They lay together in Satan’s chambers, Lucifer curled protectively around Sataniel’s sleeping form. Smiling down at his beloved, terrible wife, Lucifer gently ran a hand over her bare stomach. It was soft and smooth as the rest of her, a familiar body he knew all too well.
There was something different this time though, and he could feel it beginning to stir to life in the depths of her abdomen, the child just starting to grow within her. He sucked in a breath and circled her navel with his hand, letting the tattoos wind down his fingertips. This child of his wasn’t like the countless bastards he had left in his wake; this one, his son, his heir, was different, and he wanted to know it.
His eyes blazed orange as he sent a gentle pulse of power rippling into Satan’s womb through his flattened palm, giving the child the smallest taste of his birthright. Satan moaned and rolled over, grimacing as she flopped unceremoniously onto her stomach.
Lucifer chuckled, the sound bothering his exhausted wife enough that she cracked one eyelid open to give him a fierce, bright-green glare. Lucifer merely laughed again and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against him. “Congratulations, darling…I do believe you are in the family way.” He murmured against her ear.
Satan relaxed into his grip with a contented little sigh; this was all she had ever wanted, after all. Lucifer had known for years that she wanted to have his child, but he had been less than thrilled with the notion. Now, though, it seemed like the right decision--after all, he was going to get what he wanted, and his scheming, lovely little bitch of a wife would be better distracted by a baby than anything else he could think to give her. All Hell was about to break loose, and he couldn’t have her pulling more ridiculous stunts at the expense of his carefully-laid plans. If nothing else, their son would keep her hands full; a child with both of their powers inherit? Sataniel would be busy, of that he was certain.
Beneath him, Satan tilted her head and began kissing along the underside of his jaw, her lips and hot breath tickling at his skin. He smiled a crooked smile and was about to take control of the situation when a knock sounded on the heavy chamber door. He ignored it and rolled over, landing Satan on top of him, her red spirals of hair a messy, tangled curtain around their heads.
She angled herself up, casting a glance over her shoulder at the door as someone rapped on it again, the sound loud and urgent as it echoed. “Should we answer that?” she smirked, brushing her fingers over his chest and arching her back towards him.
Lucifer groaned as the knocking sounded again, followed by a muffled voice. “My liege, please open the door! It’s very important, please!!” Astarte. He’d know that whining tone anywhere, he thought with a roll of his eyes.
He leaned up, kissing Satan apologetically. “I suppose we must.” Satan shifted off of him grudgingly. “Enter.” Lucifer commanded, and the doors burst open to admit a very dishevelled-looking Astarte.
He shot his general a look. “This had better be important. I was in the midst of something delightful.” He smirked, giving Sataniel a squeeze that got his hands slapped away with a dark, grumbled threat.
“It would be best if we spoke in private, my liege.” Astarte intoned quietly, looking pointedly at Satan.
Lucifer snapped his fingers together. “Speak now, or leave.”
Astarte lowered herself to the floor in a smooth, sweeping bow and stayed there for a moment, her forehead resting on the cold stone tile. “Majesty, they have…Draven has returned from the mission.” She lifted her head, her blue eyes huge and fearful “My liege, they have failed.”
“What?!” Lucifer snarled, flinging back the sheet that covered his waist and leaping to his feet, naked and enraged. “What do you mean Draven failed?” It was almost unthinkable; he wasn’t sure that Draven even knew the meaning of the word failure. The man was a juggernaut, a force of nature, an unstoppable, single-minded destroyer of worlds. Failure was not an option for Draven. The slut had to have heard wrong. “Are you sure?” he demanded.
Astarte glanced from him to Satan again nervously. “It would be…more prudent if we--“
Lucifer growled a sound of utter disgust. “Fine.” He snapped, striding past her towards the door, materialising clothes onto himself as he went. He didn’t care that Astarte got quite the eyeful; nothing she hadn’t seen before. “I want everyone in the throne room when I get there. Do not keep me waiting; I don’t intend to waste any more of my time tonight than I already have.”
He turned to give his wife one last soft smile before striding out the door into the hallway. “Don’t wait up for me, darling. Rest while you can.”
She had to admit that she was a little worried. Lucifer was so angry right now, and it was partly her fault, but she couldn’t help but smile. After all these years, all these millennia of waiting and hoping, Lucifer had finally given her the heir she had been begging for. A child of her power and his combined? Satan shuddered happily, trailing her hands down to lace them over her stomach. Their son would be truly unstoppable, a force the likes of which none had ever encountered. The true child of the King of Hell.
Still, she worried, frenzied thoughts pushing at the back of her mind through the fog of bliss. She had no cards left to play of her own; her Thief had rebelled, her Hunter had failed to kill one powerless girl, and, by the sound of it, had botched her husband’s plans while he was at it. She supposed that would have worked in her favour had he managed to not mess up everything else so spectacularly.
The enormous mirror beside her bed pulsed with deep orange light, the blaze filling the room for a moment. The image of a very large, very muscular and very bald man appeared, washing over her own reflection and that of her bed chamber. The man was standing in the dungeons of Hades; the dark iron and dank stone behind him made that clear enough.
“Dungeon Master Orion,” Satan said, greeting him with a nod while carelessly donning a silky, deep-red robe. “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Orion had politely averted his eyes while she dressed, but now he met hers, barely able to contain his excitement. “My lady, it’s the strangest thing! We have a new prisoner on our hands!”
Satan frowned a little, brow creasing. “On the night of the Solstice celebration? Somehow, I don’t see that as odd.” It wasn’t altogether unusual for a handful of demons to spend time in the dungeons on this night; festivities invariably brought out the worst in some people.
Orion shook his head. “No, your Majesty, of course not; but this prisoner just appeared out of nowhere!”
Satan’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“He just materialised into the dungeon; there was this blinding flash of golden light and then bang! There’s an angel collapsed at my feet!”
Satan’s mind spun, filling with ideas and formulating plans automatically. She narrowed her eyes and stared at Orion. “You haven’t told anyone else?”
“You are the first, my lady.”
Satan nodded, smiling sweetly. “Good. Let’s keep it that way; tell anyone else, and you’ll be next on the rack.”
Orion began to sweat visibly despite the damp chill that she knew permeated the dungeons.
“I’ll be down momentarily; put him in the big cell.”
Orion bowed low and murmured in acquiescence, the mirror fading back to normal.
Seeing herself in the mirror Satan ran her fingers through her tumbled curls, adjusting her hair into some semblance of order. She stretched languidly and re-wrapped her robe, tying it firmly with a wide black sash; that was good enough, she supposed. It was the middle of the night, after all.
Satisfied, she turned to the small room adjoining hers. “Eron,” she called, waiting a moment as her pet shuffled forward out of the shadowy doorway he had been sitting in. “Come. We’re going to meet someone new!”