The book felt heavier than it should have.
I locked my bedroom door even though it probably wouldn't stop anything. Still, the click made me feel slightly safer.
I showered first.
Hot water poured over me, steaming the mirror. I pressed my forehead against the tiles, thinking of Hell, the heat, the voices, the pulse of the marble under my feet.
And Lucifer.
The way his expression had cracked when I screamed at him. Just for a moment, like I had seen something no human should. Why did that stay in my head? He said I was nothing. So why had he looked at me like I wasn't?
I turned off the water abruptly.
No more thinking about him.
Wrapped in a towel, I sat at my desk and opened the old book again. Its worn leather cover was darkened with age. No title, no author. Just that symbol burned into the spine, the same sigil that had glowed beneath my feet in Hell.
I flipped through the brittle pages. Most of the text was in a language I couldn't recognize. Twisted letters, sharp hooks, ink faded brown. But here and there, handwritten notes in French. Handwriting I knew.
My mother's.
Impossible.
I leaned closer.
The veil weakens through bloodline resonance.
Night descent begins upon awakening of the mark.
My mark.
I touched my collarbone without thinking.
Further in, I found a drawing: a throne carved from black stone, a crown suspended above it by chains of fire. In the margin, my mother had written one word: Consort.
Consort of who?
My hands shook. I closed the book, pressing it to my chest.
Why would she hide this from me?
Exhaustion eventually dragged me down. I lay in bed with the book beside me.
Tonight, I would not be helpless.
Sleep swallowed me.
When I woke, the air burned around me, thick with smoke and the sweet tang of incense. I was back.
The black marble corridor stretched endlessly. Crimson torches lit the walls. Silence. No Lucifer.
Good. If he was busy, I could move freely.
I stepped carefully, my bare feet echoing on the polished floors. The ceilings arched impossibly high, chandeliers dripping with red crystals. Doors lined the hall, carved with intricate demonic patterns.
I turned a corner.
And collided with someone.
I stumbled back.
The woman standing before me was breathtaking. Tall. Perfect curves. A tight black gown hugged her body. Long silver hair framed her sharp features. Red eyes glimmered with disdain.
"So this is the human."
"And you are?" I asked calmly.
"Saphyre."
She circled me like a predator.
"I expected more. You look fragile. Soft. Breakable."
"You mistake quiet for weakness," I said, meeting her glare.
Her eyes flashed. "I was one of His Majesty's favorites for centuries."
Jealousy.
"And now you are not," I replied.
Her smile vanished. "Watch your tone, human."
"Or what."
She lifted a hand. Long black nails glinting.
"You think because you walk these halls escorted, you are protected. You are nothing."
My mark burned faintly. A strange warmth stirred in my chest.
"Maybe I am not the one who is nothing," I whispered.
Her fury twisted her face. She struck, but a firm hand caught her wrist midair.
"That will be enough."
I turned.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood beside me. Golden blond curls framed his handsome face. Fitted black suit, gloves immaculate. Authority radiated from him effortlessly.
"This does not concern you, Vaelthar," Saphyre hissed.
"It concerns me when you attempt to harm a guest of His Majesty."
Saphyre glared and vanished down the hall.
Vaelthar turned to me, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "My apologies for the unpleasant welcome, my lady."
"My lady," I repeated, tasting the word.
"You are expected at dinner."
Servants appeared and guided me to a chamber lined with mirrors and velvet curtains. Hands washed my skin, brushed my hair until it shone. A deep crimson gown shimmered like fire, hugging my waist, flowing elegantly, neckline dipping just enough to reveal my mark's faint glow.
I stood before the mirror. I barely recognized myself. Powerful. Dangerous. Mesmerizing.
Vaelthar studied me. "Hell does not dress just anyone so carefully."
"Why?"
"You truly do not know."
Distant bells rang.
Dinner.
The hall was massive. A long obsidian table stretched beneath a ceiling painted with war and temptation. Demons murmured around the sides, eyes sharp, curious.
At the head of the table sat Lucifer. Alone. King of Hell. His dark hair framed a perfectly chiseled jaw, his grey eyes piercing as they scanned the room. The crown atop his head seemed to hum with authority.
Detached, indifferent, or so it seemed.
Until he saw me.
The room fell silent.
I walked forward. Every step made my heart thud.
His gaze fell on me slowly, deliberately.
"How radiant," he murmured.
I felt exposed, but I lifted my chin.
Vaelthar guided me to my seat before him.
Lucifer's fingers tightened slightly around his glass. His eyes were no longer indifferent. Something deeper lingered there.
"You look…" he began, then stopped.
"What?" I asked softly.
For the first time, there was no coldness in his gaze. Only fascination, something dangerously close to obsession.
Saphyre's hatred burned across the table.
I let a fierce heat rise inside me. I turned deliberately toward him and kissed his cheek.
Soft. Slow. Intentional.
The hall froze.
Lucifer went rigid.
Saphyre's glass shattered in her hand.
I leaned back calmly, meeting Saphyre's furious stare. Let her burn.
Beneath the table, Lucifer's hand closed around my wrist. Not harsh, not gentle. Just enough.
When I looked at him, his eyes were dark, conflicted, and… afraid.
For the first time, the King of Hell looked human.
And for the first time, I understood that I had changed everything.
"It seems the future is unfolding faster than expected," Lucifer's voice echoed across the hall, calm but sharp.
Future.
My pulse quickened. What future was he speaking of.