The afternoon wore on, Lucia unsure if the passage of time held any meaning for her any longer. She kept replaying that moment in her mind: That one perfect, fearful, incredible moment. The look of fury, of pure power in rightness, emanating from Talia as she stared down the Deacon. Her single shot, fired to the heavens.
One of the maids came to the door of the sitting room where Lucia lounged, and knocked timidly on the doorframe. Lucia looked up, then gestured for her to come in.
“Um,” the girl said. “The Duke begs your presence in her study, when convenient.”
Of course the Duke did. Lucia considered letting Talia wait, but there really, truly, was nothing better for the demon to do in the meantime. As the maid retreated to her duties, Lucia rose from the divan and made her way up.
There, the Duke was standing with her back to the door, gloved hands clasped at her back. “Come in,” she said, though Lucia hadn’t waited before moving to the seat in front of the desk. The Duke sighed, then turned, eyes downcast.
“Your contract.” She gestured at the handwritten parchment atop her desk. Lucia took it and skimmed it through.
“…The undersigned native of the Abyssal Dream hereby swears loyalty, fealty, and perfect faith in fulfilling the vengeance of Talia, the Duke of Fallmire, such vengeance to be seen wrought on Bishop Inquisitor Henry Lindell, the Marchesa Gianna Forteza, and Commander General Gregor Hawthorne, all of whom unlawfully conspired to end the life of the Duke’s father, Antonin Lovelace …”
Nothing in the contract stood out as noteworthy. Lucia took the proffered fountain pen and inscribed her name at the bottom. Not her true name, of course, but one that would yet bind her to fulfill it. Then, handing it back to the Duke, she saw Talia sign her own name, and the power and weight of the contract settled over the succubus’s heart.
Stars danced in her vision as Lucia felt a rush of excitement—she had never made such a powerful contract, and as she breathed in her nose, in, then out, she felt the immense energy brimming beneath its surface, hers for the taking.
All it would take, now, was the demise of three vile mortals.
***
Hours later, Lucia was safe in her bedchamber, the day over and done with. Yet still, that one moment kept replaying itself in her mind.
The Duke’s look. Her iron eyes. Pistol in hand, righteous fury resting as a mantle on her shoulders.
Lucia could not cast those eyes from her mind.
Then, a horrid, mischievous thought came to her … and she groaned in realization.
Fuck.
She was falling for the Duke. Falling hard.