“As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, he’s testing me,” Luc muttered and flung the dagger across the room to stick into a life-size painting, depicting his brothers in battle. The blade landed squarely in the center of Raphael’s forehead.
Luc derived great pleasure from seeing him pale.
He clapped his hands, delivering a thunderous boom. Seconds later, the cavernous room filled with all his daemons and demons alike.
“What is this, Lucifer?” Michael asked, an edge to his voice.
“What does it look like? I’ll allow you to take Thamiel, but you will need to work for your prize.”
Raphael swore viciously. “You assured Father there would be no bloodshed.”
“Did I? I don’t recall any blood oaths to such a degree.” Luc snapped his fingers as if he was reminded of something. “Oh, that’s right. You’re the warrior who hates to fight. You’d rather break a promise to protect your own hide.”
“I broke no promises.”
“You’re a coward, Raphael,” he spat.
His brother’s sword appeared in hand, and Lucifer smiled. The deliberate show of teeth was pure evil and a promise of retribution.
“I won’t kill you, but my army will make you wish you were dead before they are through.” Luc rose from his throne and slammed the base of his palm into Raphael’s chest. The blow sent him flying into the center of fifty of Luc’s finest warriors. “Have fun, kids. But remember, keep him breathing.”
He shifted his attention to Michael.
“You are all mine.”
His sword appeared in his fist, and he swung it at his brother’s head.
Michael parried the strike with his trusty double blades.
“I was doing my job, Lucifer,” he snapped.
Enraged, Luc delivered blow after blow, making him work for his survival.
“You pierced her breast with your sword,” he bellowed. “She would be dead now if Father had not granted mercy.”
“I speak the truth, brother!” Michael hollered over the clashing steel. “I was commanded by our father to throw the sword.”
Luc didn’t care to believe him.
“You hurt what is mine,” he replied savagely. “For that, you will pay.”
Michael warded off the attack time and time again. He was sweating in earnest, his auburn hair matted with beads dripping from his temples.
“I am sorry, brother,” he said between pants. “I did what I was told.”
A yell and a grunt could be heard behind them, and Michael’s gaze darted toward the noise.
A grave mistake on his part, and one Luc took full advantage of. With a mere thought, he shot heat to the blade. The metal absorbed the temperature, transforming from gray to bright red. Taking full advantage of Michael’s momentary distraction, he swept a leg, driving his brother to his knees, and held the glowing tip to the side of his chiseled cheek.
The bloodcurdling scream ricocheted off the stone walls.
Luc grunted his satisfaction.
“I promised I wouldn’t shed your blood. I said nothing of marking you.” He stepped on the hilt of one sword and kicked the other away from Michael’s outstretched hand. “Nah, uh, uh, brother. No backstabbing allowed. Twice in one lifetime is more than enough, don’t you think?”
His dispassion at seeing Michael’s agony should probably worry him, but he felt nothing more than a job well done. He glanced up as the others approached.
Raphael, now limp, hung suspended between a half dozen men. Yes, he was bleeding, but not by Luc’s hand, so he’d kept his promise in that regard as well.
