Chapter 2

Damien

Marissa takes a step into my private portal chamber, her eyes wide with curiosity and maybe a little fear. Understandable, considering few are permitted into my personal chambers. “Lucifer… your Devilishness, sir,” she stammers, her weird attempt at a curtsey falling short and turning awkward.

“I hear you are the best with portals?”

She licks her lips, her gaze shifting between the multiple pieces of luggage Xalreth is juggling, before finally settling on my Cerberus coat. The oppressive heat causes sweat to stream down my spine, but I still push my hip out, savoring her envy.

It is a fabulous coat, really.

“I was at the top of my class for creating portals, and I have been serving the hierarchy for decades.”

“Fantastic. I need a portal to the front door of The Santa’s workshop.” Inside Hell, I'm able to teleport myself anywhere I'd like with just a thought, but travelling outside the realm is quite a bit more complicated.

She nods, her hands fidgeting in front of her. “Yes, sir, Xalreth informed me of your needs, and I am prepared whenever you are ready to travel.”

I turn to Xalreth. “Drekoth will run Hell in my absence, and I’m trusting you’ll keep in close communication with the Underworld while we’re away.” Drekoth is my second-in-command, an easy-going incubus that has no desire to attempt a coup on my throne.

Not that he could, of course.

I’m a goddamned force to be reckoned with.

He’s a competent leader, just not overly excited to do much of anything. One of the few incubi I’ve met that won’t even work for a booty call. Gods, I bet he is horrid in bed, and a sudden image of him laid out like a sloth, that purple anaconda he calls a dick just hanging out and waiting for someone to jump aboard. The thought makes me shudder.

There’s nothing worse than a lazy top .

Xalreth shoots me a funny look before he responds, “Yes, sir, we will keep a close eye on everything while we’re in the North Pole.”

I give him another nod. “Marissa!” I bellow, and she jumps clear off the ground.

“Y-y-yes, Lucifer?”

“We’re ready.”

She nods as Xalreth steps closer, crowding into my side as he repeats his instructions. “Portal us straight to the front door and be on standby for the first few hours in case we have any reason to flee. I will be in touch when we are set to return.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be waiting for your orders,” she says, holding her hands in front of her as the familiar buzz of magic hums in the air. A minuscule light, barely larger than a match’s flame, shimmers and shivers as it builds the path to our destination. Little by little, it grows in size until the blinding white of snow is revealed on the opposite side. It’s like looking through a window, except the edges wobble and there’s no barrier of glass to stop the chill from blowing through.

A stray piece of snow flutters through, evaporating the very millisecond it hits the fiery atmosphere. More instinct than necessity, Xalreth closes his coat tighter over his broad chest. I give the plain design a once-over, smirking because it’s not as fabulous as mine.

“Are you ready?”

“Oh, I was born ready, motherfuckers.” Excited to make the North Pole my bitch, I strut towards the portal before his giant hand wraps around my biceps and slingshots me back. “Oh, sweet baby Jeebus!”

Xalreth glowers at me, confusion interrupting his irritation. “Jeebus?”

“Yes, yes, you know… the baby in the goat trough.”

“I think you mean… Jesus, sir.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” I snap, ripping my arm from his grip. “Why did you manhandle me? You know I don’t like you like that.”

His solid black eyes make it impossible for me to tell if he’s rolling them, but intuition tells me he absolutely is. “Let me go first, Dam—” He stops abruptly and glances at Marissa, who is watching our interaction with wide eyes, before composing himself and reverting to a formal tone. “Lucifer, let me go first and ensure it is safe.”

“Safe?” I scoff, making a show of rolling my eyes and flipping my hair. “What do you think is going to happen, exactly? I’ll trip on an elf? A reindeer will chew my hair?” I puff my chest out, releasing a burst of my power to hang heavily in the small room. “I am the leader of Hell, not a child that needs your protection.”

“Regardless, we don’t know what to expect, and you are too important to put in unnecessary risk. Allow me the honor of going first, if only for my peace of mind.”

Blast him and his gift for words. He knows far too well how to get his way, and I narrow my eyes as I deflate with a dramatic sigh. “You will not act as a protector because I don’t need protection. If anyone is there, you will announce my arrival.”

“Announce you, sir?”

“Yes, you can be my master of ceremonies, just like they have in those medieval shows I binge watch.” Hello, gluttony. It’s my favorite of the seven sins.

“But—”

“Like in Mary, Queen of Scots.” Such a fucking wonderful show, especially when the heads start rolling.

“Uh…”

“Oh, and Bridgerton. Can’t forget that one.”

“That… is ridiculous,” he says, putting a saucy hand on his hip. “I will not stand in the snow and shout your titles.”

“Hmmm… won’t you, though? I bet Jeebus had a badass master of ceremonies,” I muse, and his hands fly up in the air. My sigh stretches out long and heavy as his gaze remains fixed on me. “Alright, fine. You may go in front of me.”

Xalreth appears satisfied as he lifts the armful of luggage once more, ready to take a step towards the portal. I cross my arms and glance at him, juggling the suitcases. “Oh yeah, you’re going to be really safe with your hands full. What’s your plan, to smack an attacker with your toiletries bag?”

He snarls at me over his shoulder. “You could carry your own shit.”

“No, no, carry away. I’ll just sit here and watch in case the North Pole becomes a bloodbath. That way, if a Yeti tries to eat your head off, I can swoop in to save you, and you’ll owe me another life debt.” He shakes his head and steps forward, and just like that, he’s on the other side of the portal.

His voice is muffled and warbling as it reaches me. “Oh, bastard sons, oh, holy shit, it is fucking freezing!” He dances between his feet while trying not to drop my bags.

“Focus! Is there anyone there? Any Yetis?” I shout, and he shakes his head.

“Empty. Come on through.” The moment I step through, a stinging cold surrounds me, causing goosebumps to form on my skin. My coat helps against the bite of winter, and the phoenix magic tingles as it works to counter the frigid temperature, but the transition from a triple-digit atmosphere to this severe weather is a shock to my system.

“Jeebus Cracker!” I shout, tucking my freezing hands into my armpits. “What are you standing here for?! Go knock on the door!” My tail dips into the snow, and I’m convinced it’s going to freeze right off as I yelp, yanking it up and burrowing it underneath my coat.

Xalreth raises his fist, knuckles facing the door. “Wait!!” I shout, and he jolts and fumbles with one of my suitcases, whirling to glare at me. “Let me just…” I adjust my position, pushing a hip out and fluffing my hair. “Okay, okay, I’m good.”

His hand lifts again, arcing towards the door. “WAIT!”

“For fuck’s sake, Damien!” he shouts, flinging my bags to the ground and sending a dusting of snow over both of us. I stare at him, unblinking, as I pull out my Chapstick and slowly drag it over my mouth before smacking my lips together. “Are you fucking ready now?”

“Yes.” There’s a dangerous clip to my voice that has his spine straightening and head tilting in submission. His movements are stiff as he picks up my bags and raises his hand once more. Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder, he waits for my nod before his powerful fist thunders against the door.

From inside, the sound of shuffling is followed by a panicked squeak that makes me grin. Frantic, whispered conversations hiss between at least two voices before the door cracks open. With a head full of wild brown hair and wide blue eyes that seem too big for her face, a rosy-cheeked elf peers through the crack.

“H-hello?” Her petrified gaze bounces back and forth between me and Xalreth, pingponging so fast it almost makes me dizzy.

Xalreth’s voice booms so loudly I jump. “Announcing the arrival of The Lucifer, The King of Darkness… The Serpent of Hell, Mighty Legion of the Underworld…”

My brows climb higher on my face with every word, because as loud as he’s being, his tone is completely, utterly flat.

This isn’t anything like Bridgerton.

“The Ruler of Fire and Brimstone… His Royal Highness of the Infernal Land of the Damned…” As subtly as possible, I kick his shin and he smirks, giving me the quickest side-eye in the world as he clea rs his throat. “The Devil Himself requests an audience with The Santa.”

“The… Santa? The… the Devil !?” This tiny person in the doorway sounds like a field mouse when she speaks, squeaking and chirping to where I can barely understand her.

“Yes, elf!” Xalreth bellows, and the face disappears with a frightened peep before reluctantly returning. “His Highness has travelled far to meet with your leader, and we request an immediate audience.”

Those giant blue eyes sweep over me, stopping to fixate on my fabulous coat before swallowing with a dramatic gulp. When she speaks again, her voice quivers and her lip trembles. “I’ll… just… The Santa is very busy this time of year, but I’ll try to… find… him…”

“Are we expected to stand out here in the freezing cold?” I demand, speaking for the first time, and the elf’s terror magnifies. She’s visibly shaking as she clutches the door, opening and closing her mouth as she tries to form words, but her little elf brain appears to be as frozen as my nuts are going to be if we don’t get inside soon.

A rich, rumbling voice comes from behind her, and heavy footsteps approach. “Now, Pattie, we have rules against being rude.”

“Y-y-yes, sir, but…”

“No arguments,” he says in a firm, gentle tone, while a huge hand inches her to the side. The door swings open and my entire field of vision is replaced by a bright red suit. It’s not velvet and fur like I expected, but a form-fitting sweater over a pair of tailored pants.

My chin tilts up to find a chiseled jawline covered with a salt-and-pepper beard, neatly groomed and not a hair out of place, with a broad nose that’s tinged pink by the cold. A head full of thick, unruly hair is the same distinguished shade as his beard, and narrowed green eyes study me, wrinkles in the corners displaying laugh lines that stretch almost to his hairline.

He clasps his hands in front of himself and cocks an eyebrow, not speaking. Waiting with an iron will that gives me the impression he’ll stand here all day in this silent standoff, refusing to be the first one to speak.

Holy fuck.

Santa is a Daddy.