Wrath lunged and swept her over his shoulder. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Viewing her new bedchamber from upside down was a novel experience. She got a fleeting impression of polished wood floors with bright rugs and a massive four poster bed in the center.
And then she was tossed into the middle of a fur-covered bed, and the time to appreciate her surroundings was over. The time to appreciate her hell prince, however, was just getting started.
Wrath followed her down, pinning her beneath his weight.
Part of her couldn’t believe she was actually here with him like this. She’d woken this morning prepared to go through the routine of another day in Ramiel’s realm, and now she was here, with Wrath’s strong, hard body pressing her into the bed.
“Hey.” He framed her face with his hands. “Regrets?”
“Not a one.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Except for the time it took you to come and get me.”
“Never again,” Wrath growled. “You are mine, and by my side is where you will stay.”
And then there was no more talking. What started as a slow exploration, quickly escalated into a desperate need for hands, mouths, and bodies. It felt as if neither of them could get close enough, as if they both sought to erase the time they’d spent apart.
Haziel gloried in their joining, a celebration and a beginning, and a promise of so much more to come.
Epilogue
Isabella Grace Henshawe was buried on a bright, Highveld winter day. The air was dry from the winter, the grass beneath the feet of the mourners yellow and sparse. Issy had always hated winter, and they’d so hoped she would be with them to see one more spring. Bare Jacaranda trees ringed the quiet, secluded cemetery behind the Anglican church. In a month or two, their branches would be heavy with the violet, trumpet-shaped flowers that only appeared in the spring. But Issy wouldn’t be here to see them.
One more year, one more month, one more spring—the perpetual bargain for more time. Until time had run out and Issy had left them. Issy’s mother stood alone beside the coffin. A heavy arrangement of white lilies perfumed the air, their sweetness turning her stomach. She’d known since Issy’s first diagnosis three years ago that this was coming, but she’d kept hoping the doctors were wrong, that Issy would beat the odds and be that rare miracle.
Her husband and mother were waiting for her in the car. People would be gathering at their Parkhurst home to mourn with them, with her. Her mother had given her a pill from the doctor this morning to help her through the funeral, but she hadn’t taken it. Her pain was hers, and blunting it even slightly felt like a betrayal to the child whose life had been cut so short. Parents shouldn’t outlive their children. It was wrong, unnatural.
Movement flickered out of the corner of her eye, and a bird alighted on the coffin. She lunged to chase it away, but something stopped her. Another four birds joined the first, the bright morning light catching the brilliant blues, russets, and yellows of their plumage. Her heart stopped, and her breath caught in her throat. European bee eaters, not due back yet from their annual winter migration. Issy’s favorite bird. They’d started bird watching together as a way to pass the time when Issy was no longer well enough to go to school. It had become their special thing.
Tears blurred her vision, and she could have sworn the bee eaters cocked their heads as if watching her.
“Issy,” she whispered.
The bee eaters stretched their wings and took to the air. Spring was coming. The seasons would roll forward. Life would go on. Without Issy, but life would go on.
Another Epilogue
Lucifer tracked the lingering essence of Ashe to a small village over his border in Ava’s demesne. The slippery fucker was long gone, the tavern all but deserted except for a table of low order demons who eyed him with suspicion.
“I’m looking for a high order demon,” he said to the tavern keeper.
The tavern keeper spread his hands on the counter and eyed Lucifer from beneath the overdeveloped ridge of bone over his eyes. “You might be lost. We don’t get many of those in here.”
Lucifer reached for whatever claim on patience he could manage. It had never been much, and his long hunt had whittled it down to a nub. “Which is why you would have remembered one.”
“Begging your pardon, your lordship.” The tavern keeper’s knuckles whitened under the nervous press of his hands into the bar counter. “But we don’t get many of your kind either. Unless you’re here by invitation of our prince.”
Not many demons would challenge a hell prince, and Lucifer gave the demon points for courage. Or was that stupidity? The two were remarkably intertwined, with the difference often lying in the outcome of said courageous or stupid act.
The barkeeper was clearly loyal to Avarice and was questioning his right to be in this demesne. Lucifer had ripped demons apart for lesser offences, but with Ashe’s betrayal burning a hole in his belly, he had to admire the keeper’s loyalty to Ava. “Mammon would have no issue with me being here. I am on business that affects all of us.”
The keeper nodded and licked his lips, no doubt relieved that Lucifer had decided not to hand him his ass.
The lower order demons at the table had stopped their dice game and were watching the conversation with avid interest.
A mahogany woodland gnome raised his hand. “Excuse me, Lord Lucifer.” He swallowed, his huge black eyes darting around his companions as if waiting for support. “But would that be Ashe you were looking for?”
The name surged through Lucifer on a wave of victory. At fucking last, he was getting somewhere. Stalking over to their table, he loomed over the quaking demons. “Tell me what you know of Ashe.”
Looking like he regretted opening his mouth, the gnome quivered and squeaked. “Uh…er…um…I don’t know much, my lord.”
Weeks of frustration from hunting down his traitorous second gripped Lucifer as he thundered, “Tell me.”
The gnome’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slid off his chair and dropped in a dead faint. His body hit the floor with a thud.
Fuck!
The gnome’s imp companion squealed and made a dash for the door.
“Not so fast.” Lucifer caught the imp by the pink horn and dragged him back. “It appears that your friend is unable to answer my questions at the minute. Why don’t you tell me what you know?” It was not a request.
“Lord Lucifer.” The troll lumbered to her feet. “Leafrot knows him best.” She indicated the still unconscious gnome. And Blot over there don’t know anything.”
“She’s right.” The imp wriggled. “Nothing. I know nothing.”
