Demon King (Claimed By Lucifer #1) - Elizabeth Briggs Page 0,29

forehead as her eyes fluttered shut. “And you will always be mine.”

9

Hannah

When I woke, the sheets had twisted around me like I was being pinned to the bed by coiled snakes. A cool sheen of sweat lingered on my body, and damp strands of hair stuck to my forehead. I groaned and sucked in a long shallow breath. It wasn’t enough. My body craved oxygen as though I’d spent most of the night running.

I’d always been a terrible sleeper, plagued by horrible dreams and then waking to find my body clenched tight around a pillow, my muscles aching from the tension in my limbs. But last night was especially bad.

Fractured remnants of my dreams floated through my mind. Fire and ashes, shadows and smoke, darkness curling into feathers and horns. So much fear, so much pain, so much death. And Lucas…always Lucas. His face drifted in and out of focus before being replaced by another’s, though this one was blurred.

The only dream I remembered clearly was one with Lucas—no, Lucifer—sitting on a black throne, and the closer I tried to look at him, the more he seemed to become aware of my presence. Too late, I pulled back, but his red eyes gaze snapped to mine and he crooked his finger, beckoning me closer. That was right before I woke up, and my heart still thundered from the memory of it.

I sat up and shook my head, trying to clear it, but the fear from my dreams still lingered. I hesitated to leave the room because Lucas would be out there, with day three already planned for me. Which sin would it be today?

I swallowed the horror drying my throat. How could I possibly spend any further time with that man now that he’d revealed his secret? When I’d thought him a mob boss, I’d questioned my choices. Now I condemned them.

I moved from my bed like an old lady, slowly and carefully in case I broke. I’d nearly died last night, and my body felt tender, like it hadn’t gotten the memo I was still alive. I walked to the closet on autopilot, and the hangers clacked together as I moved them from left to right. Like everything else I touched in this room, they were good quality. Expensive. And they belonged to the devil.

Did I belong to him too now?

I drew out the first outfit my hands touched—a linen, sleeveless pantsuit. I briefly wondered if it would suit today’s activities but shrugged it off. I didn’t care about the activities. I was only doing this for Brandy.

Once dressed, I couldn’t delay any longer. I had to face Lucas.

No, not Lucas.

Lucifer.

Lu-ci-fer.

The syllables rolled around and around in my head, their sound enough to drive me crazy. Even after everything I’d seen last night, it was hard to accept it was all real.

When I finally walked into the kitchen, he was there and already dressed in another of his impeccable black suits, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.

“Good morning.” His warm voice washed over me, as if nothing at all untoward had happened last night. Except I’d all but plummeted to my death, and he’d grown a pair of wings as black as darkness itself. But then, the devil might not have a care in the world. Why should he?

“Morning,” I murmured, although it was nearly noon at this point.

He looked me over, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” I couldn’t look at Lucifer without memories of my dreams flickering through my head, or of the stomach-lurching jolt when he’d caught me mid-air and saved my life. Clearing my throat, I focused on the food instead.

An entire brunch buffet was laid out on the table with everything from eggs to pancakes to fruits. I picked at a couple of things, then glanced at the apples. Ruby red, juicy-looking, and tempting me like they probably once tempted Eve. Was that story real too? I shook my head, rejecting them.

Lucifer watched my progress back toward the table, and he eyed me as I began to pick at the small scoop of eggs on my plate, but I avoided looking at him. Every time I glanced his way, my breath caught at the memory of his protective eyes looking down on me, his arms clutching me tight, his wings unfurled behind him. The enormous, shadowy, impossibly beautiful wings that had saved my life. If he had wings and red eyes—because surely I didn’t imagine those either—what else did he have?