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Best Served Cold

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You never expected him to be there.  You should have noticed the signs. The random flickering of the lights as you walked through the library.  The eerie edge hidden within the silence. The not quite so vacuous absence an empty bunker often brought.  


By the time you realize you aren’t alone, it’s too late.   


“Well, well, well, what do we have here.”  The hair on your arms stand on end, the space around you filling with an alarmingly familiar, chill-kissed presence.  “You’re not what I expected. Where’s the Hardy Boys?”


Gone , along with Jack and Mary, and the realization of how alone you are hits as hard and fast as your fear.  


“It’s not polite to keep your back to guests.”  


Your knees wobble, steps a heavy shuffle as you manage to turn yourself around.  Your system hits a fever pitch as you finally lay eyes on Lucifer, and there’s a heady rush as his presence fully sweeps over you, his head giving a curious tilt as he drinks you in.  


"I remember you," he purrs, a disarming smile stretching across his face.  "You're the littlest member of the pack.”


You assume he means newest, but you certainly feel small in comparison to the raw power tingling across the large gap between you, along with the overwhelming rush of adrenaline, nerves, and something in response to him.  


“What on earth are they doing, leaving a little morsel like you all alone down here?”  


Your heart skips a beat beneath his unwavering stare, then several more at the forked tongue that darts out, wetting his bottom lip in a wholly un wholesome way before his teeth languidly rake across it.  You’re not certain what kind of hunger he was staring at you with, a thought that equally terrifies you and sends an inexplicable surge much lower in your body than you expect.  


You don’t know what to do with it.  Any of it.  You. Him.  The fact you know nothing good can come from a visit from the devil.  


Distraction .  It’s the first fully formed thought your mind can manage as it attempts to swim through the haze of instincts drowning out your logic.


You swallow down some of the dryness in your throat.  “They’re looking for you.”


He smirks, eyes glinting deviously.  “Oh, I know.”  


He knows


His posture suddenly shifts from that suffocating confidence to casual.  “So, y/n, can I call you y/n?” He leans against a nearby bookshelf, fingers drifting thoughtfully beneath his chin.  “Which of those losers are you…”


He trails off, and it takes a moment for the implication to sink in.  As soon as it does, heat rises along your cheeks, or maybe it’s the way his gaze continues to pin you in place, because despite how low-key he’s trying to be, there’s no restraining that infinite piece of him.  It burns along the darks of his eyes, and while it may look like ice, it speaks of something far more searing and intense.  


He flashes a knowing grin , just before breaking eye contact with you.  


"Is it Sammy boy?"  His demeanor suddenly changes as he idly inspects his fingernails, like the entire conversation is beneath him despite the fact he's the one driving it.  "I almost couldn't blame you.  Tall drink of water, that one. Am I right?"  He flashes you a chummy smile, but there's no mistaking the wolfish curl his lips take on after a moment.  


You shake your head.  It's all you can do.


"No?"  His brows shoot up.  "Man. I mean, Dean's a looker, sure, if you can get through all that flannel."  


You shake your head again.  You don't know why. You should just let him assume what he wants so he can be on his way, but you feel compelled to play whatever game he's started.


His affect flattens.  "Oh, honey, please don't tell me you're fucking my little brother."  He shakes his head as if disappointed. "And here I thought you had better taste than that."


His remark renders you more speechless than if he had threatened to snap all your insides to the outside of you, and you’re unable to do anything but blink.  


"Doesn't matter," he says with the wave of his hand, pushing off from the book shelf.  "All three of them took my son from me.”  


His eyes flick up to you, a predatory smile stretching from ear to ear.   


“Now I’m going to take something from them.”