“Bring him,” he snapped.
Once again, Luc heated the blade to glowing. If he held it to Raphael’s skin a little longer than necessary, well, there was satisfaction to be had from in his pain.
“A reminder never to cross me again,” he stated coldly.
His actions served twofold. Not only as revenge on Raphael and Michael, but also as a warning for those believing Lucifer had softened. His display of strength would have everyone reevaluating. His ex brothers-in-arms might bear his angel-fire scars for all eternity, but their pain would fade as the wounds healed.
Luc’s never would.
Not as long as Nadia was out of reach and Thamiel no longer served as his conscious.
He spat on the ground in front of them.
“This is a small taste of what I will do to you should you ever harm her or cross my path again.” He snapped his fingers, and Thamiel quickly appeared, ready for transport. “This goes for Thamiel. If you touch him, harm him in any way, you will lose a hand.”
Luc sheathed his sword and clapped his hands.
“Begone! I wish to be alone. But be sure to take out the trash before you go.”
His minions, along with Thamiel, shuffled his spent brothers off.
“Nicely done.”
Luc’s head snapped up. “Gabriel. How is it I never hear your approach?”
His brother shrugged and sauntered to the painting.
“Thank you for exacting revenge. A condition of my freedom is that I would not.” Gabriel fingered the dagger lodged in the canvas.
“How is she?” Did Luc’s voice come out as scratchy and raw as he felt?
“She is well. Happy for the most part.”
“What does that mean—‘For the most part?’”
“I believe she senses something, or someone, is missing from her life. I find her staring off into space at times. Her melancholy fills the room.” Gabriel shot him a half smile. “Not dissimilar to the way you are now, only with a lot less pent-up rage.”
Luc rose, pulled the dagger from the painting, and paced twenty feet away. He spun and flicked his wrist, hitting the exact spot he’d nailed on his first throw.
“Yes, well, I don’t have the luxury of forgetting, do I?” All he’d lost was emblazed upon his memory. He supposed he should be grateful to the Creator for allowing Thamiel the extra time to train a replacement. But he didn’t have the heart to.
“No, I’m afraid neither of us does.” Gabriel slowly sauntered around the cavern, touching this or that. After completing a full circle, he came to a stop before Luc. “Tell me, brother. Do you know why Adalyn was killed? For over three-quarters of a century, I believed it to be an accident on Michael’s part. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“It was no accident. Just like with Nadia, I suspect Michael was ordered to kill her.” Luc cast a sympathetic eye on his brother. “He confessed to me after.”
“When?”
“When did he confess?” Luc frowned. “I’m not sure. We met in a tavern in some God-forsaken war-torn country around the turn of the last century. He was drowning his sorrows with agave.”
He climbed the dais and sprawled on the throne, tired of the constant conflict.
Gabriel rested a booted foot on the step beneath him. “What did he say? Exactly.”
“He ranted about doing you a disservice. About taking away your mate, all because Father ordered him to. He spoke of her pregnancy—” Luc sat straighter. “If she were pregnant, he couldn’t have murdered her. How then would Nadia be here?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Gabriel said flatly.
“Do you suppose Adalyn’s still alive? After all this time?”
