holders in a circle in the center of the floor, enough room for someone to lie down inside with space left over. The flames flicker and dance along the walls, over the pale planes of my husband’s face
His back is against the wall, outside of the circle. He’s near the front door, the pipe beside him, his shirt off, legs to his chest and his wrists on his knees. Atlas is still beside him, and the rest of the boys filter in behind me, Ella, and Mav.
No one is touching me.
I didn’t talk to anyone since I left this room, but Mav and Ella had a whispered conversation, I assume about this initiation.
I know what DMT is. I assume Lucifer has done it before, because he used to talk to me all the time about psychedelics. How they could change the world. Heal people. I always found it ironic, because of all the times he’d done them, he hadn’t seemed healed.
But when I mentioned that to him before, lightly, he told me, in all seriousness, that drugs couldn’t heal him.
Only I could do that.
Now, as I stand in front of him in the darkness of the cabin, very aware of that scar on my belly, aware that while he’s probably still feeling the effects of the DMT—even though the height of it is ten minutes or less—he isn’t in the middle of his trip, and he’ll see it.
But Mav doesn’t seem to care anymore.
Because as Lucifer’s demon blue eyes lock on mine, his expression unreadable, Atlas staring up at me, too, the music too loud for me to think, Mav’s fingers come to my waist, slipping under my shirt.
“You ready, Angel?” he asks me softly, his hard chest against my back. I can feel his cock, too, and I assume that Ella gave him permission to touch me.
What else did she give him permission to do?
I bite my lip, but nod my head, not speaking.
“Si vis vitam, para mortem,” Mav says in my ear, the Latin sounding like a language that’s very much alive when he speaks it. “If you want to enjoy life, prepare for your death.” With that, he pulls my shirt up.
I think of another Latin phrase, along the same vein. Memento mori. The Unsaints love that one.
Remember you will die.
How could I forget, when lately, that’s all I’ve wanted to do?
Pushing it all aside, I lift my arms, holding Lucifer’s gaze. Hoping he doesn’t look down.
Don’t look down.
I resist the urge to do it myself as Mav drops my tank on the floor.
Lucifer’s eyes stay on mine.
Mav’s fingers come to the waistband of my loose shorts, and I feel his mouth against my shoulder, sucking my skin.
A whimper comes from my lips, the music so loud, I feel it in my fucking soul.
My shorts fall to the floor, and I close my eyes, unable to hold my husband’s gaze, knowing J’s initial is there. In my fucking skin.
It’s hard to see anything in here with the lights off, only candle flame.
But I have this feeling Lucifer knows every inch of me, dark or light. And if he’s discovered I’m blemished…would he forgive me for that?
Before I can think any more about it, someone is in front of me, Mayhem brushing my hair off of my neck, his fingers trailing down my spine, causing me to shiver.
I open my eyes, my gaze connecting with Ella’s.
She smiles at me, her hands coming to my hips, and I’m grateful for her in the moment, because Lucifer can’t see.
As if she knows what I’m thinking, Ella’s fingers brush against the still-healing wound on my low belly.
I suck in a breath as Mav kisses my neck.
Then he steps back from me, cold rushing in where he was.
I start to panic, whipping my head around to search for him, but I see Cain take his place behind me.
His coal-black gaze is heavy on mine and I can smell the dark scent of his cologne as he steps closer, but he doesn’t touch me. Instead, he arches a brow, and I think he’s…asking for permission.
Such a strange, strange thing in my world.
I nod my head once as Ella’s fingers skim up my torso, then she’s squeezing my growing breasts. I groan as Cain shrugs out of his shirt and I see his rippling abs, then his cut thighs as he pushes down his sweats, his boxers, too.
His hand comes to his cock and my mouth falls open.