Chapter Text
Hell had never felt safe for Lucifer.
What was once meant to be his kingdom — or more accurately, his cage — had slowly turned into a minefield. Every step had to be careful, every word measured. One wrong move and the entire realm would turn against him.
All because of that stupid television-headed bastard.
Vox had made sure of that.
After publicly humiliating Lucifer for all of Hell to see, the message spread quickly through the Pride Ring: the King of Hell couldn’t harm sinners. Not truly. Not directly. And if the King couldn’t punish them… what reason was there to fear him?
Now every demon seemed eager to test that theory.
Lucifer could feel it most whenever he would wander his daughter’s hotel. The sinners wandering its halls looked at him differently now — less like a ruler and more like a curiosity. Something to poke at. Something to provoke.
It made his skin crawl.
Which was exactly why he had made the deal.
She had approached him just after he escaped an uncomfortable encounter with a particularly rude sinner.
The demon had started asking questions. Loud ones.
“Can you really not hurt us?”
“Is it true your wife left you because you’re so weak?”
Naturally, Lucifer snapped at him. Sharp words and a flash of anger meant to send the pest scurrying away.
Instead, more sinners began to gather.
Lucifer hadn’t even noticed when the first few arrived. One moment it was a single insolent demon, and the next he was surrounded. They crept closer, circling him slowly, each one staring as if he were some delectable piece of meat laid out for their amusement.
Something tempting to taste.
With a flare of crimson flames, Lucifer vanished before anyone could get any closer, reappearing in the safety of his suite at the very top of the Hazbin Hotel.
He gripped the golden railing of his balcony tightly, knuckles pale against the metal. His breathing came in violent, uneven shakes as he tried to steady himself.
That was when Alastor appeared from the shadows.
“My, my.” A cheerful voice hummed softly behind him. “The King of Hell looks positively rattled.”
Lucifer growled under his breath.
“Don’t you know how to read, bellhop?” He turned sharply to glare at her. “I’m fairly certain there’s a sign just outside my door that says ‘No Alastors Allowed.’”
His lip curled slightly.
“I would have put ‘No scum sinners allowed’ in general, but I thought that might be a bit too broad of a scope.”
Alastor’s smile only widened.
“How unfortunate,” she chimed pleasantly.
Lucifer rolled his eyes and turned away from her, gripping the railing again as if she were no more than an irritating fly.
“If you’ve come to gloat, Radio Demon, you can see yourself out,” he muttered. “I’m not particularly in the mood for company tonight.”
Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she stepped closer.
“Oh, I’m not here to gloat.”
Lucifer huffed. “Then you’re wasting both of our time.”
For a moment, she said nothing. The silence stretched just long enough to be deliberate.
“I’ve been observing you,” Alastor said at last.
Lucifer stiffened.
“Not by choice, mind you,” she continued lightly, folding her hands behind her back. “Your… predicament has become rather difficult to ignore.”
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
“Get to the point.”
Her smile sharpened.
“You’re vulnerable now.”
The words landed like a blade.
“The entire Pride Ring knows it,” she went on cheerfully. “Your little secret is out in the open. The King of Hell cannot harm sinners.” She tilted her head slightly. “Which makes ruling them rather difficult, wouldn’t you say?”
Lucifer’s wings twitched with irritation.
“You’ve made your observation,” he snapped. “Congratulations. Now leave.”
But Alastor only laughed softly.
“Oh, Your Majesty… if I were here merely to point out your weaknesses, I wouldn’t have bothered coming at all.”
She leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming.
“I’m here because I believe I have a solution.”
“A solution?” Lucifer scoffed. “The solution to this problem was me and my family staying as far away from all of this…” He gestured vaguely out toward the sprawling Pride Ring below. “Grossness.”
“True,” Alastor agreed pleasantly. “But now that the Princess has made it quite impossible for the two of you to rule comfortably behind palace walls, circumstances have… changed.”
She strolled a little closer, her hands clasped neatly behind her back.
“It seems you will have to become more involved.” Her smile widened slightly. “Perhaps for the first time in centuries.”
Lucifer shot her an irritated look but said nothing.
“In keeping your kingdom in check, that is.”
She tilted her head, red eyes glinting.
“We both know not every sinner will successfully achieve redemption, no matter how much dear Charlie wishes it were so.”
Lucifer’s jaw tightened.
“And with the exorcisms being put on hold—perhaps permanently—this will only lead back to the very issue that started them in the first place.”
She gestured lazily toward the city sprawling beneath the balcony.
“Overpopulation.”
Her smile sharpened.
“And sinners empowering one another, growing bolder by the day, until they begin to believe they can overrule their angelic betters.”
Her shadow began to move.
Slowly, it peeled away from her feet, slithering across the marble like a living thing until it began circling him like a snake.
“Meaning you, Sire,” she said lightly, “and in exchange… your daughter as well.”
Rage ignited in Lucifer instantly.
His horns tore through his hair as they grew, curling sharply upward. His eyes burned crimson, and when he spoke, hellfire flickered between his teeth.
“If you sinners think you can lay your hands on my daughter—”
Alastor raised a gloved hand lazily.
“Now, now,” she hummed. “Let’s not jump to such dramatic conclusions.”
Her shadow continued its slow circle around him, the movement almost playful.
“I wasn’t suggesting I would harm the Princess.”
Lucifer’s flames still flickered angrily between his teeth.
“But others might,” she continued lightly. “You’ve already seen how bold they’ve become. One loud humiliation from that dreadful television set and suddenly every sinner in the Pride Ring believes they can test the limits of your authority.”
She tilted her head, studying him.
“And if they believe they can challenge you…”
Her smile widened.
“What do you suppose they will try with your daughter?”
Lucifer’s claws dug into the railing.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Alastor stepped closer, heels clicking softly against the marble.
“Which brings me,” she said cheerfully, “to my proposal.”
Lucifer’s glowing eyes narrowed.
“Oh?” he hissed.
Alastor placed a hand lightly against her chest in mock politeness and gave a small bow.
“You cannot harm sinners,” she said simply.
Her shadow stilled.
“But I can.”
She straightened, red eyes gleaming.
“What you need, Your Majesty…”
Her grin sharpened into something almost predatory.
“…is an executioner.”
The Lucifer of the past would have never even considered making a deal with a sinner—least of all one he didn’t trust.
But the thought of someone hurting his daughter… of constantly feeling like prey every time he stepped outside his room… had forced his hand.
So he agreed.
The deal itself had been simple.
Alastor would act as a bodyguard to the Morningstar line, and as a personal executioner for the King of Hell.
Not every sinner wanted redemption. Not every sinner even deserved it. And now, with Vox’s little stunt spreading doubt through the Pride Ring, more and more demons seemed tempted to follow in his footsteps—whispering about rebellion, about challenging Heaven itself.
Those sinners needed to be reminded of their place.
The masses needed to be controlled.
While Charlie focused on redemption, Lucifer would use Alastor to keep the filth of Hell in line.
To prevent chaos.
To avoid war.
And most importantly… to make sure nothing ever threatened his little duckling’s dream.
In exchange, Lucifer would grant the Radio Demon more power.
Status. Influence. The privilege of serving as the King of Hell’s personal weapon.
That night, after striking their rather… cosmic deal, something unexpected had happened.
Lucifer had promised to give her more power—power that would allow her to better protect his daughter. The problem was figuring out how.
The answer had been obvious once he looked at her closely.
The massive angelic wound she was still trying to hide.
Alastor had shown clear surprise when he mentioned it.
“Oh, please, Bambi,” Lucifer scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “I can practically smell Adam’s essence coming off of you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked her over.
“Being struck by an archangel is nothing to scoff at. You’re obviously still hurt.”
He folded his arms.
“How else are you going to uphold your part of the deal if you’re not at one hundred percent?”
For once, the Radio Demon hesitated.
Reluctantly… Alastor agreed.
Lucifer gestured impatiently.
“Well? Show me.”
Alastor’s smile tightened.
For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her eyes flicked toward him, sharp and suspicious, as though weighing whether this was some elaborate trick.
“You’re serious,” she said flatly.
Lucifer rolled his eyes.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Bambi. I don’t have all night.”
Her ears twitched at the nickname.
The Radio Demon clearly did not enjoy being ordered around—but after another moment, she sighed through her teeth and reached for the buttons of her coat.
“Must you make a spectacle of this?” she muttered.
“Considering you’re the one hiding a hole carved into you by an archangel,” Lucifer replied dryly, “yes.”
Her movements were stiff, deliberate. One by one she undid the buttons of her coat before shrugging it from her shoulders. The fabric slid down her arms and draped over the back of a nearby chair.
Underneath, her shirt was already stained dark where the wound lay hidden.
Lucifer’s expression shifted immediately.
“Ah,” he murmured.
Alastor turned slightly, clearly irritated by the scrutiny. With visible reluctance, she tugged the fabric aside just enough to reveal the injury.
The mark was unmistakable.
A jagged burn carved across her side, the flesh around it still faintly glowing with a pale, hostile light—angelic power refusing to fade.
For once, Alastor looked almost… embarrassed.
“Are you finished staring?” she snapped.
Lucifer stepped closer instead.
“You’re worse off than you let on,” he said quietly.
Her eyes narrowed.
“I was managing.”
“Poorly.”
Golden light flickered faintly at Lucifer’s fingertips as he raised his hand toward the wound.
Alastor stiffened immediately.
“Careful, Your Majesty,” she warned, voice low. “You’re getting awfully close.”
Lucifer huffed.
“You want the power I promised you or not?”
She hesitated.
That alone was rare.
Finally, with clear reluctance, she allowed the fabric to fall further aside so he could reach the injury properly.
Lucifer placed his hand over the wound.
For a brief moment nothing happened.
Then warm golden light began to spill between his fingers.
Alastor sucked in a sharp breath.
The angelic burn reacted instantly—hissing as Lucifer’s power pressed against it, divine energy forcing the lingering essence of Adam’s strike to dissolve.
The balcony filled with a soft glow.
Alastor’s shadow twisted violently across the floor, reacting to the sudden surge of power.
“My, my…” she murmured breathlessly. “That is… unpleasant.”
“Hold still,” Lucifer muttered.
The light intensified for a few seconds more before slowly fading.
When Lucifer finally pulled his hand away, the wound was gone—leaving only smooth skin where the angelic scar had once burned.
Alastor stared down at it in silence.
Then, slowly, her smile returned.
“Well,” she said softly. “How generous of you.”
Lucifer brushed his hands off as if it had been nothing.
“Don’t get used to it.”
But Alastor’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, Your Majesty,” she hummed. “I fully intend to.”
Her shadow twisted behind her, a mocking smile splitting across its face as it laughed soundlessly. Quick hands buttoned her shirt. Her loyal shadow placing her coat on her shoulders. Whatever small humiliation she endured instantly forgotten now that that pesky wound was finally taken care of.
Healing the wound had been a start but not enough. She needed to physically take more of his power, so an idea popped into Lucifer’s head.
A rather risky one.
Looking at his arm. He decided to take the risk anyways.
Sharp claws hovered over his skin. He sunk his claws deep into his flesh and slashed.
A large gash appeared.
Holy, golden blood flowed from the wound and down his elbow.
Alastor stared at the wound, her crimson eyes narrowing in confusion. “What are you doing, Sire?”
Lucifer raised his wounded arm toward her. “What does it look like? I’m keeping my end of the deal.”
He took a few slow steps forward, invading her personal space. The King of Hell’s presence was overwhelming up close, his scent filling the air between them.
“If you drink my blood, your power will grow,” he said, voice low and certain.
He held his arm out to her, golden blood still trailing down his wrist.
“So drink.”
Offering his blood to a cannibal was a very dangerous thing.
Offering his blood to a cannibalistic demon was a dangerously reckless gesture.
For a moment, Alastor didn’t move.
Her eyes remained fixed on the golden blood slowly trailing down Lucifer’s wrist, the glowing droplets falling softly onto the marble floor below. Her shadow twisted excitedly behind her, its grin widening as if it already knew what she was thinking.
“Well,” she hummed softly.
Lucifer raised a brow. “What? Having second thoughts?”
Her smile sharpened.
“Oh, not at all.”
Before he could react, her hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around his wrist. Her grip was firm—far stronger than her slender frame suggested.
For a brief moment, she simply held his arm there, studying the wound with clear fascination.
“Divine blood,” she murmured.
Lucifer watched her carefully, though he made no move to pull away.
“Drink,” he reminded her impatiently.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his.
“Such an eager benefactor,” she teased.
Then, slowly, she leaned forward.
Her lips brushed against his wrist first—testing, cautious.
And then she tasted it.
The moment Lucifer’s blood touched her tongue, the reaction was immediate.
A violent crackle of radio static burst through the air.
Alastor’s shadow exploded outward across the floor and walls, twisting wildly as if suddenly given a mind of its own. The lights flickered violently, and for a split second the air itself seemed to warp around her.
Alastor stiffened, her eyes widening as the power surged through her.
“Ah—!”
Her grip on Lucifer’s arm tightened sharply as the divine energy spread through her body like wildfire.
Lucifer’s wings twitched slightly behind him, but he didn’t pull away.
Alastor’s red tongue darted from her mouth. She dragged the appendage from his elbow to his wrist, lapping the golden blood. Her cheeks turned a dark red. Her eyes half-closed. Her breath coming out in deep trembling sighs.
The taste was euphoric. The effect of the blood instantly filling her with a heat she could not describe.
A small moan escaped her open lips. She wanted to bite him. She wanted to dig her razor-sharp teeth into his skin and tear off flesh.
Lucifer felt a lump form in his throat. Dark gold powdered his cheeks. Holy Father…
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Lucifer tried—he truly did. His gaze drifted to the far wall, to the cracked stone beneath their feet, anywhere that wasn’t the woman standing in front of him. Yet every few seconds his eyes betrayed him, sliding back to her as if pulled by gravity.
Her shadow twisted behind her, its mocking grin stretching wider, clearly aware of the effect she was having on him.
Lucifer cleared his throat, shifting his stance as though that might steady the strange warmth building under his skin. This had been his idea, after all. A practical solution. A strategic one.
Nothing more.
Still, the sight of her standing there—flushed with something he dared not name. The Radio Demon pressed her lips to the wound. Using her sharp teeth, she dug further into the wound, opening it just a bit more. Enough for her to begin taking small gulps of the Holy blood.
Oh that was such a bad tickle, but…
He groaned.
His arm was beginning to feel dangerously numb, a dull tingling spreading up toward his elbow. His vision blurred slightly around the edges, the room tilting just enough to make him reconsider how much blood he had actually offered.
“Uh… Red?” he muttered.
She didn’t respond.
Lucifer blinked down at the top of her head where she remained latched onto his arm, drinking with unsettling focus. Her shadow loomed behind her like a delighted spectator.
“I kinda need my arm back at some point…”
Still nothing.
The tingling worsened.
“…Preferably before I pass out.”
He tried gently tugging his arm back.
Big mistake.
She followed the motion instantly, grip tightening as that predator instinct kicked in, refusing to lose its prize. Lucifer stiffened, eyes widening.
“Oh, fantastic,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s gone feral.”
He cleared his throat, attempting authority.
“Red,” he said more firmly, “as your king I am officially requesting the return of my limb.”
Her shadow burst into silent laughter.
Lucifer sighed.
“Alright,” he grumbled, glancing down at her again, “new strategy.”
Carefully, he reached his free hand up and flicked her ears lightly. They twitched in response. “Hey. Focus. You’re supposed to drink, not drain.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Alastor froze.
Slowly—very slowly—she pulled away from his arm.
A thin thread of golden blood stretched between them before snapping. Her tongue flicked across her lips almost reflexively, catching the last drop before it could fall.
Her eyes blinked once, twice, clarity flooding back in.
Lucifer watched the shift happen in real time.
The predatory focus faded, replaced by something much more controlled.
…And faintly mortified.
Alastor straightened at once, clearing her throat as if she had merely paused during a polite conversation. She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve and carefully adjusted the front of her shirt, refusing to look directly at him.
“Ahem.”
Lucifer stared at his arm.
Then at her.
Then back at his arm, still dripping gold.
“You were… really getting into that.”
Her eye twitched.
“I have no idea what you’re implying, Your Majesty,” she replied crisply.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow.
“You nearly ate my arm.”
“Nonsense,” she said quickly, lifting her chin with forced dignity. “If I intended to devour you, you would be considerably more… disassembled.”
Her shadow behind her snickered silently.
Lucifer pointed at it.
“Your shadow disagrees.”
Alastor clasped her hands behind her back, posture suddenly prim and proper.
“Well,” she said stiffly, “perhaps you shouldn’t offer divine blood to a starving cannibal and expect impeccable table manners.”
Lucifer’s own cheeks were still faintly flushed, the image of her reaction to feasting on his blood lingering far too vividly in his mind.
With a flick of his wrist, the gash along his arm sealed shut, the golden blood vanishing as though it had never been spilled.
He flexed his fingers once, testing the limb.
“Right,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Well. That was… educational.”
Across from him, Alastor stood as straight as a radio tower, her hands folded neatly behind her back as though she had not, moments ago, been latched onto his arm like a starving predator. Her smile had returned—perfect, polished, and just a touch too wide.
“Indeed,” she replied pleasantly. “A most enlightening transaction.”
Lucifer squinted at her.
“You were growling.”
“I do not growl.”
“You absolutely growled.”
Her eye twitched again.
“How terribly unseemly that would be.”
Behind her, the shadow doubled over in silent laughter.
Lucifer pointed at it immediately. “Your shadow is literally wheezing.”
Alastor refused to look.
Instead, she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve with exaggerated care, voice tight with forced dignity.
“One must allow their… subconscious expressions some freedom, Your Majesty.”
Lucifer snorted.
“Subconscious? You almost chewed through bone.”
That did it.
Her smile sharpened, something dangerous flashing briefly behind her eyes as she leaned forward just slightly.
“And yet,” she said smoothly, “you were the one who suggested I drink.”
Lucifer opened his mouth.
Closed it.
…Fair.
Lucifer opened his mouth to retort—
—but the words never came.
The lights flickered.
A low crackle filled the air, like an old radio being tuned between stations.
Alastor froze.
For the first time since arriving, her carefully controlled smile faltered.
Behind her, the shadow stretched unnaturally long across the floor, crawling up the walls like living ink.
Lucifer’s brows lifted. “…Well that’s new.”
The crackling grew louder.
A burst of static popped through the room and Alastor’s antlers twitched as if struck by a current. Dark tendrils of shadow spiraled outward from her feet, coiling and snapping like whips before slamming back toward her again.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Ah,” she said calmly, though her voice carried a faint echo of radio distortion, “that is… unexpected.”
Lucifer folded his arms, watching with open curiosity.
“Unexpected?” he repeated. “You look like a haunted broadcast tower.”
The shadows lashed again, one of them cracking against the marble floor hard enough to leave a blackened mark.
Alastor’s smile strained.
“Yes well,” she said through her teeth, “your generous donation appears to be… settling.”
Lucifer tilted his head.
“Settling?” he echoed. “Red, your shadow just tried to redecorate my terrace.”
Another surge of static burst through the air. The room briefly warped with overlapping whispers, radio voices talking over each other in distorted fragments.
Alastor’s hand snapped out, gripping the edge of a nearby table as the energy surged again.
For a moment—just a moment—she looked genuinely unsteady.
Lucifer’s playful expression faded.
“…Hey.”
The shadows continued to writhe around her like agitated serpents.
He stepped forward slowly.
“You good?”
Alastor inhaled slowly through her nose.
Then, with visible effort, she straightened.
The shadows snapped back into place behind her like obedient soldiers. The radio static faded into silence.
Her smile returned.
Bright. Controlled. Untouchable.
“Perfectly,” she said.
Lucifer stared at her.
“…You almost exploded.”
She smoothed her coat.
“A minor adjustment period.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“…Right.”
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
“…You’re stronger now, aren’t you?”
Alastor’s smile widened just a fraction.
“Oh,” she said lightly.
“Considerably.”
Since that night, a sort of rapport had begun to form between the two of them.
Lucifer was never unaccompanied anymore.
Alastor was always nearby, her shadow trailing after them both like a silent sentinel. Where the King of Hell walked, the Radio Demon followed.
It did not take long for the sinners of the Pride Ring to notice.
They began to avoid Lucifer entirely, terrified of drawing the attention of the smiling predator at his side. Conversations hushed when he entered a room. Eyes lowered. Paths cleared.
Discreetly, and without announcement, Alastor hunted.
Those foolish enough to whisper of rebellion…
Those emboldened by Vox’s humiliating broadcast…
Those who dared to speak of laying hands on the Princess of Hell.
They vanished.
Fear spread quickly through the Pride Ring.
In very little time, word circulated that the Radio Demon had returned to her old habits—and perhaps something worse. More ruthless. More powerful.
And now she hunted in the name of the Morningstars.
Any attempts against the royal family, any muttered schemes or careless insults, would result in something far more unpleasant than simple death.
New voices… added to her broadcast.
Twice a week, she would visit the Hazbin Hotel’s highest floor.
The “No Alastors Allowed” sign that had once hung proudly on Lucifer’s door had quietly disappeared.
Within the sanctuary of his private suite, away from prying eyes and curious ears, she would drink from him.
Lucifer’s golden blood had become the fuel for her power.
And the King of Hell had become the only thing keeping the Radio Demon fed.
Alastor was finally having the exhilarating kind of fun she had always dreamed of.
The sort of fun she had practically sold her soul for to Rosie all those years ago—power, chaos, and the delightful freedom to hunt again.
Hell was trembling.
Her broadcasts were thriving.
Life was good.
Unfortunately… there had been a slight miscalculation in her carefully laid plans.
One she had failed to account for.
Lucifer Morningstar.
More specifically—
Lucifer Morningstar and his severe attachment issues.
At first, as his bodyguard, she had no choice but to follow him whenever he left his room—however rarely that was.
She grew accustomed to being his shadow.
What she had not grown accustomed to… was when he suddenly became hers.
Before she had even realized it, the King of Hell had somehow turned into her second shadow. Always trailing just behind her shoulder. Always lingering just a little too close to her personal space.
And always—always—talking.
About ducks.
About art.
About his daughter.
About ducks again.
He sat beside her at the bar.
He hovered over her shoulder whenever she cooked in the kitchen.
More than once, she had turned around only to nearly walk straight into him, the fallen angel standing there with an expectant smile like an overly excited golden retriever.
It was… deeply unsettling.
The worst incident, however, had happened three days ago.
Alastor had been sitting quietly in the hotel lounge, enjoying a rare moment of peace while reading a book. The radio static hummed softly around her as she turned a page, blissfully uninterrupted.
For once.
Then suddenly—
“Whatcha reading?”
Lucifer appeared out of thin air behind her.
Before she could even react, his arms had wrapped around her from behind, draping lazily over her shoulders as he leaned forward and pressed his cheek right beside hers to peer down at the pages.
Alastor froze.
The book lowered slowly.
Her eye twitched.
“Your Majesty,” she said with a dangerously pleasant smile, voice crackling faintly with radio static, “might I suggest that materializing directly behind someone and clinging to them like an affectionate octopus is generally considered poor manners?”
Lucifer blinked at her, completely unfazed.
“Oh! Sorry.” He paused.
Then tightened the hug slightly.
“But you looked comfy.”
The static around Alastor spiked.
Across the lounge, Husk slowly lowered his drink.
Next to him, Cherri Bomb leaned across the bar, watching the scene unfold with an entertained grin.
“Oh my hell,” she snorted. “They’re totally dating.”
“We are not—” Alastor began.
Lucifer lifted his head slightly, still far too close to her face. “Wait, what?”
Husk took another slow drink, eyes half-lidded. “Kid’s got a point.”
The radio static around Alastor crackled sharply as the furniture in the room rattled ever so slightly.
Cherri rested her chin in her hand, grinning wider. “Look at him! He’s practically glued to you.”
Alastor rose slowly from her chair, very carefully prying Lucifer’s arms from around her shoulders as though she were detaching an especially persistent parasite.
“Well!” she chirped brightly, snapping her book shut. “That has been quite enough socialization for the day.”
She turned and began walking toward the lounge exit.
Lucifer blinked before quickly hurrying after her.
“Oh—are you leaving?” he asked.
“I was rather hoping to enjoy the remainder of my evening without being used as an impromptu armrest.”
The moment she stepped into the hallway, Lucifer appeared beside her in a flicker of golden light.
“Hey, wait!”
Alastor stopped and slowly turned toward him.
Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a bit sheepish.
“Well… since you’re going out anyway…” he began, very deliberately not meeting her eyes, “I thought maybe we could, uh… take a quick flight across the ring.”
She blinked.
Lucifer continued quickly, trying to sound casual.
“Just a short one! Patrol stuff. King duties. Very official.”
Alastor stared at him.
“…You wish to take me flying,” she said flatly.
Lucifer coughed into his fist.
“Strictly for security purposes.”
Behind her, her shadow silently doubled over in laughter.
That would mean going out on a hunt.
And, admittedly, she could use a good excuse to maim something right about now.
Still… the flying was another matter entirely.
Alastor straightened her coat and gave him a polite, razor-sharp smile.
“Very well—”
“Great!” Lucifer interrupted immediately.
Before she could so much as finish the sentence, golden light flared around them.
Alastor’s smile froze.
“—I had not yet finished speaking,” she said slowly.
Lucifer blinked down at her, already far too pleased with himself.
“You were going to say yes.”
“I was going to say,” she corrected, voice crackling faintly with radio static, “that I would accompany you on this so-called patrol.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“However, I most certainly did not agree to—”
Her feet suddenly left the ground.
The world dropped away beneath them in a rush of wind and red city lights.
“—FLYING.”
Lucifer grinned sheepishly as his wings carried them higher above the Pride Ring.
“Oh… huh.”
A pause.
“Guess we’re doing that part too.”
The radio static around Alastor spiked violently.
Her eyes suddenly darted downward.
They were already several meters above the ground.
The streets of the Pride Ring stretched far below them, its crowds now reduced to tiny moving specks—like ants scattered across the glowing red pavement.
Her arms had instinctively wrapped around his neck.
Their faces were now only inches apart.
“If you drop me…” she began slowly.
Lucifer couldn’t hold back the laugh that slipped from his lips.
He tightened his arms around her waist, steadying her easily against him while his wings beat through the heavy air. One hand supported her lower back while the other held firmly beneath her long, doe-like legs.
“As if I’d drop you,” he said, still chuckling. “Relax, Red. I’ve been flying for a very long time.”
He tilted his head slightly, clearly enjoying the situation far more than he should have.
“You’re the one who grabbed me.”
They spent the night “patrolling.”
Or, more accurately, Lucifer spent the evening happily flying laps around the Pride Ring while carrying one very angry Radio Demon who had not agreed to any of this.
That had been the first time.
Unfortunately… it had not been the last.
Over the following weeks, Alastor came to a rather troubling realization.
Lucifer Morningstar was, quite possibly, the clingiest being in all of Hell.
The King of Hell appeared beside her at the most random hours, materializing in flashes of golden light as though summoned by the mere thought of her leaving his immediate vicinity.
If she attempted to leave the hotel for any extended period of time—
Lucifer suddenly required a “royal patrol.”
At first she had assumed this was merely temporary enthusiasm regarding their arrangement.
Surely the novelty would wear off.
Surely the King of Hell had more important matters to attend to than following her around like an overly affectionate golden retriever.
It did not.
If anything… the behavior seemed to be getting worse.
Alastor sat quietly in the lounge one afternoon, fingers steepled thoughtfully beneath her chin as she analyzed the situation with the seriousness of a battlefield strategist.
Clearly, this was becoming… inefficient.
And Alastor despised inefficiency.
Which meant only one thing.
She would need to find a solution.
Preferably one that did not involve murdering the King of Hell.
Her gaze slowly shifted across the room toward the one person who might actually be able to help.
Charlie Morningstar.
The princess was humming happily to herself as she arranged pamphlets about redemption across the coffee table.
Alastor’s smile widened.
Yes…
Perhaps the princess could provide some insight into her father’s… behavioral tendencies.
Rising smoothly from her chair, Alastor adjusted her coat and approached.
“Princess,” she greeted sweetly.
Charlie looked up brightly. “Oh! Hi Alastor!”
Alastor clasped her hands politely behind her back.
“I was wondering if I might borrow a moment of your time.”
Charlie beamed. “Of course!”
Alastor’s smile sharpened slightly.
“I find myself in need of advice regarding your father.”
Charlie perked up immediately.
“Oh! Is something wrong?” she asked, concern flashing across her face.
Alastor waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing particularly serious, I assure you. However, I have found myself encountering a… behavioral irregularity.”
Charlie blinked. “A what?”
“Your father.”
The princess straightened slightly.
“Oh.”
Alastor clasped her hands politely behind her back.
“As you know, our arrangement requires me to remain in close proximity to His Majesty for security purposes,” she began smoothly. “However, I have noticed that even when such proximity is no longer required… he continues to remain nearby.”
Charlie tilted her head.
“How nearby?”
Alastor’s smile twitched.
“He appears beside me without warning, follows me through the hotel, insists upon accompanying me on… aerial excursions,” she said, the last words dripping with polite irritation. “And on one memorable occasion, he materialized behind me and wrapped himself around my shoulders while I was reading.”
Charlie stared.
Then her expression slowly changed.
First confusion.
Then realization.
Then—
“Oh.”
A grin began spreading across her face.
Alastor immediately did not like that look.
“Oh no,” Charlie said under her breath.
Alastor’s eye twitched.
“Princess?”
Charlie clasped her hands together excitedly.
“He likes you!”
Static crackled sharply around Alastor.
“I beg your pardon?”
Charlie nodded enthusiastically.
“Oh yeah, that’s totally how he acts when he likes someone! Dad gets really clingy when he’s comfortable around people.”
Alastor’s smile remained frozen in place.
“Comfortable.”
“Yep!” Charlie continued happily. “It’s actually really sweet. He hasn’t been like that with someone in a long time.”
Alastor stared at her.
The silence stretched for several seconds.
Then the Radio Demon slowly turned her head toward the hallway… as though half-expecting Lucifer to appear there at any moment.
Which, statistically speaking, was now extremely likely.
Her smile widened.
“Well,” she said smoothly.
“That is… deeply unfortunate.”
Charlie blinked. “Unfortunate?”
“Yes,” Alastor said brightly.
“Because I had been hoping this was merely a temporary malfunction.”
Charlie brightened immediately.
“Well, if you want, you two could attend my next group therapy session!” she said eagerly. “I could design a whole lesson plan about boundaries. I think it could really help with Dad’s… uh… clinginess.”
Alastor’s smile widened, though something faintly dangerous flickered behind it.
“There will be no need for that, dear,” she replied smoothly. “I believe your father and I simply need to… redefine certain aspects of our contract.”
Charlie tilted her head. “Oh?”
“Yes,” Alastor continued pleasantly. “A few adjustments, a handful of clarified expectations… perhaps the establishment of several very firm boundaries.”
Her eyes drifted briefly toward the staircase leading to the upper floors of the hotel.
Specifically—
Toward her suite.
Because if the King of Hell suddenly decided that her personal quarters were also an acceptable location for his… social visits…
Well.
That simply would not do.
Her smile sharpened.
No, it would be far better to address the situation now—
Before Lucifer Morningstar got the bright idea to start appearing in her rooms unannounced.
Lucifer was already waiting when she arrived.
The door to his suite opened with a quiet creak as Alastor stepped inside, her heels clicking softly across the polished floor.
She paused.
Lucifer sat casually on the edge of the couch, looking far too relaxed for someone awaiting a formal discussion. His coat had been discarded over the backrest, and the top buttons of his shirt hung open, exposing the pale column of his throat and the faint golden glow beneath his skin.
One arm rested along the back of the couch as if he had been there for some time.
Waiting.
His red eyes lifted when she entered.
A pleased smile spread across his face.
“Right on time,” he said lightly.
Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Your Majesty.”
Lucifer leaned back a little further, deliberately tilting his head to expose more of his neck.
“So,” he said casually, tapping two fingers against his collarbone, “did you want to start here tonight?”
For a moment, Alastor simply stared at him.
Then her smile slowly stretched wider.
“My, my,” she hummed. “How eager.”
Lucifer shrugged, though the faint color creeping into his cheeks betrayed him.
“Well… you usually don’t come up here unless it’s for that.”
Alastor stepped further into the room, her shadow sliding along the walls behind her.
“While that may be our usual arrangement,” she said pleasantly, “I am afraid that is not why I’ve come this evening.”
Lucifer blinked.
“Oh.”
A pause.
“…Then why are you here?”
Alastor clasped her hands neatly behind her back.
“I believe it is time we discussed the terms of our agreement.”
Lucifer’s smile faltered slightly.
Something about the way she said that did not sound promising.
Lucifer shifted slightly on the couch, the earlier confusion fading from his expression.
“Oh,” he said.
Then he smiled again.
“Well… we can talk after.”
Alastor’s brow twitched.
“After?”
Before she could elaborate, Lucifer lifted a hand.
The door behind her clicked shut with a soft thunk as his magic pulled it closed.
Alastor slowly turned her head.
Another snap of his fingers.
Small flames flickered to life around the room as several candles along the shelves ignited one by one, bathing the suite in a warm golden glow.
Lucifer leaned back comfortably, looking very pleased with himself.
“There,” he said. “Much better.”
Alastor stared at the suddenly romantic atmosphere in complete silence.
Her shadow behind her appeared equally stunned.
Lucifer tilted his head again, brushing two fingers along the exposed line of his neck where his shirt hung open.
“You can start whenever you want.”
Static crackled faintly in the air.
“Your Majesty,” Alastor said slowly, each word carefully measured, “I do not believe you fully understand the purpose of this visit.”
Lucifer blinked at her.
“You came up here,” he said reasonably.
“Yes.”
“At night.”
“…Correct.”
“And you usually only come up here for one thing.”
Alastor’s smile tightened.
Lucifer gestured casually to the couch beside him.
“So.”
He waited.
Clearly expecting her to walk over.
The candles flickered.
The silence stretched.
Alastor remained exactly where she stood.
Her radio static began to rise.
Lucifer waited expectantly.
The candles flickered softly around the room, filling the suite with warm golden light.
He patted the empty space beside him on the couch.
“C’mon,” he said lightly. “You’re usually not this shy about it.”
The radio static around Alastor crackled louder.
“Your Majesty,” she began again, hands clasped neatly behind her back, “as I was attempting to explain, I have come here tonight to establish several—”
Lucifer tilted his head.
“You’re stalling.”
Her smile twitched.
“I most certainly am not—”
“You are,” he said, sounding almost amused. “You always give a speech when you’re nervous.”
“I am not nervous.”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow.
Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
The open collar of his shirt slipped a little farther, exposing the pale line of his throat again.
“Well,” he said casually, “you’re staring.”
Alastor’s eye twitched.
“I am analyzing.”
“Uh-huh.”
The silence stretched.
Lucifer waited.
Very patiently.
Which, Alastor was beginning to realize, might actually be worse than if he had argued.
Finally, she exhaled slowly through her nose.
“…This conversation is not proceeding efficiently.”
Lucifer brightened.
“So you’re gonna drink first and talk after?”
Alastor closed her eyes for a brief moment.
Her shadow behind her was silently wheezing with laughter.
With a sharp click of her heels, she crossed the room.
Lucifer straightened slightly as she approached, though the pleased look on his face betrayed him.
She stopped directly in front of him.
“For the record,” she said smoothly, “this does not mean I am abandoning the topic.”
“Sure,” Lucifer said.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Not a word.”
Then she placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned down toward his exposed neck.
Lucifer inhaled quietly as she drew closer.
Her voice dropped to a low murmur beside his ear.
“Once this is concluded,” she whispered pleasantly, “we are discussing boundaries.”
Lucifer nodded.
“Okay.”
A beat passed.
Her teeth sunk into his flesh. Her mouth Sinatra covered the wound her dagger-like choppers created. She began to greedily drink his golden blood. Lucifer sucked in a breath.
Alastor’s body Sinatra relaxed as she fed. Without thinking, she leaned into his space until her body was pressed against his. Startling his lap, she pushed the King of Hell against the couch. Her arms gripped his shirt as she drank.
With a pleasant sigh, Lucifer brought his hand up, fingers tangling gently in her thick red hair.
The sensation sent a small shiver down his spine as she continued feeding, her grip on his shirt tightening slightly. He leaned his head back against the couch cushions, eyes half-lidded as the warmth of the moment settled over him.
“Careful, Red…” he murmured softly, though there was no real protest in his voice.
His other hand rested at her waist, steady but relaxed, as if he had long since accepted the position he’d ended up in—pinned beneath a very determined Radio Demon.
His fingers brushed lightly through her hair again, almost absentmindedly now, the motion slow and soothing.
Lucifer let out a quiet breath, a faint laugh slipping from his lips.
“For someone who came here to talk about boundaries,” he muttered, voice warm with amusement, “you’re sending some pretty mixed signals.”
Lucifer’s fingers continued idly combing through her hair as she fed, the slow motion almost absentminded now.
Eventually the flow of golden blood slowed.
Alastor drew back.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Lucifer blinked down at her, his cheeks faintly flushed, his expression far too pleased with the situation.
“Well,” he said lightly, voice a little breathless. “That went well.”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Then she noticed it.
Her knee still braced against the couch.
Her hand still gripping the front of his shirt.
And—
She was still sitting squarely in the King of Hell’s lap.
The realization froze her smile for exactly half a second.
Slowly, very deliberately, Alastor straightened.
She released his shirt, smoothed the front of her coat, and rose gracefully to her feet as though this had been her intention all along.
Lucifer watched her with undisguised amusement.
“You were saying something about boundaries?” he asked.
The radio static around her crackled faintly.
“Yes,” Alastor replied, composure perfectly restored.
Her smile widened.
“That conversation is very much still happening.”
Lucifer leaned back against the couch, arms spreading comfortably along the backrest, clearly unconcerned.
“Sure,” he said.
He tilted his head slightly, grin returning.
“Same time next week?”
The static spiked again.
And Alastor suddenly had the distinct feeling that establishing boundaries with the King of Hell was going to be a much longer project than anticipated.