Touched by Darkness: (Sins of The Fallen Book 2)
Touched by Darkness: Chapter 25

I finish off my shower, then step out, water dripping from my skin as I reach for a towel. I’m sore everywhere, courtesy of Daemon and the others.

As I look at myself in the mirror above the sink, I do a double take, slowly moving closer. A necklace of bruises decorates my throat. I trace my fingers along the purple marks and a soft smile lifts my lips as I lower my hand. I’m finally getting somewhere with them. Their rough treatment today brought back memories from when I first arrived in Hell. Back when they stole my heart and dipped it in black ink.

I’ll do anything to bring them back to me, even if I lose myself in the process, as long as Daemon’s gravelly voice drags me back to the surface.

Wrapped in a towel, I step out of the bathroom and pause.

Lucifer stands near the window with his back to me. He turns around and scans his eyes down my body.

I clutch the towel to me, wishing I wore more clothing. The power dynamics between us couldn’t be more glaringly obvious as he slowly walks up to me. He’s immaculately dressed in a pressed suit, while I’m half-naked, with damp hair sticking to my skin. His scent, like that of hellfire, woodsmoke, and danger, invades my senses. He stops in front of me, undressing me with his intent gaze.

I swear Lucifer can see my hard nipples through the thin towel.

“Rumors spread fast in Hell.” His deep voice oozes with erotic danger as it wraps around my throat, adding bruises to Daemon’s necklace.

“Rumors?” I ask carefully.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, reaching out to drag his thumb over my lips. His hand falls away, the back brushing against his leg. His fingers rub together, over and over. A twisted ritual, I can’t help but notice.

“It all feels too convenient to me.” He circles me slowly. “My son traveled to Ireland, and you stabbed him.”

“I didn—”

“You blamed it on a stalker. Daemon was too injured and too out of it, and now his memories of that night are warped, because of the lies you spun.”

“I didn’t lie—”

Lucifer won’t let me finish. “Maybe you didn’t mean to stab him. Maybe the darkness in you finally claimed you as its own, and when you came to, it was easier to make up a story, hmm?”

My lip trembles, but I stay silent, knowing he’ll twist my words if I try to defend myself.

“You forget one vital thing, Aurelia. I am Lucifer. The original.” He cups my chin and brings my glassy eyes brimming with tears to his. “I am the Devil. If anyone knows darkness, it’s me. I invented it, remember? Twisted and shaped it with my own bare hands while God turned his back in disgust.” His grip on my chin tightens in warning. “I know how the darkness eats you alive, threatening to obliterate the last remnants of your soul. No matter the colors of your wings, hair, or skin, you were born of the light, and of the light, you shall remain, whether the glass is half empty or echoingly hollow. The only problem with a hollow glass is that it can be filled with other things. Less pleasant things.” His thumb is back to brushing rhythmically over my lips. “And now there’s no light left to overflow or counteract the potency of the darkness that pours in over the rim like a thick mist. Your soul is left to drown a slow death.”

My heart thuds painfully in my chest. I don’t dare look away from the promise of pain in his dark gaze.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll lose yourself completely. I’m sure you can understand why I can’t let that happen. My son has developed an unhealthy obsession with you, and while the easiest solution to my problem would be to kill you, it’s not the wisest. My son is a lot like me when I was his age—hot-tempered, fiercely loyal, and possessive. If I hurt you now, I’d cause a rift that I would rather avoid. So I’ll let him play.” He fingers a strand of my drying hair. “He’ll soon grow bored of your golden cunt, and when that day comes, you better run, little angel, because I will slaughter you before you can bewitch my son a second time. From now on, I’ll have eyes on you at all times. If you hurt my son, I’ll make you wish for death, understood?”

When I stay silent, Lucifer jostles my chin.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” I bite out.

“Good.” He releases me and reaches out to grab hold of the flap of my towel. With a sharp pull, it falls away, baring my naked body to his cold, cruel eyes. He takes in the faint bruises on my skin and the bite marks. Every imperfection caused by his son’s savage passion.

Marks, which I usually wear with pride, but now wish I could cover. The way he looks at me squeezes my heart painfully, as though I’m the dirt beneath his shoe and an insect he needs to squash. I don’t want to admit to myself how much I crave his acceptance. He’s Daemon’s father, and despite their strained relationship, a small part of Daemon still looks up to the man in front of me.

“Like I said,” he drawls, reaching out to pinch my nipple, but I step out of reach, “my son will soon grow bored.”

Lucifer then smiles the kind of smile that disarms me for a second because it’s so deceptively warm. He’s an expert at disguises, camouflaging himself behind the masks he wears to the outside world. But I see the evil lurking behind.

It whispers to me like the fanged trees in the woods.

“I’ll see you again soon, Aurelia.” He enunciates each syllable in my name like it’s my body. The words on his tongue are his skilled touch that travels over the plane of my flesh in a bid to wring it dry of pleasure.

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine and spreads out in tingles that settle in places they shouldn’t.

My thighs squeeze together as heat crawls up my neck.

Lucifer is the ultimate alpha in this place of depravity. We’re not wolves, but my body still responds to the command in his gaze and the danger in his voice.

With a simple look, he could bring me to my knees. He chooses not to wield that power, but revels in it as he watches my skin flush.

And then he walks out with a final smirk, leaving me to catch my breath while his threats linger in the air, along with his masculine, primal scent.

I slam the front door shut, making no secret of my arrival. I couldn’t if I tried, not when I’m this angry. “Amenadiel!”

He enters the dim hallway, dressed in slacks and a black button-down. His tie has been loosened and his sleeves folded up to reveal his tanned forearms.

With a click of his fingers, he lights the torches on the wall, then offers me a smile that fools no one. “What brings you here, Angel?”

“Don’t play stupid with me.” I march up to him and slap his cheek. “The veil is not mended.”

“Oh.” His smile widens. “What brought you to that conclusion?”

I gnash my teeth, fisting my hands at my sides as I glare at him. “You know exactly what.”

I can’t bring myself to say it out loud; how he fucked me in my dream until I came all over his cock. Just the thought has heat burning the tips of my ears.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His smile is gone, and his gaze has turned hard. “I mended the veil when we first arrived back.”

“You fucking liar!” I tear after him when he walks down the hallway. “You visited me in my drea—”

Amenadiel whirls on me. “Has it ever fucking dawned on you that maybe you’re attracted to me, and it’s your twisted imagination?”

A bitter snort puffs from my lips. “Why won’t you just admit it?”

The truth is that I need him to, and until he does, a tiny sliver of doubt will linger at the fringes of my consciousness like an unwelcome guest who refuses to leave.

“You want me to admit creeping on you in your dreams? Tell me, little angel, what exactly do we do in your dreams? Huh? What’s the nature of your fantasies? Do I lick your sweet cunt? Do you kneel like a good girl, eager to suck my dick? Do I fuck you? What exactly happens when I cross the veil?”

My cheeks blaze with embarrassment, but I refuse to back down as I bite out, “I am not losing my mind.”

He hums, rocking back on his heels, the picture of calm. “If you say so.”

“I woke up with scratches on my ankles and… and…”

“And what?” He leans close, his voice dropping in octaves. “Say it.”

I stare at him, my hands growing clammy with sweat the longer I stay silent. When I finally talk, my voice is merely a whisper. “Cum trickled out of me.”

His smile is back, reflecting the firelight. “Cum, you say?”

“Yes…”

He tsks. “Naughty girl.”

I go to slap him again, but he sees it coming this time and grabs my wrist.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not unless you want to make your nightmares a reality.”

Wrenching my hand away, I pant through my nose while we stare at each other. He, with no small amount of amusement, and me, with fiery anger burning in my gaze.

“How do you explain the scratches?”

“Maybe you had an itch in your sleep?”

“An itch?” I fold my hands over my chest. “Do you seriously believe that?”

“What’s the alternative?”

My glare intensifies. “There was an open door—another portal—and a hand reached out and grabbed me.”

“A hand reached out of the portal and grabbed you?”

“Yes!” I all but shriek. “A fucking hand.”

“So, let me get this straight. I fondled you in your sleep, a hand appeared through an open door, and then you woke up with scratches on your ankles and cum seeping out of you.”

“I don’t like the way you say it.”

“What way?” He steps into the living room, and I follow him, careful not to trip over the bear rug.

“Like I’m crazy. I’m not. And you’re lying to me. To what end, I don’t fucking know.”

Amenadiel pours himself a tumbler of amber liquid and peers at me over the rim as he sips it. I try not to shift beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. “How did you escape Daemon’s watchful eye? I doubt he let you come here.”

Sucking on my teeth, I look away. “I may or may not have escaped through the bedroom window.”

“Naughty girl.”

I snap my gaze back at him with narrowed eyes before pointing an accusing finger his way. “You can lie to me all you want, but I do not buy your act. Next time you decide to fuck me against my will in my sleep, I’ll trap you inside my mind again. How about that?”

“So I can continue molesting you in your sleep?”

My mouth slams shut, and he sets his tumbler down on a nearby console table on his way over to me. “Let me get one thing clear, Angel. You wouldn’t be here, looking so flustered, if I fucked you against your will. The only reason you’re here, accusing me of such…”—he taps his lip as he searches for the words—“deplorable acts, is because some depraved and neglected part of you craved it. The righteousness in you, the persistent little light that clings to your soul with the tenacious spirit of an infectious wart, won’t let go. It feeds you with lies and whispers of guilt and shame. But between you and me, I see it for what it is—the final death throes. So why don’t we”—he scissors his fingers—“cut it from the source?”

“What are you saying?”

“Instead of fighting the darkness… Why don’t you give in to it? Why fight it?”

“Why fight it?” I sound incredulous. “Believe it or not, I don’t want to hurt people.”

He tuts and shakes his head as he walks past me to stir the flames in the fireplace with a metal stick. “There’s that wart again.”

“You’re deflecting.”

Framed by the roaring flames, Amenadiel places the stick back down and turns to look at me. “Deflecting?”

“Yes, you’re trying to distract me, so you don’t have to admit to what you did.”

“Are we back to that now? You need to get over your obsession with me. I’m a powerful angel in my own right, so why would I sneak into a little girl’s dream and seduce her?”

“You tell me, Amenadiel.” Then as an afterthought, I add, “And I’m not obsessed with you.”

He stalks up to me, clasps the back of my neck, and leans down to breathe me in. His nose drags up the curve to my neck and he whispers against the shell of my ear, “If you don’t harbor a little girl’s crush, then how come you’re trembling?”

This condescending asshole. I try to wrench free, but he tightens his hold on me and keeps me immobile in his arms. His wings unfold behind him to cocoon us in a world of perverted desires and corruption.

The last sliver of light disappears, and his heated breath tickles my ear in the darkness as his lips brush up against it.

Shivers race down my spine and settle in a pool of heated liquid at the base of my dipping stomach.

“Whether your dreams are real or not”—his fingertips slide down the curve of my waist, and he grabs me, eliciting a gasp from my lips—“the monster in you—the agitated beast—circles mine. Your darkness whispers sweet nothings to mine while waiting, longing, and praying to be dragged into the dark night and ravaged.” He pulls me against his hard body so suddenly that my breath hitches.

“Let go of me.” My voice comes out in a breathy murmur, and I curse myself for sounding as if I’m affected by him.

I’m not.

Right?

My throat jumps as something hard digs into my stomach. I can’t let my mind go there.

Absolutely not.

“You want me to let you go? Or are you trying to force the starving beast back into the shadows? Nothing good comes from leaving it hungry for too long.”

“As the hand reached for me in my dream, you told me you could help me.”

“So not only am I the object of your wicked fantasies, but now I’m your savior, too?” He sounds so amused that I’m temporarily released from his trance.

“Get over yourself.” I try to push him off, but his arms trap me as I growl, “You know what’s behind the door in my dream.”

“Not only are you stubborn, but presumptuous, too.”

“And you’re a dick.” I blush as soon as the words leave my mouth, because now my attention zeros in on his thick length that’s pressing into my stomach. He’s big and hard.

So very fucking hard.

And it shouldn’t make it this difficult to inhale a full breath.

I shove him off and he lets me, much to my surprise. But then Dmitriy walks into the room, eyeing us both carefully.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence.” It unnerves me how collected Amenadiel looks. His cock strains against his pressed suit pants, and I pray Dmitriy is none the wiser. But how could he possibly miss it when it looks like a poisonous snake that wants to escape its confines and have me for lunch?

I shake away those thoughts even as I sneak another furtive glance.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Amenadiel is right; something very dark and scary whispers inside me.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Amenadiel’s deep voice shatters my thoughts, and I tear my eyes away from the tenting bulge in his pants.

My cheeks burn bright red. “I-uh…” I try to swallow, peering over at Dmitriy, but before I can finish my sentence, the servants bring in a group of terrified humans.

I blink, and then I blink again.

When we had dinner at Lucifer’s, the chained girls were quiet and demure. A picture of sophistication. These humans, on the other hand, are screaming and crying.

And the blood…

My nostrils flare as a thick, black mist seeps beneath the gap in the doors. I step back, nearly tripping over the bear’s head. The mist trails over the floorboards, closer and closer. “Amenadiel?”

“Don’t fight it,” he says, casually walking over to where the humans cower in a corner. “Let it claim you.”

“What are you doing?” I ask as he grabs an injured human man by the arm, hauls him over—unbothered by the blood trail on the floor—and drops him by my feet.

While I inch away from the shadows crawling up my ankles, Dmitriy takes a seat on the couch and digs his phone out of his pocket.

This is so surreal.

I’m losing control in front of their eyes, and Dmitriy doesn’t even look up from the screen as though this is normal. It’s not. Every fiber in my being knows this is not how it’s done.

Amenadiel steps around me, grips my upper arms, and whispers in my ear, “Can you feel it? How your heart beats faster as it claims you? Let go, sweetheart. Don’t fight.”

The human man launches to his feet and tries to run, but with the cut in his leg, his gait is off, and he hobbles instead.

It’s the wrong thing to do.

My vision mists over, and my teeth elongate as darkness falls upon my soul.

“Never run from a hunter,” Amenadiel breathes in my ear before releasing my shoulders.