Page 59 of King of Hell

Then, what does he have with Lucifer and his brethren? Many of them annoy him, and yet if they were to be destroyed by angels in Heaven, the chasm in his chest, the Darkness, full of this lake, this ocean of seething fire and sadness, would swallow him forever. “I killed love for power.”

“You can have both.” Lauren?iu says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s obvious.

“What do you mean?”

“Plenty of people throughout history have had both power and love.”

“I can’t have Heaven’s love. His love.” Admitting it makes the chasm in him twinge.

“Is that all there is?”

Paimon idly rubs his chin. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to explain, but once you’ve lost that, that unity, you begin to doubt what bothered you before. You start to think if you messed that up, nothing else can ever make up for it. That pure, blazing, divine love. My, my...”

Cassiel cradling him on the clouds as they lazily watched the Milky Way swirl like a rotating eye.

He continues, tumbling into the past, “And the fallen angels—there’s so much doubt and anger and need. All this toxicity and resentment. I don’t know if I even want to try to live—to love in a place like Hell. I’m not sure it’s in the makeup of the place.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Perhaps. Does it ever scare you, what I’ve done? No, I suppose it doesn’t. But what happened in Heaven is probably a thousandfold anything you could possibly do.”

Lauren?iu shakes his head. “It’s naive to think you can get anything without a little violence.”

As Paimon stares at his vampire, his chest heaves as those words sink in. And then—

It’s him who pulls Lauren?iu into another kiss.

Chapter 18

Lauren?iu

Their lips meet again, this time urgent.

Lauren?iu thinks the feeling of Paimon's mouth on his might be his apocalypse. His Revelation. A world ending and reforming, their lips moving together in a way both old and new.

He isn’t sure what propels him to kiss Paimon, except that he’s on fire.

His soul burns, and unable to contain himself, he draws Paimon closer, deeper when he furls his hands in his golden curls. The demon king holds him close.

He already feels as if he’s different in Paimon’s arms, but sure and unsure. So long as he has this.

Could it always be like this, even in Hell? Could he always come home?

In Paimon’s arms, a lightning bolt of fear flashes across him. He’s not used to someone staying. Or—Lauren?iu isn’t used to being worthy or trusting enough to let someone stay in his heart. Nevertheless, he furls his hands into the draping white collared shirt Paimon wears.

It’s intoxicating to be pulled into the fallen angel’s vortex. To be wanted.

Lauren?iu pushes against Paimon’s lips, their mouths opening wider, and in their passion, his eyeteeth graze Paimon’s bottom lip; the blood he tastes is different than he expected; smoky with an added spice, like cloves or carnations.

Eyes half-lidded, Paimon asks, “Have I ever told you that you have very nice hands?”

Wryly, Lauren?iu responds, “No. They just look like my hands to me.”

Paimon holds them and tenderly inspects them, until he raises them to his lips and kisses Lauren?iu’s knuckles.

God.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lauren?iu starts.

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