Lucifer Reborn by Dante King (the reader ebook .TXT) 📗

I couldn’t believe it. Even though it was exactly what I’d been hoping, I still couldn’t believe it.

“Lucifer,” I growled, turning back to the figure seated behind the table. “Why the fuck did you cockblock me?”

Lucifer tossed back his head and laughed, loud and long. For a few moments, the laughter echoed across the walls, sonorous and musical—then it was replaced by long, wracking coughs. Not just allergies, either—the bad kind. The kind that meant little kids in Victorian novels were going to die of tuberculosis.

“Because,” Lucifer said, wiping blood from his lips. “I’m dying, young man. The Devil is dying. And if I’m going to stick it to all the powers-that-be that are already planning their celebrations at my passing, I’m going to need to create some serious fireworks. So I wasn’t really thinking about your boner, sorry to say.”

His words sank in. “Wait, what?” I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the Devil was dying. That he could die. That seemed wrong, didn’t it?

Lucifer seemed irritated with me. “You chose the path of Darkness. In doing so, you took your first step—toward me.” He spread his arms like a proud papa who’d just seen his kid walk for the first time. “So before I die, I’m going to give you something. Something I need very much to hand off to a capable mortal.”

I’d heard enough. “What could you possibly want to give to me?” I asked, holding Christina tight.

Lucifer chuckled. “Why, my power, of course.” His grin spread a touch too wide, his teeth as sharp as a shark’s. “You’re going to be the next Archlord of Hell, young man. And just between you and me, I think you’re going to love it.”

Chapter 2

A thousand questions filtered through my mind as I watched Lucifer’s too-wide grin. The strange chamber in which I’d found myself, the beautiful woman by my side—for a moment, I forgot all of these, too shocked to do anything but stare.

“You want me to be the Devil?” I said, my jaw hitting the floor. “To become you?”

“You don’t have to be ‘the Devil’,” the Devil said, making air-quotes with his gnarled fingers. “The title of ‘Archlord of Hell’ comes with demonic power, of course, but it’s up to you to mold that around your desires. Once you achieve it, you can style yourself however you wish—whether that involves tradition, or not.”

The Archlord of Hell, I thought. A wave of dizziness washed over me at the idea. I’d never been a terribly religious person—hell, I’d considered Lucifer a fairy tale until I found myself staring face-to-face with the guy. Still, the words sent a tingle of fear down my spine. It felt almost primal, like my ancient Puritan ancestors just reached out through the line and tried to slap me to my senses.

This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?

Lucifer gave me an indulgent smile, as if he’d just read my mind. Dimly, I wondered if he could—he’d certainly seen Christina’s intentions earlier. “Of course, I’m getting ahead of myself,” Lucifer explained. “Hopefully, it will be a long, long time before you have to worry about Hell’s succession so...directly.” He coughed discreetly, turning away for a moment. “I may look frail, young man, but trust me—there’s plenty of life left in these old bones. I won’t be sent into the Pit with the other Lords of Hell for a long while yet.”

That’s what he said. But another one of those hard lessons I’d had to swallow back in college was that people’s words and deeds rarely matched up. It was better to watch what people did, rather than take their words at face value. Lucifer talked a good game, but the man sitting before me had clearly seen better days. I wondered just how much time he had left—and what the death of the actual, literal devil might mean for the world in a metaphysical sense.

I looked over at Christina. The blonde had recovered somewhat after the initial shock of being transported into this place with me—now, if anything, she looked excited. A strange look gleamed in her eyes as she gazed at Lucifer, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly like she’d just gone for a jog. What was going on with her?

More than anything else, that solidified my decision. The only way we were getting out of here was to agree to Lucifer’s offer—I’d seen enough movies and TV shows involving a ‘deal with the Devil’ to know that refusing to play the game meant pissing the Devil off something fierce. Considering this chamber had no windows and no doors, that meant one thing—the only way out was through.

I sighed, marshaling my courage. “Alright,” I said, staring Lucifer down. “I’ll do it.”

You wouldn’t have thought the Devil capable of that confused, befuddled look. “Are you...accepting my contract? Young man, you’ve already done that. You took your first step down the path when you accepted the Angel of Darkness into your help.” He barked out a laugh. “You can no more refuse me than you can refuse the blood that courses through your veins, or the desires you feel when you look upon your companion’s assets.”

Damn. Lucifer really could sound like a dirty old man sometimes.

“I should have explained things earlier,” Lucifer said, tilting his chair back a touch. “I have a bad habit of making deals with mortals and leaving important details out—details that always end up turning their wishes against them.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar,” I grunted. “Faust, Keanu Reeves...that country song with the fiddle…”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Lucifer groaned. “Hopefully you’ll understand I mean no such animus against you, young man. Why would I? I already consider you my protege—my heir apparent.”

Uh huh. And if the Devil himself were somehow trustworthy, I had