The motion dragged my attention up to the portrait at his back. The morbid image of Lucifer’s fall from grace stared me in the face. Where the feathered wings of an angel had once been, there were only the open, gaping wounds where they’d been torn from his flesh. A single tear dropped down the figure’s face, His stunningly beautiful features twisted in pain. His eyes glowed bright gold, the harsh set to His features betraying every moment of His rage. He was like nothing I’d ever seen before, emitting such power from a painting that the breath caught in my throat. That was who I risked the
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