Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alastor didn’t feel remorse for those he killed. He never had and he knew he never would. They deserved it, all of them. He only took those who would have committed far more heinous crimes on the innocent, and Alastor couldn’t have that, for he was a great respecter of both women and children. Hell, he preserved far more lives than he took.

Murder was an art form for him. Each death meticulously planned and plotted, a punishment to befit the crime. Alastor was an artist and he didn’t waste of drop of the precious crimson that flowed from his victims. Sometimes he would use it as ink to create glorious masterpieces to adorn the walls of his home, his private gallery. Other times he would drink the blood as though it were wine, getting drunk on it and allowing his usually fastidious façade to slip as the blood dripped down his chin and smeared across his white pressed dress shirt.

Tonight was one of these nights. The bloodlust had been particularly strong and, for the first time, Alastor had made a mistake. He had drunk the man’s blood straight from his veins, like a crude version of Dracula, cackling as he watched the man’s life drain from his eyes. But his blood was poisoned, laced with a mysterious concoction of drugs, alcohol and something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The poor fellow likely would have died a far slower death without Alastor’s intervention anyway.

Unfortunately for Alastor, that tainted blood was now poisoning his own system. He retched, trying to purge it from his body, but it was too late and he curled in on himself in pain before the world turned black.

When he awoke, it wasn’t in the bayou where he had been burying the body of his latest victim, no, he was in a palatial room. A bedroom to be precise. He was laid in the middle of a king-size bed, with no trace of the pain he had been experiencing before he passed out. He sat up, ashamed at his weakness in doing so and appalled at his slip-up. But where was he now? And, more concerningly, where were his clothes? He ran a slender hand down the silken robe that someone had dressed him in. The violation of his privacy caused his anger to rise and he swung his legs off the bed to stride to the door.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so, little deer.”

Deer? Alastor froze, for there was no one in the room. Willing his voice to stay in control, he asked, “Who are you?”

“Oh, I think you’ll recognise me, when you see me. If I let you see me but…hmm…you are quite delectable, I don’t think I can not have a taste.”

“A taste? I’m not edible.”

“Rather rich, coming from you, don’t you think? But that’s not what I meant.” As he said this, a shadow emerged from the wall to snake up Alastor’s leg. Before it could touch somewhere that no one else had touched before, Alastor stepped backwards, furious.

“How dare you?!”

Strong arms caught him from behind, sin-burned claws began stroking over his chest and catching his nipples through the silk. Alastor’s fury was further ignited as his body betrayed him and had the audacity to shudder.

“No…” he shook his head as one of those impossibly sharp claws raked up his neck to tilt his gaze backward until he was looking into the face of Death himself. He was…oddly beautiful. More angelic than he would have ever thought. Portrayals of the Grim Reaper were wrong. “So, this is it, how it ends? You’re here to reap my soul. Take it then,” he spat, trying to convince himself that he didn’t care.

“Oh, little mortal, I’ve already taken that from you. Did you not realise you were dead? Welcome to Hell mon amour where I rule all.”

“You’re…you’re not the Reaper? You’re…?”

“The Devil himself, pleased to be meeting you, although I must say, the pleasure is mine,” he said, releasing his hold on Alastor’s neck to spin him around and run an appreciate gaze over the man’s features.

“Lucifer…”

“Alastor.”

“How do you..?”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow that simply said, ‘because I’m the Devil.’

“How am I here, with you? Surely you have better things to do than meeting every Sinner who comes down here?”

“Because you intrigue me. I’ve watched you, Alastor. For months now I have observed. I knew it was only a matter of time before you did something that you couldn’t come back from.”

“Charming.”

Lucifer ignored him. “And now you’re here with me and I very much like what I see. How would you feel about becoming my new Queen?”

“Queen? In case you haven’t noticed, I am a man.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” There was that searing gaze again. “Alas, there can only be one King, and he is me. I am giving you an incredible opportunity here. An opportunity to rule Hell by my side.”

“But why me?” Alastor asked before he could think better of it.

Lucifer leaned in close, his breath dancing across Alastor’s cheeks. “Because I’m impulsive, I think you have great potential, I know what I want and I want to fuck you.”

Another shiver ran up Alastor’s back, something he had not once in his life ever felt as he nodded his consent.

Lucifer smiled like the Devil he was as he held out his hand for his new Queen to take.