Lucifer's Bride [Complete]

45

    What stands before me is not my husband. He's tall like my husband, though, and nearly as painfully handsome. Wearing nothing but black slacks, his strongly chiseled body and powerful arms are on full display. Snow-white wings are relaxed, splayed out along the dark tile floor. A mass of long wheat-blond hair and piercing blues eyes offset his tanned flesh and chiseled features.

Michael. Holy shit.

I stare at him, swallowing loudly. This can't be good.

He smiles softly at me. "Miss Harlowe, I presume?" His voice is deep, resonating, and simply divine.

I manage to steady myself. Gorgeous as he may be, Michael is not my Lucifer. There's no seductive darkness, no playful evilness about him to stir my hormones awake. He's a squeaky-clean goody two-shoes who cast my husband down into these pits because his dad couldn't handle being questioned. Motherfucker.

I lift my chin an inch. "Your Highness will do, thank you."

His brows rise an inch. "Your Highness? Settling into our role already, are we?"

I scowl a bit. "What could you possibly want? I don't believe your name is on the guest list."

His smile widens, showing two rows of immaculate white teeth. "I come to you on behalf of my father."

Father? Double shit.

I gulp quietly. "What does he want?"

Michael steps forward, his arms swinging wide and his wings fidgeting to life. "What he always wants. To offer you freedom and love and redemption."

"Redemption?" I ask sarcastically. "What do I need to be redeemed? I've done nothing wrong. I never made a deal or killed anyone. Why would I need to be saved?"

Michael shakes his head, his smile never wavering. "Poor innocent Amelia. Forced into marriage with my heartless brother by her mother and crushed by the untimely death of her father. Such a sad trail of misfortune follows you, and all because your mother wanted to be queen."

His tone leaves a bad taste in my mouth. "So? My mom's selfish. Who isn't at some point?"

He comes closer, closing the space between us. I stand my ground; backing away here won't do me any good. If I keep my stance firm, maybe he'll fly away.

"My father isn't," he nearly sings the words. "He never is, was or will be."

I scoff. "I doubt that."

His smile fades into a mask of seriousness. "What makes a loving woman like you say such blasphemous things?"

I stare coldly at him. "Sodom and Gomorrah ring a bell? Or the thousands of people he killed off because they worshipped someone besides him?"

"Such vague references." He's some close enough to me that I can feel the heat -- not an icy chill -- radiating off his skin. "Plague killed off most of those poor souls."