The moonlight streamed through the blood-red curtains of Corrine's chamber, casting shadows like clawed fingers across the stone walls. The scent of jasmine and old magic filled the air.
She stood before the mirror, brushing her raven-black hair, when a warm presence coiled behind her.
A hand, cold yet electric, slid around her waist.
"Did you miss me, my queen?" came a voice like velvet soaked in sin.
Lucifer.
His breath ghosted over her shoulder as he pressed a kiss to her neck—slow, deliberate, claiming. Corrine shivered.
"I always do," she whispered.
His fingers moved, caressing the curve of her hip, pulling her back against him. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parted as desire curled in her stomach.
"I crave you," she breathed. "Make me yours again, my king. I beg you. I long for your touch."
Lucifer chuckled low, seductive.
"You've pleased me, Corrine," he murmured against her skin. "You've proven your worth. Shall I reward my queen?"
She turned, eyes dark with need, and nodded.
His dark robes fell to the floor like shadows shedding form. She reached for him, and he caught her in his arms, lifting her and carrying her to the velvet-draped bed where desire ruled.
They moved like fire and smoke—tangled in need, in power, in something far darker than love.
The night echoed with whispered names and silken gasps.
And when she rose above him, a goddess crowned in moonlight, Lucifer lay beneath her in awe, a creature of sin undone by the very queen he had created.
Morning painted the skies in hues of blood and gold.
The bed was cold.
Lucifer was gone.
Corrine stirred beneath silken sheets, her skin kissed by the remnants of fire and shadow. A slow smile curled on her lips—not of sweetness, but of dark, pulsing satisfaction. Her body ached in the most divine ways, every inch a reminder of the night she was claimed once again.
She pressed a hand over her heart.
Still racing.
She rose, unhurried, like a queen descending from her throne. Clad in a black velvet robe embroidered with ancient sigils, she walked barefoot across the marble floors. No servant stirred, no candle flickered. It was as if time held its breath for her.
She stepped out into the morning mist, inhaling the crisp, enchanted air of the forest beyond the Carello estate.
The trees bowed to her presence.
The path remembered her feet.
Deeper and deeper she walked, guided not by sight but by the pull inside her chest—the unbreakable tether of her pact.
Corrine descended into the forest's heart, where light struggled to reach, and roots curled like claws. There, hidden by time and fear, stood the catacomb—the gate to Lucifer's domain. Wrought of black stone and runes that shimmered with infernal energy, the entrance pulsed as if breathing.
She stood before it, heart pounding with eager longing.
"I am yours," she whispered. "Always."
A rush of heat surrounded her, invisible arms embracing her waist. Her knees weakened at the phantom touch of him—his presence unseen, yet felt like fire under her skin.
"Come to me," she begged. "Devour me again."
The stones glowed.
The door opened.
Darkness welcomed her.
The stone door groaned shut behind her.
Corrine walked deeper into the catacomb, her breath steady despite the choking shadows that clawed the air. The walls shimmered with forgotten languages, blood-sealed pacts etched into every inch of the stone. The air was thick—ripe with incense, smoke, and the scent of sin.
She had returned to her king.
A pulse echoed—slow, mighty, inhuman.
Torchlight burst to life on either side of her with every step. Flames of black and violet roared to attention as though bowing to her presence. At the heart of the catacomb, beneath an altar carved from obsidian and bone, he stood.
Lucifer.
But not as the world remembered him.
Not the charming, silk-tongued man who had taken her last night in the shape of a mortal prince.
Here, in the bowels of his true dominion, he shed his human glamour.
Tall and lithe, his skin was carved of ash and ember, swirling with arcane sigils that moved as if alive. His eyes burned twin suns—red and gold, ancient and cruel. Feathered wings, vast as storm clouds, curled at his back. His horns, majestic and cruel, crowned his head like a dark halo.
And yet, even in this monstrous form, he was heartbreakingly beautiful.
Corrine dropped to her knees.
"My King," she whispered.
He smiled, not kindly, but with hunger. "You return, my Queen. Do you crave more?"
"I crave you," she breathed. "Every piece. Every taste. Every darkness."
He moved toward her. Shadows danced around his feet. The air trembled.
"You are bound to me, Corrine of Carello," he said. "Body. Mind. Womb."
At that, her eyes widened slightly.
He extended his hand and placed it gently on her stomach.
A hum of power surged between them. The runes on the walls glowed brighter. A distant, echoing heartbeat thumped in her ears—not hers.
"What… is that?" she whispered.
His smile widened.
"The beginning of my dominion on Earth," Lucifer said. "The child of your vengeance and my flame. A prince of darkness, sealed in your womb."
Corrine's lips parted. She should've felt fear.
But all she felt… was glory.
"I carry your heir?" she asked.
"No," he whispered, brushing a clawed finger down her cheek. "You carry our army."
He leaned closer, voice rich with promise. "The first of many. A soul born of hatred and love, fire and witchblood. One child shall rise... and the world will kneel."
She pressed her palm to her stomach.
A strange warmth spread through her womb. Not pain, not discomfort—power. Her veins lit with it, her bones strengthened by it.
"I will raise him," Corrine swore. "I will make the world burn for every tear I shed."
Lucifer kissed her forehead, then her lips, a seal of darkness.
"You are no longer the daughter of House Carello," he declared. "You are the Queen of Desolation."
And in the silence that followed, Corrine smiled.