CHAPTER FOURTY-THREE
SITTING IN Lucifer's arm, A familiar mix of anticipation and unease hums through me.
Time apart hasn't altered him in the slightest. He remains the same man who nearly ended Ace’s life, the one who never hesitated to take what he desired.
Yet, he's also the man who risked everything to save me.
Now that I know what he endured, I can recognize the evidence of his suffering. His frame is leaner, his tan skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones.
A faded pink scar mars his left ear, and his dark hair is trimmed shorter than before.
On the left side of his skull, the hair grows unevenly, hinting at another scar hidden beneath.
Despite these minor flaws, he is still the most breathtaking man I’ve ever seen. My gaze refuses to leave him.
He's alive. Lucifer is alive, and I'm here with him again.
It feels almost unreal. Just this morning, I believed he was gone, convinced the explosion had claimed him.
For four agonizing months, I had forced myself to be strong, to move forward and try to erase from my mind the very man sitting beside me now.
The man who took my freedom.
The man I love.
Lifting my left hand, I lightly trace the shape of his lips with my fingertip. His mouth is beyond incredible—crafted for sin.
At my touch, his lips part, and he captures my finger between his sharp white teeth, nibbling lightly before drawing it into his mouth.
A shiver of desire courses through me as his warm, wet tongue caresses my finger. Deep inside, my muscles tighten, heat pooling low in my belly. My underwear grows damp—I’m utterly powerless against him.
One glance, one touch, and I crave him. My body still feels tender from his earlier possession, yet I yearn for him to claim me again.
Lucifer is alive, and he’s taking me away once more.
As reality settles in, I withdraw my finger from his lips, a sudden chill whispering over my skin, cooling the fire within me.
There is no turning back now, no chance to rethink my decision. Once again, Lucifer controls my fate, and this time, I willingly walked into his web, surrendering myself to his mercy.
Not that my willingness would have made a difference, I remind myself.
The memory of the syringe in his pocket lingers in my mind, a stark reminder that the outcome would have been the same. Awake or unconscious, I would still be leaving with him today.
For some twisted reason, that realization soothes me, and I rest my head against Lucifer’s shoulder, allowing myself to relax into him.
There’s no point in resisting fate, and I’m beginning to accept that truth.
WITH TRAFFIC, OUR DRIVE TO THE AIRPORT STRETCHES JUST PAST AN HOUR. TO MY surprise, we don’t arrive at O’Hare. Instead, we pull up to a small airstrip where a sizable jet waits for us. I spot the letters 'G650' on its tail.
"Is that yours?" I ask as Lucifer opens my door.
"Yes." He doesn’t meet my gaze or offer any further explanation. His sharp eyes sweep over the area instead, scanning for unseen threats.
There’s a heightened vigilance in him now, something I don’t recall from before. For the first time, it dawns on me that the island had been his refuge too—a place where he could lower his defenses and truly breathe.
As soon as I step out, Lucifer grips my elbow and directs me toward the jet.
The driver follows close behind.
I hadn’t noticed him earlier, as a partition separated the backseat from the front, but now, as we walk, I steal a glance at him.
He must be one of Lucifer’s Navy SEALs. His blond hair is cropped short, and his pale eyes hold a glacial intensity, set in a strong, angular face.
He’s even taller than Lucifer, moving with the same lethal grace—each step controlled, every motion precise.
A large assault rifle rests in his hands, and I have no doubt he’s expertly trained to wield it.
Another dangerous man… one many women would likely find irresistible, given his chiseled features and powerful build. He does nothing for me, but then again, I’m spoiled. Few men can compare to Lucifer’s dark, angelic allure.
"What kind of plane is this?" I ask as we climb the steps and step into an opulent cabin. I know nothing about private jets, but this one is clearly extravagant.
I try not to gawk at my surroundings, but I fail miserably. The massive cream-colored leather seats are plush, and in front of a sleek coffee table sits an actual couch.
An open doorway at the back reveals a glimpse of something that leaves me speechless—a king-size bed.
My jaw drops in disbelief. This jet has a bedroom.
"It’s one of the top-tier Gulfstreams," Lucifer answers, turning to help me remove my coat. His warm fingers graze my neck, sending a delightful shiver down my spine.
"An ultra-long-range business jet. It can take us directly to our destination without needing a fuel stop."
"It's really nice," I say, watching as Lucifer hangs my coat in the closet near the door before shrugging off his own jacket.
I can’t look away from him, and I suddenly realize that a part of me still fears this isn’t real—that I’ll wake up and find out this was nothing more than a dream… that Lucifer truly perished in the explosion.
The thought sends a shudder through me, and Lucifer immediately catches the small movement. "Are you cold?" he asks, stepping closer. "I can have the temperature adjusted."
"No, I’m fine." Still, I relish Lucifer’s warmth as he pulls me into him, rubbing my arms for a few moments. The heat from his body seeps through my clothes, chasing away the haunting memory of those terrible months when I believed I had lost him forever.
Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him tightly. He’s alive, and he’s here with me. That’s all that matters now.
"We’re ready for takeoff."
An unfamiliar male voice startles me, and I release Lucifer, turning to see the blond driver watching us with a neutral, unreadable expression.
"Good." Lucifer keeps his arm around me, holding me close when I instinctively try to step back. "Ella, this is Orson. He’s the one who pulled me out of the warehouse."
"Oh, I see." My smile is wide and sincere as I look at the man who saved Lucifer’s life. "It’s so nice to meet you, Orson. I can’t even begin to thank you for what you did—"
His eyebrows lift slightly, as if I said something unexpected. "I was just doing my job," he replies, his voice deep with a hint of amusement.
Lucifer’s lips curve into a faint smile, but he doesn’t comment on that. Instead, he asks, "Is everything ready for us at the estate?"
Orson nods. "All set." Then his gaze shifts back to me, his expression as impassive as before. "Nice to meet you too, Ella." Without another word, he turns and disappears into the pilot’s cabin at the front.
"He drives and flies planes for you?" I ask Lucifer once Orson is gone.
"He’s adaptable," Lucifer replies, leading me toward the plush seats.
"Most of my men are."
As soon as we settle in, a stunning dark-haired woman steps into the cabin from the front.
Her white dress clings to her curves like liquid silk, and with the thick layer of makeup she’s wearing, she looks as glamorous as a movie star—except for the tray she’s carrying, which holds a champagne bottle and two glasses.
Her gaze flicks to me briefly before shifting to Lucifer. "Would you like anything else, Mr. Incenzo?" she asks, lowering the tray onto the table between our seats.
Her voice is smooth and melodic, and the way she hungrily watches Lucifer makes my teeth clench.
"This will do for now. Thank you, Kayla," he replies, offering her a quick smile, and an unexpected stab of jealousy slices through me.
Lucifer once assured me that he hadn’t slept with anyone else since meeting me, but I can’t help but wonder if this woman had ever shared his bed.
She’s undeniably stunning, and everything about her demeanor screams that she’d be more than happy to fulfill Lucifer’s every desire—including presenting herself to him, naked and waiting.
Before my thoughts spiral any further, I inhale deeply and force my gaze toward the window, watching the slow descent of snowflakes outside.
A part of me recognizes how absurd this is, how irrational it is to feel so possessive over Lucifer.
Any sane woman would be relieved to have her captor’s attention diverted elsewhere, but I stopped being rational when it came to him long ago.
Stockholm Syndrome. Capture-bonding. Traumatic bonding. My therapist had thrown around all those terms during our few brief sessions.
She had been trying to make me open up about my emotions regarding Lucifer, but the pain of discussing the man I thought I had lost was too much—so I stopped going altogether.
I did research those terms later, and I can understand why they apply to my situation. Still, I’m not sure it’s that straightforward—or if it even makes a difference now.
Labeling something doesn’t make it disappear. No matter the reason behind my emotional bond with Lucifer, I can’t just switch it off. I can’t force myself to love him any less.
When I turn back to Lucifer, the flight attendant has already left the main cabin. The jet engines are roaring to life, and I instinctively fasten my seatbelt, just as I’ve done my entire life.
"Champagne?" Lucifer asks, reaching for the bottle on the table.
"Sure, why not," I reply, watching as he skillfully pours me a glass.
He hands it to me, and I lean back in my spacious seat, taking a slow sip of the sparkling drink as the plane begins to move.
My new life with Lucifer has officially started.