12 Fucking Lucifer

Bel

Bel scrubbed his hand over his face, sighing at the mountain of paperwork still left on his desk. Legion reports to be read, training and drill schedules to approve, intelligence reports to read through…

“Six,” Asmodeus said. His cousin lounged on one of the couches in his office, the portrait of boredom.

“What?”

Asmodeus tucked a hand behind his head, muscles shifting beneath his slate-gray skin. “You’ve sighed six times in the last, I don’t know, ten minutes? Fifteen? Maybe, just maybe , you should do something crazy, like take a break?”

“You don’t have to be in my office,” Bel pointed out, reaching for the next paper: an incident report from the training exercise in the Underworld. Joy. Hades had texted him about it.

“Your couches are so much more comfortable than mine though. Plus, my office has paperwork in it.”

“Universe forbid.” Bel grinned, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head. He hadn’t had time to fully stretch after his morning training session, and that, combined with the stress of slogging through paperwork—his least favorite everyday task in his role as a general—had his shoulders feeling extra tight. He flared his wings slightly as he rose from the chair, then tucked them close to his back, careful not to disturb the papers with a breeze. He ruffled Asmodeus’s hair as he passed by, dodging his retaliatory swipe, and headed towards the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The Admin Level stretched into the distance, red-gold light glinting off the ornate architecture and many windows of the small city. Bridges arched over the wide river of lava that wound through the buildings, a small lavafall throwing up sparks and clumps of molten earth that glowed ethereally against the black rock.

Beautiful.

It was something his mother had taught him from the time he was old enough to understand: how to find beauty everywhere he went.

Beauty feeds the soul, my sweet boy. It takes many forms, some of them obvious, like a flower in bloom or the laughter of a child, but sometimes it is hidden, though it is never absent. Find beauty.

Sometimes the exercise was easier said than done, but he always managed to find something that made his heart settle.

Bel glanced over his shoulder at his desk and grimaced.

Hard to find beauty in paperwork , though sometimes the signatures were lovely. Thankfully, unless something catastrophic happened, it rarely grew overwhelming. Unless he ignored it for too long.

A clean desk. That was the beauty he would strive for.

“Azzy, exactly how long have you been putting off your office job?”

“Well,” Asmodeus drawled, propping a boot on the arm of the couch, “I’ve mostly been shoving papers out of the way so that I can bend Sariah over my desk. I made an exception yesterday with Lev’s memo about”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“‘the importance of not sullying professional spaces with sex.’ We made a point to fuck on top of that.”

Bel chuckled, shaking his head. Asmodeus and his wife were famously infatuated with each other and had been from their first meeting. Bel had learned the importance of listening, then knocking, with all of his regular acquaintances, but especially with Asmodeus.

Except Lev. The meticulous demon had been fairly uninterested in carnal activities since they’d been young. Hence, the now-infamous memo.

Bel had nearly laughed himself sick when it had landed on his desk, shortly followed by spending a solid chunk of time wondering who he could call to fuck in his office out of sheer spite.

He hadn’t been able to come up with a valid option.

“Thanks for taking one for the team,” Bel said dryly, turning back to the window.

An adult demon flew carefully, far above the city, the tiny figure next to them flapping clumsily along, dipping every now and then before recovering. A ghost of a smile tugged at Bel’s lips. He’d helped teach little ones how to fly before, and while he might have outwardly exuded calm confidence, his heart had stopped every time one of them dropped a little too fast, or they’d banked a little too hard or too close to something. He’d still savored every moment.

“Hey, Grumpus,” Asmodeus called.

“Fuck you.” Greg’s smooth response was venomless.

“Didn’t even hear you come in,” Bel said, turning to greet one of his oldest friends.

Nearly as tall as Bel, with short, spiraling horns, neat black hair, and burgundy skin, Greg had a coolly collected presence that even other demons could find eerie. Where Bel preferred comfortable, athletic clothing, Greg favored a slightly more mortal style, akin to mortal businessmen in movies—if those businessmen ran the most extreme punishment level in Hell, and arguably one of the most intense in the entire Afterlife. His crisply laundered, black button-down shirt lacked any telltale signs of his sleeves being rolled up, suggesting he hadn’t been required to exact his expertise yet that day. The tailored black pants tucked into polished knee-high boots also bore no sign of Greg’s skill set. His tail swayed lazily behind him, a dead giveaway that he was bored and not bothering to hide it.

Greg shot Bel a droll look and eased himself onto the empty couch across from Asmodeus. “Sneaking in isn’t hard when you’ve got this one making a racket.”

Asmodeus beamed and flipped him off.

“Any news on the disturbance in that pocket realm?” Greg asked Bel, aiming his own middle finger at Asmodeus.

“Just what I’ve heard in passing. Sounds like another Universe might be trying to make contact. They probably gave me a report, but I haven’t gotten to it yet.” Bel sighed, running a hand over his face.

Greg barely glanced at his cluttered desk and arched a brow. “Too busy flirting with your nerd wife ?”

“Shut up.”

“Ooooo,” Asmodeus cooed, sitting up and nearly knocking over a picture frame on the side table with his wing. “Right, tell me about this mortal soul who kicked Greg’s ass.”

“Is that really more interesting to you than the fact that Bel is finally flirting with someone again?”

“It’s only been, what? Almost a century since…what was her name? Or no, you never dated her, you just hooked up for like a month, right? Or was that the guy before that?” Asmodeus asked.

“He hasn’t actually dated anyone since before you met Sariah,” Greg said. “See why your priorities are skewed?”

“Both things can be interesting at once. And I met Sariah a century ago, so I’m not entirely off base. How did it feel to lose?” Asmodeus brightened suddenly and turned to Bel. “Hey, speaking of her, maybe she’d be your spite fuck for this memo thing.”

“No.” Bel’s tone brooked no argument.

Not that he hadn’t thought about it. He had no idea what she looked like, but he liked her voice, liked her sense of humor and quick wit, liked the way she’d cackled when she’d won as an invader that one time. He especially liked the way she crooned her silly pet name for him, had even begun to crave the way it made him shift in his chair.

Hey, nerd hubby, here’s one for you: What do you get when you cross a bat and a man? A ban. Specifically, a lifetime ban from all genetics labs, as well as a visit from the ethics committee.

He’d retold that one in a meeting with the leaders of his aerial legions and they’d cracked up.

“Is the ‘memo thing’ about Lev’s memo?” Greg asked.

Bel grunted an affirmative.

Greg adjusted the cuff of his shirt. “I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t tempted to have the same reaction, but a series of billionaires just arrived, so I’ve been rather busy.”

“So has Azzy,” Bel drawled.

Asmodeus smirked and laced his hands together behind his head. “It’s celebratory. Sariah can’t get any more pregnant.”

“Animals, both of you,” Greg said.

Bel couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’d like to remind you of a certain drunken story you once told me about when you went to Faerie for that solstice party—”

“Shut up,” Greg mumbled, much to Asmodeus’s delight. Before Bel’s cousin could ask the question that they all knew was coming, the heavy door to Bel’s office swung open once more.

“What are we plotting, gentlemen?” Lucifer’s voice was light as he strode through the door, a hint of power rolling through the room. Greg sat imperceptibly straighter, his tail stilling. Asmodeus shifted his wings, but otherwise remained sprawled indolently on the couch.

Bel inclined his head slightly as the ruler of Hell sauntered towards him. Bel took in the easy way Lucifer carried his wings, the hands in his pockets, the glint in his brilliant eyes.

He wanted something.

Whatever it was, Bel hoped it wasn’t from him, though the evidence suggested otherwise. He had work to do.

“Not plotting,” he said as Lucifer came to a halt beside him, “just taking a break and annoying each other. Lovingly. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, this and that.”

Shit. Definitely up to something.

“I had a meeting with your mother this morning, a video conference with Heaven, and I’m working on some preparation for the big meeting later. But that’s not why I’m here.” Lucifer smiled innocently. “I wondered if you would be able to run an errand for me?”

Asmodeus barely choked back a laugh, instead making a noise like a hellhound whose tail had been stepped on.

Bel blinked. He cannot be serious. “An errand,” he said slowly.

“Yes.”

“That you want me to run.”

“Yes.”

“For you.”

“Yes.”

“What are you up to, sir?” Greg’s voice had slipped into the smooth, even register he used when he was working. Sometimes—not that Bel would ever tell him—it made even his spine prickle.

“Who says I’m up to anything?” Lucifer asked mildly. “I just need Beleth to run a very important errand. What’s so strange about that?”

Beleth? He was getting full-named? Really?

“You don’t just ask generals or princes or heads of levels to run errands. You make the interns do it. What has Bel done now?” Greg said.

Shit, what had he done now?

Did the meeting with his mother have anything to do with it? Perhaps Lucifer just wanted him to stop working for a bit. He had been dropping subtle hints about “easing the fuck up with work” and “developing a hobby.” Maybe he’d gotten tired of Bel ignoring him and decided to make a point.

Even if that wasn’t the case, Greg’s point was valid. While Lucifer was the ruler of their entire realm—inherently linked to it through his power, like all deities—he delegated the more day-to-day and specialized responsibilities to trusted and qualified people, stepping in when necessary to achieve a result. Micromanaging wasn’t his style.

Lucifer cocked his head and smiled, daring anyone to try and pry the truth out of him. “Don’t you want to know what the errand even is?”

Torn between desperately wanting to finish his paperwork and wanting to avoid it for as long as possible, Bel scowled.

“I seem to have left one of the short swords I got from Brigid in the weapons closet…”

You’ve got to be shitting me.

“…by the gate, and I was wondering if you would be able to find it for me?” Lucifer nearly batted his eyelashes in innocence.

“By the gate ? Really?” Bel folded his arms, tail lashing, growing more amused than annoyed by how hard Lucifer was pushing this, but a tendril of unease still curled through his belly. Lucifer always seemed to do things for a reason, even if that reason took several hundred years to make itself known. Could this be one of those times? Or was this exactly what it felt like: bullshit.

“I just don’t know what I was thinking, leaving it up there.”

“Why not have one of the guards find it and send it down? I’m sure they’d be happy for the break.”

Bel had never interned at the gate, like many demons did in their youth, and had only ever seen the controlled chaos of it on his way to the Universal Hallway. The demons who worked at the gate were renowned throughout Hell for their seemingly thankless but critical work, but he suspected that the collective awe didn’t help them feel better when they were up to their horns in morons.

“I’d hate for them to mistake a Hephaestus or Goibniu blade for one forged by the Lady Brigid. I don’t want to bother them more than I have to. You know all of the great smiths’ work so well, you’d never mistake one deity’s craftsmanship for another.”

Asmodeus seemed to be pinching his nose shut in an effort to keep from laughing, and even Greg was trying to hide his smirk.

Traitors.

“Is that all?”

“If you wouldn’t mind making sure that the new addition to the gate is doing alright, I’d appreciate it.”

“What new addition,” Bel said flatly, claws digging into his biceps.

“Oh”—Lucifer waved a hand—“just a new feature to the entry process. I’m sure everything’s fine, but it couldn’t hurt to check.”

“What. New. Addition.”

“Don’t overthink it. You’ll be able to tell if your assistance is required.”

Asmodeus giggled. All seven plus feet of hardened warrior, general, and prince of Hell giggled.

Fucker.

“Would you like me to get you coffee too?” Bel asked, not meaning it in the slightest.

“No, no, just the blade.” Lucifer beamed, heading for the door. He glanced at Asmodeus, who was holding his breath and mottling a deeper shade of blue. “Don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“He’s been too busy doing his wife,” Greg muttered.

“Oh please,” Lucifer said, halfway out the door. “Haven’t you met dear Sariah? It’s far more likely she’s been doing him .”

* * *

“‘You’re the only one who can tell craftsmanship apart.’” Bel mimicked under his breath, waiting for an elevator.

Nonsense. He knew several retired warriors who worked at the gate, all of whom were older than him and could probably tell blades of different craftsmanship apart by the sounds they made cutting through the air.

Thankfully, the elevator car was empty when it arrived, and he swatted at the Gate button before resting his hand on the knife hilt at his hip. As the elevator started moving, he lashed his tail so hard that it smacked into the wall, sending a jolt of pain up his spine.

It didn’t help his mood.

Not that he’d been in a great mood lately anyway.

Maybe he did need a vacation. He loved his role as a general, training with the legions, leading them. Sure, the paperwork was annoying, but in the end, it was just part of the job. His role as a prince, though… he did his best to ignore it, keep its presence in his life to a minimum. That title didn’t matter—not to him anyway. He’d been both wanted and rejected for his title before, which he found simultaneously understandable and ridiculous. It wasn’t the lack of sex making him edgy either, he’d gone longer without before, and his hand was adequate to take the edge off.

The ding of the elevator interrupted his train of thought, the doors sliding open and allowing distant voices to fill the air. He clamped his wings tightly to his back; he hated when anyone touched the sensitive membranes without permission.

Except little ones who didn’t know better.

His nieces and nephews had once attacked him with affection when he’d arrived during a finger-painting session at his mother’s house. He’d had colorful little handprints and smudges on the outer edges of his wings for weeks. He hadn’t minded.

He did mind when he walked through the Hall and someone, always a mortal soul, touched his wings without so much as saying a word to him. The souls probably wouldn’t be close enough to touch him, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Bel stalked through the tunnel into the cavernous area of the gate. It looked like a busy day; every intake desk had a line and the crowds moving towards the levels were dense. There was another line, discordant to his memory of the place, that must be the “new addition” Lucifer had referenced.

The weapons closet lay closer to the tunnels to the levels for the convenience of the working demons, and he made his steps purposeful. One of his old soldiers, Krun, raised a heavy arm in welcome, and Bel dipped his head in acknowledgment, watching the veteran warrior drop back into his role, scowling at the screeching woman waving her arms at him. Krun was more than twice Bel’s age and had fought in the last great war between their Universe and an invading one. He had retired a few decades after Bel had risen to general. Bel hadn’t known him especially well, but he’d certainly known of him and had been pleased to hear the warrior was doing well.

Bel ducked into the spacious and highly organized weapons closet, which felt like an understatement as the room was nearly the size of his palatial office. A smile tugged at his mouth, recognizing the work of the soldiers who had retired to the gate. Every weapon was in pristine condition, every surface neat and clean, the organization a picture-perfect example of how all weapons rooms should be organized. The sole, glaring exception lay casually on a table. Every inch of the blade practically screamed that it was Brigid’s work: A serpent was embossed in rose gold on the black leather of the hilt, and the pommel was carved with a raven. The black scabbard was embossed in the same rose gold, in elegant patterns of clearly Irish origin.

Fucking Lucifer.

The blade’s balance was exquisite. The weight and size too light and small for his preference, though it would suit Lucifer’s more elegant fighting style. Scabbard clenched in his fist, Bel headed for the elevators and made it two steps out the door before a flurry of motion caught his eye by the strange new line.

He did a double take.

A mortal soul, a woman with deep auburn hair, was mercilessly and enthusiastically beating the ever-loving shit out of a soul that palpably radiated evil. She was tall for a mortal, athletic and curvy, wearing a fitted black T-shirt, leggings, and boots. He thought he glimpsed tattoos on one arm, but distance and her motion made it difficult to tell.

She straightened, flipped a loose piece of hair over her shoulder, and dropped the bat in her hand before winding up to aim a kick at the other soul’s stomach.

Bel’s mouth went dry.

She was glorious. She was magnificent .

She was…closer.

He dimly noted that his feet had carried him toward her as he soaked up every detail. Her face was still tilted down towards the soul. He wanted to see it.

As if she’d heard the thought, she looked up.

The hum of voices and the shuffle of feet faded away.

Blood, not her own, was spattered on her cheek when she glanced at him with beautiful hazel eyes, then gave him her full attention.

She was a warrior queen.

And she was looking at him.