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He’d taken the seat furthest from us on the table, his boot-clad feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded across his chest. The action highlighted his thick arm muscles and stretched the material of his shirt over his biceps.
Not for the first time did I wonder if this was a prank or hallucination. If they weren’t, how had every denomination managed to mess up their portrayal of the Devil and God’s right hand so ridiculously?
I lost myself in the possibilities. Maybe wires had crossed somewhere, or maybe angels were that secretive. Or perhaps this was still my fucked up version of Hell.
I dismissed the latter observation immediately. I’d seen Lucifer—Dear God, the actual Devil, I’d seen him with my own two eyes—change the surroundings too much for it to still be a projection of what I imagined Hell was.
The pinkish walls and expensive wooden flooring didn’t seem all that authentic, either, but I couldn’t say that. At least not to Lucifer’s face.
I don’t trust either of them, but I’m going to hedge a guess and assume that Michael is the safer of the two, despite his… disposition.
Sariel’s voice dragged me from my pointless mind-rambling. I blinked rapidly to clear my head.
I was inclined to agree with his assessment. Even though Michael looked less like someone to be fucked around with on the outside, something was unsettling about Lucifer—something that made my wolf shrink away from him. After living with a wolf who had never exhibited any signs of self-preservation before, her sudden apprehension about Lucifer made me anxious.
Did you really consider trusting the King of Hell, the eldest Fallen Angel, over Michael?
Even as I posed the question, I realized the ridiculousness of the situation. There should never have been any discussion about this. The obvious choice was Michael.
Choosing the Devil you know, literally, over the devil you don’t…
He trailed off, and I scowled.
I didn’t like that he was right and that we had a viable reason to question the sincerity of Michael. I still thought it was too much of a risk to even consider Lucifer, which was why I blurted: “Do you have a better offer?”
Sariel shifted in his seat next to me as Michael’s eyes seemed to sparkle at my question. Lucifer remained dutifully silent, except for the clink of metal on metal each time he drank from his goblet.
“I do,” Michael said slowly. “You get to keep your soul and decide where it goes yourself. Or, rather, you get to live and let the way you live decide for you.”
“And I’ll still get to meet my parents?” The offer was too good to be true. “What’s the catch?”
Michael’s head fell back, his eyes closed and expression blank. “You might not like them,” he said gently. “Your parents might not be what you’ve imagined them to be. I think that’s enough of a catch. You’ll be taught for the last time that all which glitters isn’t gold, and maybe it will shake you up enough to snub out those dying embers of naivety still burning in your heart.”
Fear pierced me.
I hadn’t realized that I’d formed opinions about my birth parents until Michael pointed out that those opinions and expectations might never be met. I found myself quickly trying to assess what those expectations were, dismiss them, and absolve my parents of any labels I may have accidentally placed on them.
“Just to clarify, you want to meet yourbiologicalparents, yes?” Lucifer interjected. “Not the adoptive ones who sacrificed everything,including their lives, for you?”
There was a hint of something malicious in his tone that was drowned out by the shame that flooded me.
I hadn’t even thought about them. When Lucifer had offered to introduce me to my parents, when he’d allowed me to bargain with my soul, they never crossed my mind.
I pushed Lucifer’s question out of my mind and focused instead on how I felt about meeting my biological parents. Would I be able to live with the disappointment if they turned out to be terrible people?
I wracked my brain for anything Tyler might have let slip about them that could give me some insight into who they were, but I drew a blank.
“They’re strangers,” I found myself telling Michael. “It won’t matter to me what they’re like.”
It was a lie because who considered making a deal with the Devil if they didn’t care?
Michael simply nodded, though.
I think you should reconsider the consequences. Michael is a little too happy to do this—there must be something else.
I glanced at the stone-faced archangel, then back to Sariel with a quirked brow.
He doesn’t look like he experiences a full range of emotions, so I’m not sure where you discerned happiness from.
