The Devil's Poison

LUCIEN

They say the Devil wears Prada.

I don’t.

I wear tailored black suits, not because they’re expensive, but because they hide blood well.

Tonight, the cuffs were already stained.

I leaned back in my private booth at Veritas, my club in downtown Chicago, sipping on a glass of aged whiskey and watching sinners lie to themselves under gold lights and dirty music. The bass throbbed. The bodies writhed. It smelled like sweat, lust, and poor decisions.

My favorite cocktail.

“Another round, Mr. Black?” asked Marcy, my bartender, blinking twice too much.

“That depends,” I said, flashing her a slow smile. “Are you still sleeping with your roommate’s boyfriend? Or you are going to wait for her to find out.”

She froze.

Ah. That twitch in her eye. That’s what I lived for. Sin. Secrets. Shame. So tasty. She tried to hide it, a very failed attempt.

“I... ​what? No!” she laughed, awkwardly.

“Lying to the Devil. How cute.” I winked. “Yes. I’ll take another.”

Her hands shook as she poured.

I wasn’t exactly hiding who I was. I had stopped caring. Call me Lucien Black. Call me the Devil. Same horns, different day.

I had left Hell six years ago. Searching for that soul, that one soul that had escaped my torments, a stupid mistake from a lower ranking demon.

When I discovered that soul had escaped their sentence, slipped through the cracks of my kingdom and was now roaming Earth—

​

I decided to fix it personally.

I don’t delegate vengeance.

I deliver it.

Whoever that soul was, they would get their punishment soon.

“Boss,” growled a voice from the shadows.

It was Cael, one of my old, high ranking demons. Now my bouncer and right hand man. Over six feet tall. Shaved head. Eyes that used to glow red in Hell, now covered with cheap sunglasses. Human women liked him.

Pity he didn’t like humans.

“There is a cop asking questions at the bar.”

I raised a brow. “Oh? That’s new. What kind?”

“Detective. Female. Tough.”

I smirked. “Tough? Excellent. I could use a little challenge right now.”

I slid out of the booth, straightened my suit, and stepped into the pulsing chaos of the club. The music hit like thunder. Lights strobed. I spotted her immediately.

Detective Celia Ward.

She wasn’t dancing. She wasn’t drinking. She wasn’t even pretending to blend in. She stood at the bar like she was carved out of steel, sharp jaw, dark leather jacket, hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail. A woman clearly here to ask questions, not take shots.

She was slim and beautiful, had the curves of a goddess, I was not the type to admire God's creations but this one was exceptional.

I could smell her confidence from a mile away.

My type.

I slid beside her and ordered, “One glass of truth.”

She frowned, turning toward me.

“That is not a real drink.”

“No,” I said, sipping. “But it should be.”

Her eyes met mine. And something shifted. Like something old and deep had just looked up at us.

“You the owner of this club?” she asked.

“In the flesh, yes.”

"Cecilia Ward."

"Lucien Black." I nodded and gave her a devilish grin.

She pulled out a photo. “Do you know this woman? Name is Sarah Lockwood. Died last night. Her body was found burned from the inside. No fire. No fuel. Just… cooked.”

I glanced at the photo. A pretty blonde, maybe twenty-three. Sinful smile. Dead eyes.

“I knew her. She came here two nights ago.”

“And?”

“She confessed she had lied in court to put a man in prison.”

Celia’s eyes narrowed. “Why would she tell you that?”

I grinned. “People like to confess around me. It’s a gift.”

“You’re weird, are you some kind of priest?”

“I am the Devil.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Right. And I a the Tooth Fairy.”

“Well, Tooth Fairy, maybe you should check who else lied in court with her. Or maybe,” I stepped a little closer, “you are here for something more.”

“I a​m here because people are dying. And your name keeps coming up.”

“Of course it does. I am very popular.”

She moved to leave, but brushed my arm—and stopped cold.

I felt it, too.

A spark.

Not like electricity. Not heat. Not even magic.

It was… ancient.

I had never felt that before.

Her soul glowed against my touch. A light I hadn’t seen in thousands of years.

I stepped back fast, swallowing a growl.

“What the hell was that?” she breathed, her hand trembling slightly.

I said nothing. Just stared at her like I’d been hit by lightning.

Celia Ward was not normal, not like the rest humans.

And that was a very big problem.

---

Later that night, I sat alone on the rooftop of Veritas, watching the city breathe.

I could feel her soul pulling at mine like gravity. My chest ached. That was new. The Devil does not ache.

Amenadiel appeared behind me in a gust of wind and brimstone.

“You’re falling,” he said simply.

I lit a cigarette. “I am not, trust me.”

“You’re looking at her like she’s salvation.”

“She is a cop, a detective. A mortal. And annoyingly stubborn.”

“She’s also the key,” he said. “To your weakness. To your ruin.”

I exhaled smoke into the stars. “If I touch her, I burn. If I don’t, I rot.”

“You need to avoid her boss, she will cause you more harm that good.” Amenadiel said.

I looked down at the city. At her. Somewhere, she was dreaming of dead girls and burning bodies.

"Unfortunately I do not succumb to fear, I live and breathe for it, there's something about that detective and I'll find out what it is."

Somewhere, she was dreaming of me, I could feel it.

"You find out what she is and get burned or you ignore and be unaware of her capabilities, pick your poison."

I whispered to the dark:

“Too late. I already picked.”

CECILIA

I didn’t know where I was at first. Everything was dark, but I could feel it. The heat.

Then I saw him.

Lucien.

Stepping out of the shadows like he owned them.

He wore nothing but a black robe, barely hanging on his shoulders. His chest was broad, muscled, smooth and… glowing like something out of a sin-soaked fantasy. I froze. He didn’t stop walking. Those slow, confident steps carried him closer to me.

Then he dropped the robe.

Just like that.

And God help me, he was completely naked.

I gasped.

My whole body responded without permission. My heart was thudding so fast I could feel it in my throat. My legs went weak. My breath hitched. He was the definition of temptation. The Devil in flesh. And I wanted to touch him.

Lucien smirked. “Do you know what it takes to lay with the Devil?”

His hand reached out, fingers brushing my shoulder—

And I shot up in bed with a loud gasp.

Sh*t.

It was