleep swirls around my consciousness, creeping in around the edges, beckoning me into the shadowy beginnings of a dream.

A knock at the door shocks me out of my pre-dream twilight. I lie in the dark with my eyes open and my heart racing, hoping that I imagined the knock. Someone pounds at the door again, though, so I reluctantly drag myself out of bed and grab my robe off the back of the chair. Lucifer might not give a shit about being naked in front of the help, but I’d rather not be fap fodder for the palace.

“I’m coming,” I shout irritably as the person knocks again. I get my robe tied tight around my waist and pull the door open. Another lower-level demon, this one a few inches taller than the last, stands on the other side of the door with that neurotic, hand-wringing posture. I wonder if that’s a formal affectation or if they’re all just chronically anxious.

“Apologies, Miss,” the demon says. “Prince Lucifer has requested your presence. The King has ordered a small battalion led by the Prince to Earth to contend with a martial threat, and he wishes to speak to you before their departure.”

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