Lucifer guided Eric through the night and eventually they touched down in the back alley just behind the elegant tower that housed Lucifer's posh club. Eric's hands were in Lucifer's hair before he could think twice, fixing the wind-tossed look the devil was sporting again. This time, he dared to trace a line down Lucifer's one sideburn to his jaw so that he could feel the roughness of that damn five o'clock shadow that haunted the devil. Lucifer's intake of breath at the touch shot straight to Eric's groin and he hid the fact that his fangs were digging into the inside of his lip.
Touching this man was indescribable, and it was only a small caress.
Having him in his arms—well, only the one arm, crooked tightly about his waist, but still—had been, well . . . as close to heaven as one could get. With the devil.
"Tell me, Viking," Lucifer spoke, and Eric was nearly certain there was tenderness in the tone. "Did you touch all the evidence because the Detective wouldn't let me?"
Eric hesitated then finally drew his hand back. "If I did?" he asked cautiously.
"I'd say I hadn't known you cared so much," Lucifer replied. Suddenly, Lucifer mimicked Eric's actions, hands up and in Eric's hair, smoothing it back, tugging it into place. Lingering when his fingertips brushed against Eric's ears.
"I don't like the way she's been treating you all night," Eric growled, and Lucifer's brown eyes seemed to focus on Eric's lips while he spoke. No, no he was looking at Eric's fangs. "She treats you like a child." Having his fangs out like this—it was like waving your fucking hard-on around. Impossible to hide.
"I'm used to it," Lucifer told him. But he still hadn't removed his hands from Eric's hair, and they were close . . . so excruciatingly close. The seconds ticked by, Eric wondering if he should make the move and kiss the man. He desperately wanted to—it had been a while since he'd wanted a man like this—Talbot not included, all things considering.
Eric shifted, stepping closer to Lucifer in the dim light of the alley. "You shouldn't be," he said. "You shouldn't take that kind of treatment. You're not a child."
"Oh, I'm definitely not a child, Viking," Lucifer agreed.
A growl low in his throat, Eric moved another step. Lucifer's fingers in his hair tightened, just mere inches between them now. And then Lucifer surprised him, caught him completely off-guard with a question he hadn't been asked in, well . . . years. "I'm desperate to know, Viking. Could I . . . touch your fangs?"
Eric blinked, pulled back a fraction. Lucifer's hands fell from his hair, but they were still caught between them. He wanted to . . . touch his fangs? Eric gave the devil a full-on vampiric snarl, holding in place to let the other man reach up and place his first two fingers against Eric's fangs. The movement was incredibly intimate, downright erotic. "How do they move?" Lucifer asked, curiosity in his voice. No desperate need in him, just wonder and that constant delight in the world around him.
Here Eric had been about to kiss the man, and all Lucifer had been thinking about was vampire anatomy and what made them different than humans. He'd thought for a brief moment the man had wanted to be intimate, even with the request to touch a predator's sharp teeth.
Could Eric read the room any worse? All Lucifer wanted was to understand how the damn things worked. Eric was an idiot, thinking they were having a moment.
Still, he'd entertain the devil. Even if it wasn't how he wanted to entertain him. He flexed his jaw and the fangs retracted from beneath Lucifer's fingertips, disappearing from view. "Oh, that's a neat trick!" Lucifer cried out, finally dropping his hand and putting space between them. His eyes still on Eric's lips, though.
"Under normal circumstances, they only come out in relation to need," Eric informed him.
"Are you hungry again?" Lucifer asked, surprised. "One Tru Blood a night isn't enough? Although I suppose flying all last night would have made you ravenous?"
Eric grew frustrated. Sure, the man was a giant teasing flirt, but ignoring Eric's responses? Or was he just oblivious? Eric didn't think he was ignorant to when someone flirted back. Perhaps pretending sparks weren't flying was his way of saying no? Or was his mind so one-track that when he was focused on a curiosity that's all that mattered?
Or perhaps the man only had eyes for Chloe Decker. Meaning Eric had zero chance of anything with him.
"I'm not hungry, Lucifer," Eric said patiently. "Certainly not for blood." But he pulled away from Lucifer all the same, turning toward the mouth of the back alley. He could hear the chatter of club-goers out front and he headed that way. Making out with someone in a back alley wasn't exactly on Eric's to-do list, anyway. After a millennia of various relationships, he was beyond that particular rendez-vous. If he was going to have his way with the devil, he wanted things to be a bit more relaxed and comfortable.
Lucifer rushed to catch up with him. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked, polite and concerned.
Eric just shook his head. "No, everything is fine." They came out onto the main strip, and Eric blinked at the bright lights. This was the heart of L.A. Cars were moving by in the street, there was a line of people waiting to get into the club, and further down the street Eric spotted a valet attendant waiting for the finest of cars to pull up. Lucifer Morningstar's club was the place to be. Far, far different than a seedy vampire bar in a strip mall parking lot, that was for sure.
You simply couldn't get any more different.
Eric was being an idiot. He had a better chance with a waitress from Bon Temps. The lust he'd felt just mere moments before was withering quickly.
"Welcome to Lux," Lucifer said from behind him, and with a hand on the small of Eric's back steered him toward the front door. As they walked toward the front door, a few people called out Lucifer's name. Sensual looks were given to him and a few catcalls even—but he kept moving as the bouncer opened the door with a flourish and let Lucifer enter his club. Lucifer wasn't just a club owner, he was well-known by his clientele. It was different than Eric—he was well-known too, but he sat upon a dais and looked down upon his subjects. They wouldn't dare to speak to him, and when they did they were often met with hostility. But Lucifer had called out quick but warm greetings before ushering Eric quickly inside.
The differences here were glaringly obvious too. A club situated on three different half levels, they had come in on the top floor. There weren't just people dancing on the main floor down below, but up here as well. Lux was exactly as luxurious as its name suggested—a luxurious club owned by Lucifer Morningstar, the devil himself. And Detective Douche had ribbed Eric for his pun-named bar.
As Lucifer led Eric down the first set of steps, Eric eyed the piped lighting along the bar wall, which revealed an array of expensive alcohols. There were state-of-the-art screens on the side walls portraying sexy women dancing sinuously. A few more steps down, brought you to the dance floor, which was full. Between the bar and those steps there was an area devoid of the mass of humanity where a black baby grand piano took up space. It wasn't roped off, but the patrons respected it, giving it a wide berth. There were cozy looking booths situated just at the edge of the second floor, a perfect spot to sip your drink and make out with someone. From Eric's glance back up to the floor they came in on, there was standing room only and cocktail tables along the balconies above, giving the bar extra room for people to dance.
And the people certainly were dancing. Now that was something similar to Fangtasia. Barring the fact that Eric seemed to be the only vampire in the club, the dancing was exactly the same. There were stripper poles situated on a stage against the far wall of the dance floor, a long lighted mirror behind them, and it seemed just about anyone could jump up and dance there as well. It seemed no matter how well off you were, or how upscale the bar you went to, dancing was still the same. A base emotion, barely masked foreplay. Music and dancing—a mating ritual, no matter what the price tag was.
Lucifer leaned close, his breathe tickling Eric's ear as he spoke. "I think I see Amenadiel. Follow me."
Dutifully, Eric got into step behind Lucifer as he wove through the crowd gathered close to the bar. Plenty more people were excited to see the devil; calling his name, waving enthusiastically, and in the case of one particularly drunk woman, trying to use him as a dance pole. Lucifer took it all in stride, even laughing and squeezing the drunkard in a quick hug before moving on. It was as if every single person in the bar was happy to see him—except the bartender, who was glaring daggers into his back as he moved toward the cushy booths. The look reminded him of Pam and he wondered how pissed off she was that he was gone.
It was easy to spot Amenadiel, sitting in the middle booth with a short, blonde woman next to him. The plush bench wrapped around the circular table, and they were both squished into the centre of it, heads bowed together as they spoke. If there wasn't sexual tension between Eric and Lucifer, there certainly was between these two, and Eric appreciated the stark difference between the two—one tall and dark, the other small and pale. Opposites. He liked them together, he decided.
Kind of like an angry vampire prone to swearing and a polished, charismatic fallen angel.
He glanced at Lucifer as he slid into the booth next to his brother.
If only . . .
Eric settled into the booth across from Lucifer, next to the tiny wisp of a woman. There were two drinks on the table, both clearly forgotten.
"Luci, I see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence," Amenadiel said, the sarcasm very apparent.
The tiny woman next to him jabbed him with a sharp elbow. "Lucifer, what Amenadiel means is that we're happy you've finally made it."
"I hope you haven't been waiting too long," Lucifer said as he unzipped his leather jacket and shrugged out of it, revealing the soft white dress-shirt underneath, the fabric almost glowing in the black lights that partially lit the club. "I'm afraid the Viking and I were caught up helping the L.A.P.D. Until we weren't allowed to help anymore."
Linda turned to look up at Eric. "The Viking?" she asked, a note of amusement in her voice. "I'm afraid we haven't met yet. I'm Linda Martin."
"Eric Northman," Eric supplied as she stuck out a tiny hand to shake.
"Linda is my therapist," Lucifer proudly said as he began unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt to roll the sleeves up.
Eric laughed at first, but when Linda's smile widened, he realized Lucifer was telling the truth. Imagine that. The devil in therapy. If everyone talked to him like he was a child, Eric could understand why though.
"So why does he call you Viking?" Linda asked, the eyes behind the black-framed glasses assessing Eric. "Are you from Norway, or is it because of your blonde hair?"
"It's because he is a Viking," Lucifer said petulantly. "And one of noble breeding, no less."
"I'm a vampire," Eric informed the therapist. "He's technically correct. I was Viking before I was turned. Quite some time ago. But how did you know I come from a noble line?" Eric looked at Lucifer, intrigued.
"Why, you told me, Viking. The slaughter of your family, all for the sake of the crown upon your father's head." Lucifer leaned on the table, his eyes alight as he reminded Eric of a previous conversation. Had it really been only a few days? It felt like a lifetime.
"I did tell you that, didn't I?" Time was different around the devil, Eric decided. How the hell had he confided so much in this man, when he rarely confided in anyone? Pam would be pissed off—maybe even worried about her status as his only progeny. Eric only overshared with people he respected and wanted around for, well, eternity.
But you couldn't turn the devil—could you?
"Absolutely, you did." Lucifer confirmed.
Eric was surprised Lucifer had remembered. And flattered that he had. Eric, it seemed, was worth remembering for. And yet, he'd gone and spoiled a perfectly good opportunity to kiss just minutes before.
"So how did you two meet?" Linda asked, glancing between the two men.
"He walked into my bar," Eric said.
"Well, if that's not the first line from a romance novel, I don't know what is," Linda said, still looking between the two of them. Eric could see the wheels turning behind the woman's eyes. Was Eric giving off fucking vibes or something?
"Why did you need me?" Amenadiel asked, shifting uncomfortably in the booth and trying to ignore Linda and her broad grin as she studied the two other men.
"Well, it seems we've a bit of a conundrum, brother. And from what I've gathered from upstairs, it also seems dear old Dad won't see me—or most of our brothers and sisters, for that matter. I was wondering if you could pop up to the Silver City and see if Dad truly is missing or if he's just not taking my calls." Lucifer glanced at Eric. "I've a question that needs answering, and Dad would probably be able to."
This immediately got a sigh from Amenadiel and Eric narrowed his eyes. Great, yet another person who was going to treat Lucifer like a child. He should have known it would be the same today as it had been the morning before. Yet for some reason he had expected better behaviour from Lucifer's brother when he was nursing a drink in Lucifer's own club. "What's your question, Luci?" Amenadiel asked.
"What happens to a vampire's soul while they are a vampire," Lucifer said. "Where does it go? What happens to it? Does it come back to them when they die the second time?"
Amenadiel looked surprised, but Linda seemed to love the questions. "Vampires don't have souls?"
"Well of course they do," Lucifer spat out. "They're just not . . . attached. Or so we've been told. But vampires used to be human, so it stands to reason that they did have souls attached. So where did they go? They can't just disappear after all. That's not how souls work."
"Huh," Linda sat back into the seat cushions, looking pensive. "Would the lack of the soul allow for a vampire to hunt other humans without feeling remorse? Have you ever felt remorse, Mr. Northman?"
"Not until recently," Eric admitted. "I used to revel in being a vampire. But now it seems to be hitting me with full force. I've known plenty of other vampires who were depressing little shits in my time though, so it's not uncommon."
Linda nodded, her gaze on Eric's. "So why now? Why suddenly change your mind about killing?"
Eric grew uncomfortable at that question. Was it Sookie's fault? Or was it because of the curse he'd been hit with? As much as he liked to blame her in his mind, he had to admit that the abject fear he had originally felt had come immediately after his memories had been stolen from him—and the emotional journey he'd gone on would have happened, regardless of who had taken care of him. He had been met with understanding and support with Sookie, which ultimately had probably been the best outcome. If Pamela had found him? He'd probably be even angrier than he'd been before he'd been cursed.
So fine, the fucking feelings weren't Sookie's fault. But what about his newfound guilt? That, he decided, had been directly in proportion to Sookie's feelings for him and her rejection. She'd claimed that she only wanted him when he was complete and whole, but when he finally was, she turned him away. There had to be a reason, other than the bullshit excuse that she loved both him and Bill at the same time. The solution, if that had actually been the problem, was to share, damn it. And while Eric generally wasn't the sharing type, he would have if she'd asked. He certainly had nothing against threesomes. Even if the third would have been Bill.
"I thought I wasn't worthy of someone's love," he finally ground out. He didn't want to keep this conversation going, and in any other situation, he'd probably walk away or scare her into shutting up. But Lucifer was watching, his brown eyes full of a compassion that hadn't been in Sookie's when she'd dropped him. Dear God, those eyes. . .
Linda was still talking though. "Thought? As in the past tense? Has something changed?"
"No," Eric replied immediately. But then shook his head. "Yes. I don't think I care as much for her as I did."
"Oh? Why is that?"
Eric snorted a dry laugh. "I know what you're doing," he told the therapist. "I'm not one of your patients." But he knew what had changed. Lucifer had come into his life—and Lucifer seemed happy to accept him, all of him, even the dark parts. And Lucifer was hell-bent, as it were, to help Eric feel better about himself.
He'd met Lucifer and he was almost certain he was falling in love.
And he wasn't worried, not even in the slightest, if he was worthy of the devil's love. He just wished that he actually had it.
Linda laughed lightly. "I couldn't help myself. The idea of a person without a soul is appealing to me. Especially when I have these two in my life."
"Does that mean . . ." Eric trailed off, not wanting to give away that they were sitting among angelic beings if she didn't know.
"Oh, I know all their secrets," Linda informed him. "Originally, I thought Lucifer was speaking in metaphor, but it wasn't long before I knew the truth." She turned her gaze to the devil. "And speaking of Lucifer—when did you meet your new friend?"
"It's been a few days now," Lucifer said.
"The last time I saw you, you were planning on going to tell Chloe how you felt. Then suddenly you disappear and I find out from Amenadiel that Chloe's with Pierce." Linda gave him a stern look.
Lucifer looked trapped, not liking where the conversation had gone. "Yes, well. I respected her decision, didn't I?"
"And so you replace her with a new friend?"
"I didn't replace her!" Lucifer argued. He looked to Eric, pleading with his eyes. "You aren't a replacement, Viking. I promise."
"I didn't think so," Eric assured him. "You don't look at me the way you look at her." Was there a tiny bit of bitterness in those words?
Lucifer cocked his head to the side, an eyebrow raised. "Do you want me to?"
"Do you want him to want you to?" Linda asked before Eric had time to gather his thoughts.
Lucifer gave a frustrated huff, clearly not liking how the conversation had turned. "This is neither here nor there," he finally said. "I'm here to ask Amenadiel to go to the Silver City and ask around about Dad. Will you do it or not?" he asked his brother.
Linda leaned back, smiling at Lucifer. "Okay, Lucifer. I won't push anymore." But she looked between the two men, her smile plastered in place as she thought her thoughts in silence.
Lucifer's gaze flickered to her uncomfortably before he looked back at his brother, waiting for an answer.
"Luci, it's not that easy," Amenadiel said. "I can't just go up to heaven and demand Dad speak to me. You know it doesn't work that way." The condescending tone in Amenadiel's voice rankled Eric, and he felt a low growl start at the back of his throat. "Besides, you know you don't just ask Dad a question."
"Yes, yes. Dad works in mysterious ways, I know. But this is such a simple question—and it's unique. I would think he'd appreciate being asked about something no one has touched on in millennia. Besides, it's important to me."
Amenadiel sighed, and Eric thought he might actually cave in. But then the big angel turned his gaze on Eric, and he felt as if he was being judged entry into heaven right there on the spot. Amenadiel's eyes were different than Lucifer's—Lucifer looked at you with acceptance and indulgence. Amenadiel looked at you like you needed to prove you were worthy of his attention. At least that's how he was looking at Eric, who was a vampire that was missing his damn soul.
"Why is this important to you, Luci?" Amenadiel asked. "You've only just met this vampire."
Both Lucifer and Amenadiel studied Eric again, and the vampire glowered at them both. He felt like he was under a microscope and he didn't like it. Linda seemed to know what he was feeling and she patted his arm. "Don't mind them," she said.
Eric leaned back into the bench and turned to stare at the bar instead, watching the bartender as she slung a final drink and then threw her towel down. She was glaring right back at him. Interesting.
"I don't know why it's important to me," Lucifer told Amenadiel. "It just is."
Eric heard Amenadiel's sigh, but he was still watching the bartender. She had left the confines of her job and was walking through the crowd toward their booth. The dancers parted as she came, giving her room to stomp over. When she finally settled in front of their table, hands on hips and a scowl on her face, Eric realized Lucifer looked relieved. As if she were sparing him from the torture of being grilled by his brother.
Of course, the words that came out of her mouth suggested otherwise. "Where the hell have you been?" The dark woman demanded, fire in her eyes. More like out of the frying pan and into the fire.