Page 67 of Falling for the Devil

And if Lucifer was ashamed of having sunk down to less than angelic behavior with her, she was not to blame. Not once had she invited him to look at her, touch her, kiss her. That was all on him! Maybe he should come down from his pedestal and accept responsibility for his own actions.

You kissed him in the lagoon. You flirted and batted your eyelashes just as Aphrodite taught you. You were the one begging him to fuck you.

Maybe she wasn’t such a saint, but the guilt should at least be shared in such circumstances. He could’ve rejected her, and none of this would be an issue.

The sooner she was finished with this entire business, the better—preferably before she unleashed her fury and hurt upon them, making matters worse. Despite knowing in her soul that she need not feel an iota of guilt for having given herself to Lucifer, Diana did realize it would be best not to wait around for the angels to discipline her for what they deemed a sin. Without any other gods around to help her, she was alone among a ragtag squadron of angels getting antsy for a battle of some sort. They wanted blood. She would rather it not be hers.

The fastest way off this disastrous planet and back home to Olympus was to find that bastard, Asmodeus. Then she could leave Lucifer to his self-inflicted disgrace and dishonor.

She deserved better, anyway.

“I can see you seething in silence,” Puck spoke into her mind. “Careful. Don’t want the angels to catch on to the entire truth before we have an exit strategy. I don’t trust them once the full extent of this scandal breaks.”

The pooka had a good point.

“Excuse me.” Diana raised her hand to grab the angels’ attention. They had formed a tight circle while they discussed how to track down Asmodeus, leaving her and Puck out of it. “I believe I have an idea how to smoke out our quarry while barely lifting a finger.”

All eyes riveted onto her. Some wide with surprise. Others narrowed with obvious distrust.

She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. Puck squeezed her shoulder.

“It’s quite simple, if you think about it. We lure the demon prince of lust with the one weapon none of you seems equipped to understand.”

Olivier’s bushy eyebrows arched high, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. At least someone else had a modicum of sense about these things, even if he was otherwise despicable.

“There’s no need to hunt for him. He will come to us. All it takes is the right bait.”

To make her point she strolled over to Balfour—he seemed the least likely to judge her—with her hips jutted out, sashaying with every step. She tilted her head down but peeked up at him through her eyelashes, then trailed a finger down his face, grazing his lower lip before scraping down his throat to linger at the edge of his armored chest plate.

A raucous chuckle startled her. She’d expected Olivier to chime in with some condescending remark about her inappropriate behavior, but was surprised to find the source of the laughter was none other than Lucifer. Flames danced in his almost black eyes. A humorless wicked grin stretched across his face. The poor soldier she’d chosen to prove her point backed away as fast as a rabbit fleeing from a predator.

“I’m afraid, my dear,” Olivier clamped a hand on Lucifer’s arm to keep him from advancing toward her, “your bait may prove more dangerous in other ways. But... I will admit, it is a brilliant plan. Unconventional, for certain. My only recommended adjustment is that your target be more likely to succumb to your feminine wiles.”

They both glanced at Lucifer—Olivier with a smirk and Diana with a tinge of fear.

“Asmodeus is no dummy,” Olivier continued. “He will sniff out a blatant lie, thus not take the bait.”

Diana raised her head in defiance, just as she’d been taught to since birth. “We are in agreement, then?”

Lucifer’s stare made her knees buckle. He might have wanted to hide from what they’d shared, tuck it away, never to be found. And she’d just called him out in front of his own men. He’d have no choice but to face his greatest weakness—her. And in front of all these holy witnesses. He nodded, ever so subtly, before turning away from her to counsel with Olivier.

Unable, and unwilling, to suppress the grin ticking up the corners of her lips, Diana stood unflinching before them. Delight flittered in her stomach like fireflies across a meadow at sunset.

At this point, she had no delusions that she and Lucifer would runaway together when this was all over and live happily ever after for eternity, making love and raising a horde of half-angel demigods. But she intended to walk away from this hunt—and from him—with her dignity intact.

SHE HAD JUST DAMNED him.

He deserved it, but Lucifer had held out a smidgen of hope to rectify the situation with her. He had yet to decide whether that meant giving her up and repenting of his sin or shedding his wings to pursue an eternity of carnal delights with Diana.

It was clear that she was no longer interested in the latter. That had not been love and devotion staring back at him. And with what he knew he’d have to do to lure Asmodeus, there’d be no hiding his sin from his brothers, nor from his father, even if the cause was just.

“I do believe your lady love has just ensnared you, my brother,” Olivier teased. “While I will admit I realized the danger you were in the moment I saw you two together the first time, I only wished to goad you about it. There was no way I would’ve guessed just how great the temptation would be. But... I should have.”

Lucifer answered with a scowl. “It’s my mess. I will fix things after I cleave Asmodeus’s head from his shoulders.” His hand clenched around the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Olivier leaned in closely—too closely. His voice was a bare movement of warm air against his earlobe. “We will, brother. I am yours to command, as always.”

At least someone had his back, even if he doubted any trust should be placed in Olivier at this point. Still, Lucifer needed someone to support him. Diana was out to quench her justified wrath against him. The beady-eyed Puck had never been a fan. And the cautious expressions over his own soldiers’ faces... even they doubted him now. He’d prove his worth and atone for his transgressions, but he’d be damned if he would be browbeaten with fear or guilt from anyone who wasn’t the Creator himself.

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