“You are always welcome, Morningstar.” Silenda dabbed at her wet cheeks with a handkerchief, gazing at Lucifer with lovestruck blindness.
“The next time you visit, we’ll find someone to match your angel. Don’t be a stranger, Azazel.” Celamentum raised a glass. “Melisande. All doors are open to you, as Azazel’s student and the Lady of Wrath. Don’t let our eyeball put you off.”
At the mention of the eyeball, I shuddered, but there was one benefit to being blinded by Lucifer’s light.
I wouldn’t have to see it as we left.
11
Melisande
Azazel let me fly back to the arena, but he gripped my hand the entire time, extending his shadowy protection to me. I glided through the air like a streak of stars and mist, only solidifying when we landed on the roof of my arena.
Lucifer touched down next to me, his hand on my elbow. “Are you still blind?” he asked, tilting my face up.
“Not anymore.” I smiled ruefully. “One day I might be able to match you.”
It was a pipe dream, but still, the allure of the prince’s power was breathtaking. I couldn’t fathom being able to rip through an entire battlefield on the force of blinding light.
“A better question might be, do you feel better?” Azazel hadn’t released my hand, his violet gaze concerned.
My heart hadn’t hurt the entire time I’d been fighting Lucifer. The pain was still there, but it was a dull ache now, bandaged by my resolve to fix things between myself and Belial. “I do. It was what I needed.”
“Good.” He nodded and released my hand, pulling his reserve around himself like a cloak. “I’ll let you two be for the night.”
“Azazel…” I paused, wondering what I’d been planning on asking.
What did I want from him? He was determined to make me better, but every time I felt like I got close, one of us drew back again.
“Will you stay?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
Azazel’s violet gaze flicked to the feather in my hair. He reached up and stroked it carefully, then let his hand drop. “Not tonight.”
My disappointment was a solid weight in my chest, but it eased a little when he lifted my chin and brushed a slight kiss on my lips.
I rose on my tiptoes, deepening it past what he’d intended, raising my hands to cup his face. The Watcher let out a soft sound, his hands tightening on my shoulders-
Azazel broke away, his nostrils flared. “No. Not like this.”
He became a shimmering mist, ethereal and weightless. My hands passed right through him.
“Enjoy your night with Lucifer,” he whispered in my ear. I shivered at the slight touch. “When I have my time, I want to be the only one on your mind.”
“Azazel, you’re always on my damn mind,” I hissed, but I was too late. He dissolved on the slightest breath of wind, vanishing from my hold completely.
Lucifer wrapped his arms around me from behind. “He’ll find a way,” he said quietly. “He struggles with what he is.”
“I already have an idea for how to help him,” I said, gazing at the sky for any sign of stars that weren’t quite natural. “If he bound himself to me, if he used my soul, he wouldn’t feel the void anymore.”
“Come on.” Lucifer tugged my hand, leading me to the rooftop door and a set of stairs winding downwards. “Azazel is… proud. He hates the idea of thinking he’s using you to fix himself.”
“Well, fuck his pride,” I muttered, following Lucifer to my bedroom. “I offered freely. He wouldn’t be taking anything I hadn’t given.”
It was too easy to tell someone else to forget their pride while putting my own on a pedestal.
Lucifer smiled crookedly and opened my door. “Let him have his pride for a little longer. It means I get more of you to myself for now.”
I closed the door and locked it behind us, then pushed Lucifer onto my bed. “How selfish of you, but who am I to judge?”
He untied the laces of my dress easily. “Judge all you want. I’ll make you forget it soon enough.”
Three days passed in relative quiet. My arena grew by the day, fighters spilling in to find their place in the ranks of my ragtag army.
It was nothing like Belial’s arena. I had the Chainlings set up several communal rooms where they ate, slept, and trained. Any of them were free to go if they wished, but none left.
It seemed that every other hour a Chainling approached me with a request: they would like more training dummies. A larger stable needed to be built to train the mounted warriors. We had a dearth of throwing knives.
I approved each request, tending to my fighters’ needs, and they all received my mark without a word of dissent.
On the third day of quiet building, a Chainling knocked on my door while I was enduring a pedicure from Vyra.
“Letters, my Lady,” he said, passing me two folded notes before bowing and backing out.
The door quietly snicked shut.
“I wish they wouldn’t bow so much,” I breathed. “I’m just an angel. I wasn’t even high up in the ranks in Heaven.”
“The Cult of the Chain is a little more old-school,” Vyra said, shaking a bottle of scarlet nail polish. “They like all the bowing and serving, and you basically gave them an entire arena to play with. Haven’t you seen all the chains they’ve hung around?”
I had. They fell from the ceilings like a forest, each black chain shining with one silver link.
“This is fun to them, just let them have it. The last time the Chainlings got seriously involved with a new queen, it was like three thousand years ago and they mostly got wiped out in the following battle. This is their time to shine again.”
I chose to ignore the ‘new queen’ statement. I wasn’t here to fuck my way into ruling Hell.
Instead, I glanced at the writing on
