Forsaken Angels: Lucifer

Ch 7: Old Adversaries

Lucifer

I feel a stab of guilt about teasing Cass, but I hadn't expected her to get so riled up. Whatever Miss Roberts said to her before I arrived has put her on edge. Maybe she senses that I wanted to bring Cass over her as my PA tonight and is jealous. Cass is new but has proven again and again that she's clever and proactive.

The only reason I didn't choose Cass was because of my attraction to her. And then she came as my date instead. Perhaps I need to make it clear at work that she is receiving no special favours and nothing is going on between us. As much as I wish there was.

Fuck. This constant need to be with her is disturbing. It's been a long time since I've wanted someone this badly. No, that's not true. I have never felt like this before. This desperate urge to claim someone as mine. Is it the Seraphim blood? The remnants of divinity singing to me? Whatever it is, it's leaving me off-balance. Unfocused. And I don't like it.

The room around me buzzes with mingled voices and clinking glasses, bringing me back from my meandering thoughts. I take a fortifying sip of my whisky but stop with the glass barely touching my lips as the fine hairs on my nape prickle. A warning.

I swivel, my senses on high alert. There. A familiar face I never want to see again visible between the faces of the crowd. Azazel. With Cass.

Fuck.

My shoes click on polished marble as I close the distance between us, cutting through the oblivious guests enjoying the fundraiser. Cass' tense shoulders bear witness to her wariness of the new acquaintance, and there's a strange pride in me that her intuition is so well-honed. She's not fooled by Azazel's polished demeanour.

I finally reach them, coming to stand next to Cass, facing down my former friend. Our eyes meet, and his lips curl into a sly grin.

"Evening, Lucifer." His voice drips false geniality.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?" I keep my tone neutral, but tension thrums through me. If Azazel is here, trouble is sure to follow.

"Can I not simply enjoy an evening among humans?" He plucks a champagne flute off a passing server's tray and brings it to his lips.

His calm facade does nothing to expel my unease. We have a history extending long before my fall from grace. He was on my side once, urging me on as I chafed under the restraints placed on us. We rose up together. Rebelled against the idea that we angels—divine warriors created to serve Heaven—should bow down to humans.

When we were defeated and banished, forsaken by our kin, Azazel refused to give up the fight. That he's here now is worrying. He rarely shows his face, preferring to let his zealous followers do his dirty work.

"What do you want, Azazel?"

He tuts. "Such hostility. And here I hoped we could have a pleasant chat."

Beside me, Cassandra shifts uneasily.

"Actually..." Azazel smiles, but it doesn't reach his icy blue eyes. "I came to see them for myself. The Seraphim."

His gaze moves to Cass, and I fight the urge to shove her behind me to keep her safe from the evil in front of us.

"To think," Azazel continues blithely, as if unaware of my growing antagonism. "Real Seraphim souls, ripe for the plucking. Can you blame me for being curious? And my associate was ever so helpful in marking one of them so I could easier find them."

When he looks at something over my shoulder, I follow his eye line to where Dare and Aura stand across the room. The blonde sister has noticed us and is staring wide-eyed. I wonder what she sees when she looks at Azazel. He is no longer the archangel I knew in my youth. He is so much more and so much less. An abomination who willingly gave his soul to the devil.