Page 74 of Fear the Fall
Bloody Valentine
The full moonshines down on us, casting a glow across the city. People gawk at Luke and push their way closer to him. He doesn’t appear to notice as his eyes light up and a smile takes over his once serious expression. “Let’s dance,” he says, motioning toward a door to a club.
“Umm. No,” I shake my head, walking out of his grasp. “I’m the worst dancer that ever lived.”
“Let me lead. I’mverygood,” the innuendo isn’t lost on me. If his words weren’t sexy enough, the way his tongue darts out, running across his lower lip, does the trick of lowering my defenses.
He grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers, and drags me toward the door.
Nothing good can come of me being in the devil’s arms for the night.
I allow him to lead me into what can only be described as a den of turpitude. The room is packed full of gyrating bodies, the fragrance of the place equal parts sweat and a cacophony of various perfumes and colognes. The odor is enough to gag a person. My hand comes up to shield my nose as I will my senses to adjust to the onslaught.
We take a seat at a round high-top table at the back of the room, voyeurs to the overt displays of desire playing out like a porno in front of us. Two fallen angels attempting to not get caught up in the fray—at least I am trying not to. Lucifer, on the other hand, is basking in it. This energy fuels him like the storms do me.
I attempt to make conversation to distract me from the lovers entwined in each other. Nothing good can come from any lapse in judgment on my part. This place is sin wrapped up in a dark and musky club located in the underbelly of New Orleans. It’s fitting that Lucifer would simply happen across it.
I’ve lived here for years, but I’ve never stumbled upon this place, yet there is something achingly familiar about it too. It’s as though the devil himself orchestrated the entire happenstance.
Very likely.
“Thank you, Victoria,” Luke says from across the table, placing his hand on top of mine.
“For what?” I ask reluctantly.
“For obliging me.” He smiles. “You’ve been a good sport today.”
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t give me a choice, Lucifer.”
His face falls, but just slightly.
“Please stop calling me that,” he says, looking young and uncertain.
“It’s your name.”
He blows out a harsh breath. “Just for tonight, can I be someone else?”
The sincerity in his voice tugs at my heartstrings. Could he truly wish to be someone else? Could the side of him that I catch glimpses of be his true nature? I’ve spent so much time villainizing him that it’s hard to switch views. It’s not a stretch to imagine that even the ruler of Hell wants a break.
I consider how the request was made too; it was more of a plea than a demand. In a place like this, he’s king. These people would relish walking alongside Lucifer. Yet he just wants to be anyone else.
“They’re not all bad,” he says, reading my mind for the millionth time. “Some of them just want to be someone else for the night. Can you blame them?”
“Are we still talking about these people? Or you?”
“Both?” He huffs. “Doesn’t it ever get exhausting being this divine creature that everyone expects so much from?”
I lower my head, feeling exposed, vulnerable, under Lucifer’s intense gaze. “It’s been a long time since anyone has expected anything from me,” I admit. I say it so quietly, he shouldn’t hear it over the music, but this is Lucifer we’re talking about.
“You’re wrong,” he says, shaking his head as though that should be the most obvious truth. “Do you really think you and that hunter of yours are the only fallen angels on Earth?”
I narrow my eyes at the direction this conversation is taking.
“Are you saying we’re not?”
He laughs at me like I’m adorable, and I glare in response. “Of course you’re not. The only difference is you’re allowed to roam in the open. The others have to hide because if the arcs found them, they’d be exterminated.”
“Why?” I press, wanting—no, needing—him to tell me everything.