And when had she lost complete control of her car? Bianca clambered after him. “I can see that, but why are we here?”
“You are human.” Lucifer nodded to another uniformed hotel employee holding the large glass entrance doors open. They entered an airy glass and marble lobby. “And thus, you need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to hang back and halt her forward propulsion. “I can sleep in the car, and you don’t need to sleep.”
Lucifer stopped and stared at her, his dark eyes stripping her to her soul. “Bianca,” he said with insulting patience. “You have had a dreadful day. You need to rest. I am not insensitive to how you must be feeling.”
Oh, that was a good one. “But shopping wasn’t insensitive?”
“No.” He gaped at her. “Shopping was a necessity.”
“All of it?”
He made a face. “Perhaps not all of it, but you still need to rest, and the car is not ideal.”
Resting was the last thing she needed. If they stopped moving, she would have to deal with the awful images lurking in her mind. The lifeless, rotting bodies had been friends and she couldn’t get their staring eyes out of her mind. Elsewhere, other people were watching doors and waiting for someone to walk through who now never would. When they were driving, even when Lucifer was shopping, she didn’t have to think about it, remember, process. “Anyway, I can’t afford to stay here.”
Not unless she planned to take out a mortgage on her house. Soothing music piped into the subtle lemon-scented interior. Guests in beautiful clothing stood and chatted or sprawled like elegant cats on the suede furniture clustered in tasteful and discreet groupings.
Lucifer growled and tugged her to the reception desk.
“Let me go.” She pulled back. “Or I’ll scream that you’re abducting me.”
“Try it.” His voice dropped low and silky. “And you’ll find yourself compelled into a room faster than you can twitch that pretty nose of yours.”
“You wouldn’t.” And how could he compel her if he had no power? Now that she thought about it, he’d been doing a lot of things that would need his powers.
“Wouldn’t I?” His gaze dared her to take her chances.
The tinkle of glass and cutlery drifted over from a sleek wood and glass interior restaurant. Even the lobby pot plants had an expensive sheen to their leaves. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I never explain myself,” he said and pulled her to a gleaming wooden reception desk. “We will need your presidential suite for the night.” Lucifer slid a black credit card across the desk. “And dinner to be sent to the room.”
Bianca had heard of a black Amex, but she’d never seen one. She suppressed the urge to pick it up and examine it. It shouldn’t surprise her that Lucifer had one. A hell prince was hardly going to be using Groupon.
The receptionist didn’t find anything odd about the request and entered politely into a wine and menu discussion.
“There are also some parcels in our car.” Lucifer accepted an electronic fob from the receptionist. “We’d appreciate it if you had them sent to the suite.”
Feeling like a square of toilet paper stuck to his shoe, Bianca followed Lucifer into a private elevator that only stopped one place—the top floor.
“Holy crap.” She staggered into a sitting room furnished in lush gray suede and chrome. Wall to wall banks of windows provided a panoramic view of the city below them. A city she had no recollection of driving through. She had no idea where they were or how they’d gotten there. Their journey had passed in a blur of her staring out the window without taking anything in, but she would have noticed them entering a city. The needle-like spire of the CN Tower caught her attention. She felt stupid even asking the question, but circumstances demanded it. “Are we in Toronto?”
“I believe so.” Lucifer strolled to the large bar at the far end of the sitting room and examined the contents.
That was not possible. Toronto was ringed by extensive and massive highways. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Lucifer gave a pleased grunt and selected a bottle. He held it up to her. “Scotch?”
“Huh?”
“Single malt.” He smirked. “Would you care for one?”
“Single malt?” The part of village idiot was now being played by Bianca Fiore.
“From a fermented mash that is entirely composed of malted barley from a single distillery.” Lucifer reached for two glasses and placed them on the bar. “And currently awaiting your decision as to whether you would like to drink it or not.”
She nodded without having the vaguest idea of whether she wanted one or not. “How did we get here?”
“We drove.” He poured a couple of fingers into the glasses and approached her with one. “In your car, which I have to say I had severe reservations about at first. I’ve had to conclude, however, that it is a commendable vehicle. Very smooth ride. Good fuel consumption.”
Bianca took the glass and downed it. Peat and roasted grains seared her windpipe down to her stomach, and she coughed. “No, we didn’t.”
“How else would we get here then?” Lucifer raised a brow at her now empty glass and strolled back to the bar for the bottle. “Because I can assure you, we didn’t fly here.”
She tried to piece their day together. The hidden bunker where they’d found—
She yanked her mind away. Strip mall. Shopping. Raphael being there and then leaving. Countryside. No major highways or driving through a crowded urban area. Her voice came out more like a whisper, “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t down that.” Lucifer had replenished her glass. “A single malt like this should be savored, not shot like a cheap bar whisky.” He handed the glass to her. “And it’ll hit you hard on an empty stomach.”
A doorbell chimed, and Lucifer went to answer it.
Bianca tottered over to a large, plush sofa and dropped into the enveloping cushions. It was as comfortable as a bed, and her weary muscles unwound and cleaved to its shape.
A bellhop nodded politely as he pushed a loaded cart through another door at the far end of the suite.
Bianca waited impatiently to continue their discussion as the man finished unloading his cart and Lucifer tipped him.
