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I stare after him, blinking in shock. I’ve never seen Jason cower. I didn’t know it was possible. He never seemed to have a healthy appreciation for danger, or any respect whatsoever for the anger of other people.
It’s strangely satisfying to see him scuttling down the street in fear.
Lucas takes my hand. Maybe I should feel bad that I’ve attached myself to a man who would threaten another man like that, with every intention of following through with it. And it’s likely that I should be afraid, knowing what he’s willing to do.
What he’s capable of doing.
And yet, as Lucas runs his thumb over my knuckles, I feel safe—and incredibly turned on.
Chapter27
Sophia
I lookup at him as we walk back toward the office. He’s still unreadable, still impassive. I wonder if he regrets the threat, or if he regrets not being able to tear Jason to shreds where he stood. I start to turn back toward the office doors, but Lucifer tugs me back to his side, leading me past them. I give him a questioning look, but his eyes are fixed forward, dark and brooding.
He takes me to the parking garage instead and leads me to his car. Inside, he turns the radio to a jazz station.
“They used to call this the devil’s music, you know,” he says as we drive up the spiraling pathway to the street. “I never corrected anybody. What would be the point? But I can’t take credit for this.”
“You should anyway,” I murmur. “It’s beautiful.”
He cranks the stereo just as a wild, erratic, but somehow cohesive saxophone solo begins. He taps his fingers in time with the music, clearly losing himself in the music.
“You like jazz?” he asks. There’s something more behind his question and behind his eyes, but I can’t tell what it is.
“I’ve never really listened to it before,” I admit. “I always sort of thought of jazz as elevator music.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, little bird, you don’t know what you’ve been missing.”
He turns the radio up. This must be a classic station. Even digital remastering can’t get rid of all the fuzz from the original records. I watch his face, relishing the way his features change with the music. The notes are surprising, fast and lively and full of emotion, not at all like the watered-down keyboard versions used as background noise.
“Wait, wait, wait—” He turns up the radio, rattling the windows with a staccato drum solo, then holds up his finger. The band comes crashing back, and Lucas tilts his head back, looking almost as euphoric as he does when he comes.
I laugh, delighted. I’ve never seen him like this, so open and expressive. Maybe a little manic, but who isn’t these days? I love it.
I’m so caught up in watching him and appreciating the music that I don’t even think to ask where we’re going. Eventually, I realize that we’re winding through the Hollywood hills, still rocking the jazz.
We end up on a gravel road which fades to dust, leading to a ledge overlooking the valley. The thick haze below us makes the whole city look like something out of a dream. Lucas turns the car off and the music with it, and we sit in silence for a moment. My ears are ringing from the sudden volume switch, but they adjust after a moment.
Lucas turns to me at last, giving me a look that’s almost tender. He touches my face briefly, then gets out of the car. I follow him to the edge of the cliff, standing beside him as he looks out over the valley. There’s something in his eyes—some need I can’t identify.
“It isn’t just appreciation,” he says softly. “It isn’t about music theory or skill or understanding history academically. I was there. I watched the pieces come together, watched the desperation and frustration, the fear and boredom, the unbridled energy they didn’t yet have a pathology for. I watched the outcasts come together and create something completely new from the shattered remains of their history, the bits of themselves they were instructed to cast aside. It was inspiring.”
“You’ve been on Earth that long?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Yes and no. I came here to live fifty years ago, but I spent a lot of time on Earth before I arrived with plans to stay, always on a mission. The war between Heaven and Hell has never failed to bring a lot of strife to humanity.” He shoots me a brief grin. “But that’s what I love about humans. You throw Hell at them, and they give you jazz. You bounce Heaven’s wrath across their realm, and they bounce back with flying machines.”
He chuckles, his gaze turning unfocused as he gets lost in the memories.
It’s strange to be spoken about like that by this man who’s so clearly not human, but it’s not uncomfortable. It wouldn’t hurt me to develop a bit of appreciation for humanity, especially after today. I lean against him, looking down at the human accomplishments spread out before me as he continues to speak.
“Visiting occasionally was informative and inspiring. Living here, watching it unfold over decades, knowing the memories are fading around me even as new generations build upon the old, was something else.”
He looks almost sad now. I slide my hand into his, giving him whatever I can. Offering whatever comfort I can give to the Prince of Hell.
“They do it together, you know,” he says softly. “The bonds between humans—they’re so strong. Almostvisiblein the right light. The reason humankind has survived our battles on earth isn’t because humans are powerful individually. In fact, as individuals, humansaren’tpowerful. They’re fragile, petty, short-lived beings. But those bonds your kind form? Those bonds are more powerful than anyone may ever fully understand.”
He sighs and pulls his hand from mine to wrap his arm around my shoulder. I curl into his side, understanding that he’s telling me more than what he’s saying with words, and wishing I could read his mind.
