Page 115 of Blood

Any anger or hatred I may have felt for him dissipates at that reminder. For the first time in my life, I can say that I’ve truly forgiven him. The wrath that once boiled explosively close to the surface no longer threatens to scald me.

I forgive you, Balor.

I really, truly do.

Aside from Balor, there were only a dozen other casualties—two of them being Dorian Gray and Frankenstein. I’m not sure what happened, but their bodies were found in the carnage of Mount Olympus, covered in blood and gore. I don’t want to say anything out loud, but those stab wounds? I would recognize Dimitri’s handiwork anywhere. It seems as though he finally got tired of his father dicking around. I wonder if Frankie asked Dimitri to eliminate his own traitorous father as well?

Dimitri and Frankie assure me they’re fine, but Dorian and Frankenstein were their parents, as horrible as they may have been. That’s a wound that won’t just heal at the drop of a hat.

And then there are my parents.

I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood as I knock on the door of Lucifer’s apartment down in Hell. Dracula, Hera, and Lucifer have all been living together since the events of the battle, and I’m not sure why. Or maybe I am sure and don’t want to think about it too hard.

Because, in my mind, parents don’t have sex. It’s not a thing that happens. Babies are conceived by storks, and you can’t change my mind.

Lucifer pulls open the door almost as soon as I finish knocking, stepping back to allow me entrance. “Violet, my dear, come in.”

“Daughter walking in!” I call loudly enough for everyone in the apartment to hear. “Please put clothes on if they’re not on already!”

Hera snorts as she steps out of the far bedroom, brushing at a strand of disarranged blonde hair. Surprisingly, she’s dressed in casual clothes—a faded red hoodie and black leggings. It makes her look years younger than her true age of...oh...over a thousand, give or take a few thousand.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Violet,” Hera tsks as she slides gracefully onto a barstool across from a still-standing Lucifer. “We’re not animals.”

“Even though we fuck like them!” Dracula calls from farther into the apartment, appearing a second later in a T-shirt and jeans. Jeans. Actual jeans.

What is the world coming to?

“Dad. Ew. No.” I place both of my hands over my ears. “Stop it.”

“You call that fucking?” Lucifer gives my dad a narrow-eyed glare. “You lasted all of five seconds.”

“I will kill you all,” I warn as I press my hands even tighter over my ears. Curse my superior hearing.

“You try to last when the King of Hell himself is pounding your ass,” Dracula replies.

“AHHHH!” I wail in misery.

“We all know you have trouble pleasuring women,” Lucifer continues, either oblivious or ignoring the way I begin to dry heave. “You know, because your dick is so tiny, it’s like a cotton swab rubbing against vagina lips.”

“Nope. Nope. Nope.” I shake my head from side to side, still clutching my ears, and Hera, thankfully, takes pity on me.

“We wanted to talk to you for a reason, Violet,” she says gently, reaching forward to place a hand over mine.

But then I think about what that hand might’ve touched, and I reel away from her as if I’ve been electrocuted.

“Yes. Let’s get to that reason. Now.” I quickly claim the barstool farthest from Hera, Dracula, and Lucifer. I clear my throat, desperately trying to take an eraser to the last few minutes, and then say, “I know why you called me here.”

Hera and Lucifer exchange an unreadable look, but it’s Lucifer who answers. “The throne is yours, Violet. The people will follow you. After what you did to stop Zeus—”

“Hold that thought.” I place a hand up in the air to cut him off. “I’m just going to be blunt here and say...no.”

Hera’s brows furrow. “No?”

“No. I don’t want the throne or the crown or whatever else a queen requires.” I keep my hand in the air to ward off any protests. “I’m going to be straight with you all—I’m not even remotely ready to rule. Hell, I can barely keep myself alive, let alone a kingdom...or two. I don’t want to rule Mount Olympus or Hell or the monster world or any of that shit.”

Hera appears aghast, though Lucifer’s eyes glimmer with a begrudging respect. I can’t see Dracula’s expression, but I sense him venturing a few steps closer, his presence a silent comfort.

“But the prophecy—” Hera begins, flummoxed.

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