Page 19 of Trust the Fall

But I’m also grappling with the strange effects brought to you by H-E-L-L. The pull to know more about the reapers, to know more about River—it’s peculiarly strong.

I’ve been known to be overly curious, but the draw to him was something else entirely.

It unnerved me.

I blow out a breath and yank my long blond hair over one shoulder, playing with the ends, all the while replaying that encounter over and over again.

His flirtatious manner. The way his eyes dared to peruse my body like he had my full permission to do so. His severe criticism of Luke’s control over Hell.

The reaper is the epitome of an alpha asshole, and it should repulse me. I’m a strong, capable angel who doesn’t need a caveman culler of souls to mansplain anything to me.

Nope. Not my thing.

Except, he wasn’t actually mansplaining. I asked for his opinion, and he gave it to me straight.

But he is an ass for throwing my words back at me.

Who the hell is River anyway? If he’s the second only to the queen, does that make him her consort?

The thought of River running his hands over some faceless queen does things to me it absolutely should not. My body heats and an ache grows in my core, begging to be eased.

A commotion at the door has my head jerking up and cheeks flaming hot.

Four scantily clad demon women stroll through the door in a flurry. Two are carrying trunks full of only Heaven knows what, and I’m instantly grateful it’s not River. There’s no part of me that cares what these demons think.

“Um. Hello?” I call out, but not one of them says a word.

They go about unloading the ornate chests, pulling out various silks and fabrics from one and what appears to be makeup and other beauty tools from the other.

What the hell do they plan to do with that?

Remaining mute, a red-haired woman walks toward the cage, lifting her hand, palm up to her lips. She blows and something like powder flows through the air, directly into my face. My head retreats slightly, but not before the effects of whatever magic the woman just used infiltrates me.

The room kaleidoscopes in and out before a comfortable haze settles over me. My body feels light as a feather and my head swims, feeling nothing but contentment.

My mind filters through various memories. Me watching Lucifer as he tries at mundane, inspecting my broken-down truck in the cemetery. Lucifer singing to me on stage at the bar in New Orleans, a lazy grin and hooded eyes holding all of my attention. One appealing memory follows another until I’m half drunk with lust for Luke.

Luke, who hasn’t come for me. Why hasn’t he come?

At some point, the demon women remove me from the cage. My clothes are torn from my body and a flurry of hands get to work. What are they doing?

I don’t have the slightest clue. Nor do I care, if I’m being honest. I’m high as a damn kite.

The memories of Luke are replaced with those of Zeke and I cringe. I spent so much time fighting my feelings for him, and now I know why. Something innate inside of me knew that it wasn’t right. He wasn’t who I wanted. He was a replacement. Something to fill the time.

Sadness creeps in at the loss of someone I trusted. Someone I thought to be at least a friend.

Eventually, the dreamlike haze begins to fade, and I have to try not to throw up as the heavy stench of sulfur invades my nostrils. The magic used to subdue me and to disguise these demons into beautiful women is potent.

Everything about them is perfect. From their expertly curled hair to the makeup they wear, they’re the most exotic women I’ve ever seen.

I’m distracted, inspecting every inch of them while simultaneously wondering what they look like under their current disguises. Would they be scarier than Nolda had been? Are they zombies? Is that why they haven’t spoken? Whatever their true form, they’d likely give me nightmares. This entire place is nothing less than horrifying.

My thoughts are scattered, moving from the realization that I’m finally out of the cage to wondering why they’re putting any effort into my appearance. I don’t have long to ponder that last thought before I’m spun around to take in what they’ve done to me in this short time.

I gasp at my reflection in the floor-length mirror. They’ve made me a blonde version of Lilith in all the biblical representations I’ve seen. The only thing missing is the shackles, but something tells me those are coming.

I’m damn near naked, with nothing more than my most private parts covered by thin red cloth. My hair is full of volume and curled to hang down my back in waves. I look like something out of a Playboy centerfold, and that’s about ten steps past concerning. What do they have planned for me tonight?