Lucifer walked to the door, his steps deliberate, almost ceremonial, the soles of his boots whispering against the cold marble like a secret being dragged across the floor.
She watched him, heart stuttering in her chest, and asked again, softer this time, "What ...What are you doing?"
He didn't answer. The iron lock clicked shut with a sound too final, too loud in the hush of the ritual chamber. Only then did he turn.
The dying light of the stained-glass sun poured through the high windows, bleeding gold and crimson across her half-naked body where she knelt on the sacred circle.
The white gown had slipped from one shoulder, clinging only by prayer and desperation now. His gaze moved over her slowly, possessively, as though he were memorizing the way the light kissed the swell of her young breasts, the fragile line of her collarbone, the white spill of her hair over trembling shoulders.
