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  Opening her eyes, Katia turned her head towards him with a small, sad smile. “You can say that again. Honestly, I don’t know how to feel. Everything is upside down and backwards. Someone I thought I could trust has been hiding important things from me. You kidnap me but end up not being what I expected. I spend my whole life trying to be normal and fit in and find out I’m some supernatural game-changer. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “I know it is. Can I just say that you’re handling all of this amazingly well? You really are a very strong person, Katia.”

  “Thanks.” Looking down, Katia noticed his chest. Her wide eyes flew back up to meet Luc’s. “What’s that?”

  Realizing that he’d forgotten to put his shirt back on in the aftermath of Katia’s entrance from her shower, Luc mentally cursed himself. He had avoided telling her anything about himself so far and that little devil on his shoulder was telling him to keep lying. At that thought, his sigil throbbed in pain. Enough, he thought. She would eventually find out who he was and what he’d done; someone would let it slip. She was no longer a part of the human world, but his world. Better she find out from him than from another source. At least this way he could nip his infatuation in the bud before it got any stronger; since, she would most certainly hate him once she knew. Full disclosure, he’d just have to do it fast — like ripping off a bandage.

  “It’s called a sigil. All angels are marked with one when we’re created. It’s a symbol of the name we’re given by the Deity.”

  Frowning, Katia leaned towards him to get a closer look. “But why is it black? It looks like its bleeding into your body.”

  Sighing, Luc nodded. “It wasn’t always black. That started bit-by-bit after I fell. It used to glow with a kind of gold light.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied softly.

  “Don’t be. It’s my fault. I did it to myself and my friends,” Luc said bitterly.

  “What do you mean?” Katia frowned in confusion.

  “You don’t know who I really am, the things I’ve done, or the pain I’ve caused. I’m not a good man, Katia.”

  Looking up at him, Katia raised an eyebrow in question. “So, who are you really?”

  “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

  “Yes, I really want to know.”

  “Lucifer. I am Lucifer, Katia. I started a rebellion in Heaven and got my friends to back me. We were all punished for it by being banned from our home and bound to serve Satan. It was my fault. My stupid pride caused them all to lose their home, their wings, and their light.” Looking her in the eye, Luc continued unabated, “If that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve spent the last couple of millennia retrieving humans who have sold their souls to Satan and delivering them to him for torture, Katia. I’ve lied for him, I’ve hurt people for him, and I’ve stolen for him. That’s who I really am.”

  Katia

  The heated delivery of his admission had her sitting back and away from him. Her surprise at hearing him say he was, in fact, Lucifer, shocked Katia into silence. She must be going crazy if the idea of sitting in a hotel room with Lucifer wasn’t making her run for the nearest exit. But, for some reason, she was having trouble reconciling everything he’d just told her with the man she’d come to know over the past two days. It was clear he had done horrible things, but the very disgust he’d exhibited with himself in his delivery of his speech said more to her about his character than the deeds themselves. He was wracked with remorse, guilt, and a sense of worthlessness. A truly evil person, a truly bad man, would feel nothing about his transgressions. Since discovering that she wasn’t one of Satan’s souls, Luc had been nothing but kind to her, going out of his way to help her, even at great personal risk. No truly evil man would do that. He was more than his past actions, she just hoped that she could help him see that. Maybe while he was helping rescue her, she could do her part and help rescue him…from himself.

  Katia reached out hesitantly and placed the tips of her fingers over his heart. Tilting her head to the side as she examined the markings, she began to lightly trace first the outline of the sigil and then, one-by-one, the tracks leading away from it. Luc held himself very still. As her finger traced each line a warm electrified current seemed to flow through her into him. He looked down at her, and the dreamy expression on her face, as she continued to trace the lines upon his chest. Slowly, Katia raised her eyes to meet his. Her hand stilled, but remained resting against his Sigil.

  “You’re more than that. I can see it,” Katia said softly.

  “I want to be,” Luc replied in a whisper. Their eyes remained locked as though they were in some kind of a spell. Like a band was tightening, drawing them together, they leaned slowly into one another. As they drew closer, Katia’s eyes flicked down to his lips and back up again. She could feel Luc’s heart beating as though it were about to jump out of his chest. Hers was beating just as fast. The shrill ring on Luc’s Blackberry had them jerking away from each other like startled rabbits. The spell was broken.

  Shaking his head, Luc got up to answer his phone. Katia slid under the blankets and turned to face the opposite wall. Listening to Luc’s one-sided conversation with Amir, Katia closed her eyes. Her heart was still pounding. Maybe if she lay here and pretended to sleep it would actually happen. A while later Katia heard the television and the overhead light click off. The bed dipped with Luc’s weight as he got in. Knowing the room was now dark, Katia opened her eyes and stared into the blackness. Eventually she heard Luc’s breathing deepen and even out as he dropped into sleep. A short time later her eyes slid closed as sleep claimed her too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lucifer

  One of the First Hierarchy of Angels, the Morningstar was closest to the Deity in all matters. He was created as a symbol of all that was good and perfect and wise. Trusted in all matters and tasked to carry out the Deity’s most important orders, the Morningstar had the highest of all positions in the Heavens. The sky was deep, pure navy blue with millions of stars glittering like the finest diamonds as Lucifer Morningstar, Son of the Dawn, made his way through the shinning marble hallway towards the throne room. His snow white robe floated around him as he strode purposefully through the castle, Heofon, in which the Deity resided. A bright light emanated from his entire person – the Sigil of the Morningstar had the appearance of being cast from solid gold.

  For the first time since his creation, Lucifer was entering a meeting with the Deity for a reason other than to receive praise. His wings flicked out in annoyance. Humans! If it hadn’t been for their creation, he would never have realized what he was missing. Angels were created to serve the Deity, no free will, and no choice in how to go about living one’s existence. After watching the humans make choices and go down different paths in life, all Lucifer had wanted was the chance to do the same…the Deity disagreed. He and six other angels of the First Hierarchy had rebelled, refusing to complete their duties and had begun planning a revolt. As many as two hundred other angels had listened to their grand plan to gain their much-coveted free will.

  As he reached the majestic doors to the Deity’s inner chamber, Lucifer stretched out his wings, tipped back his head, and gave praise to his maker. As though his thoughts had been heard, the enormous gilded doors swung open to reveal the inner chamber. Lucifer entered as he had many times since his existence had begun, taking in the wispy white clouds that hovered near the domed ceiling, the silky golden materials adorning the walls, and the pure white marble. At the center of the dome was an opening that allowed the light of the stars to shine in and bounce off the gleaming floor. A large golden throne sat on a dais in the centre of the chamber directly beneath the opening in the dome. As he approached the throne, the Morningstar became confused. The Deity was not present, in his stead was Metatron, The Voice, standing to the side of the throne, his hands crossed in front, with a pained expression on his face. Before he had time to react or question Metatron, two of the angelic guard grabbed him by the arms from behind, dr
agging him to the centre of the room and forcing him to his knees. Stepping forward, Metatron removed a rolled parchment from the belt of his robe. Unrolling it slowly, never removing his eyes from the Morningstar he began to read: “Upon this day, at the judgement of the Deity, the angel known as Morningstar, Son of the Dawn, is to be stripped of his position within the heavenly host. He will be cast down to serve the lord of darkness as punishment for his act of hubris in questioning the will of the Deity, and the rejection of his duties to the Deity. He is to be stripped of his heavenly robes, his heavenly weapon shall be removed, and his wings severed. Such is the judgement of the Deity.”

  In shock, the Morningstar looked up at Metatron, shaking his head. “But this cannot be. I have served the Deity faithfully until this transgression. Can he not see it within himself to forgive me? He forgives mankind for all manner of ills. I am his right hand, a favored one; he cannot do this to me.”

  Sighing, Metatron approached the Morningstar and reached out to cup his cheek. “That is just it, Morningstar, you think only of yourself and what you desire. The Deity feels he has shown you too much favor and it has changed you. I am truly sorry, but this is his judgement and it will be carried out.”

  Motioning to the angelic guard, Metatron stepped away from the Morningstar, allowing the guards to strip him of his robes. The Morningstar watched as the flowing white robes were torn off his body, leaving him naked and shivering on his knees. Coldness, something he had never felt, washed over him. The heavenly robes didn’t allow for discomfort of any kind. The robes vanished in a flash of white light as they flowed down and met the marble floor. Like all of the Deity’s warriors, the Morningstar had the symbol of Heofon emblazoned on his inner wrist. In cases of need, he could touch the mark and summon a sword of heavenly fire to dispatch enemies of the Deity. The guards forced his arm out and turned his hand palm up, baring the symbol of his status. Metatron stepped forward and produced a small vial of clear liquid that twinkled in the light — angel tears — the one substance on earth and in the heavens that would strip him of his power. Upending the bottle over the Morningstar’s outstretched palm, Metatron poured out several drops. As the liquid hit his skin, it began to burn, steam rising from his hand, the Morningstar screamed in pain, trying to jerk his arm free of the guards.

  “I am so sorry,” Metatron said again, the anguished expression on his face more pronounced than before.

  As the pain in his hand grew more severe the Morningstar slumped into the hold of his captors. He had never felt pain before. He had been injured, but his robes had protected him from all pain. He had healed almost instantly and had given this kind of agony very little thought over his existence. Tears were streaming down his face as he looked up beseechingly at Metatron. Unable to hold his gaze, Metatron turned away, giving his final order to the guard.

  “Clip his wings.” Came the order, delivered without emotion.

  Leaving the Morningstar dazed with pain, lying on the cold marble floor, the guards separated, each taking one of his wings in hand. Unable to move from the burning pain radiating up his arm, the Morningstar lay still and silent as his wings were spread wide. The coldness of the marble a welcome feeling as sweat broke out on his forehead and chest. Looking up through the curtain of his blond locks he saw the whip of heavenly fire as it materialized in Metatron’s hand. One tear fell from Metatron’s eye and tracked down his cheek as he raised his arm and cracked the whip. It whistled through the air leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. The Morningstar squeezed his eyes shut, hopelessness taking over his mind, as he felt the bite of the whip as it ripped through muscle and sinew. The scream that tore through him came straight from his soul. Metatron raised his arm and brought the whip down once more, separating the second wing from the Morningstar’s body. Perfect white feathers shot with gold fluttered to the ground, landing softly in the pool of blood forming from the slices on his shoulder blades. Blood ran like a river down his back and sides. His beautiful wings lay useless on the ground on either side of him, evidence of his Deity’s rejection. Breathing shallowly, he slid a shaky hand across the floor, reaching out to stroke the soft feathers of his ruined wings. Hard, wracking sobs rose from him as his vision began to wink in and out from the pain. Suddenly, he felt arms encircling him, lifting him off the hard marble floor. A small measure of hope flickered within him that his punishment might be over, that he would be granted a last minute reprieve. He felt himself being carried, but was unsure of how long or how far until he felt the cold breeze of the night air against his torn and battered skin. Squinting through the pain, the Morningstar saw only the blackness of the sky, the stars obscured by clouds. With no warning he was released by his captors, the wind slicing his skin as he went into a free fall. The black skies were suddenly filled with the sounds of thunder. Lightning shot down all around him as he plummeted to the earth. Each flash lighting up the velvety black sky, making it seem like time was standing still. As he fell, all he could hear was the wind whipping by, and a voice in his head telling him he had gotten what he deserved. As he fell closer and closer to the earth, the rain began, washing his body clean of the blood and gore that had stained him, the great divide between himself and the heavens becoming a yawning chasm that he would never again be able to bridge. The earth drew closer and closer, and the Morningstar began to thrash and panic, attempting frantically to slow his fall and the inevitable impact. Screaming until his throat was raw, he squeezed his eyes shut as the ground rose up to meet him.

  Jerking awake, the scream still upon his lips, Luc felt soft warm arms wrap around him. Breathing heavily, he looked around in confusion at the dark room in which he found himself. Shaking, he reached out and felt the covers and mattress of the bed. The arms encircling him drew him in closer, a warm breath tickled his ear as he heard the shushing of a feminine voice trying to comfort him. Suddenly, it all came back to him – Satan’s request, finding Katia, deciding to save her, arriving at this crappy motel. Letting out a shaky breath, Luc brought his hands up to cover Katia’s which were locked around his chest from behind. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She let out a breathy chuckle full of tension. “Don’t worry about me. Are you okay? You were screaming. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “It was a dream, a memory, actually. My fall from heaven. I haven’t had that dream in centuries,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face in exhaustion.

  Katia sighed, turned her head and kissed him softly on the cheek. For a man who had become used to a lack of feeling through all those centuries, Luc felt his heart crack wide open at the feel of her lips grazing his skin. Tears stung his eyes as he disengaged from Katia’s embrace and turned to face her. Here she was, taking him at face value for the man she saw, not judging him on the sins of his past. She had been through so much these past couple of days, yet she was more concerned with his welfare than her own. She was too good for him, he knew it to the depths of his soul, but he couldn’t help himself. Reaching out into the darkness, he cupped her face gently, taking in the beauty of her face shining from the moonlight streaming through the opening in the curtains. He leaned in towards her until they were mere inches apart. “I shouldn’t do this. I have no right, you’re so good and I’m…” he whispered to her, unable to finish his thought, not wanting to put it into words for fear she would turn away.

  Katia’s eyes flicked up to meet Luc’s. Smiling softly, she responded, “You’re hurt and damaged and perfect all at once.” Reaching out, Katia slid her hand around the nape of his neck, drawing him nearer as she speared her fingers through his hair. Their breath mingled briefly as their lips drew closer. The kiss was soft and gentle, lasting only a moment. As they drew apart, Luc looked down into Katia’s amazing eyes, now dilated. He could see the pulse jumping in her neck to the same beat as his heart. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and he was lost. Closing the distance again, Luc took her mouth in a blistering kiss. Their tongues twined and he heard
a moan, not sure if it was his or hers. The low-level electric hum escalated with their passion, sliding back and forth between them as they kissed. He felt her fingernails rake gently up his scalp, setting off a series of decadent shivers that travelled down his body. Reaching out with his free hand, Luc pulled Katia’s upper body flush against his, her breasts pressed against his chest. One of her hands fisted in his hair as the other slid around his back, her nails digging in as she locked his body against hers. He swallowed her sigh as she pressed herself harder against him, desperate for closer contact. Nothing had ever felt this good, this right. He was millennia old and never had he been so consumed by this fire. More. The voice whispered through his mind. So good. The voice whispered again. Yes. He thought. Yes, more. So, so good. Never want this to end. Pulling Katia tighter to him, he slid his hand up her ribcage and cupped her breast, squeezing gently. Her nipple pearled and she moaned. Breaking the kiss, she began nipping and licking her way along his jawline. More. The voice whispered more loudly this time. Realization suddenly dawned upon Luc, these weren’t his lust-filled thoughts; they were coming to him in Katia’s voice. These were her thoughts being pushed directly into his mind. Luc pulled away from her slightly in shock. Nothing like this had ever happened before. He’d lost his ability to communicate psychically since being banished from the heavens. Moaning at the loss of contact, Katia looked up at Luc in confusion. Looking down at her his breath caught in his throat, he gave a strangled cry. Her gorgeous mismatched eyes were being taken over by a glowing red that seemed to be bleeding outward from her pupils.