Fallen Mate

Fallen Mate CHOSEN BY LUCIFER: BOOK THREE CALLIE ROSE Copyright © 2022 by Callie Rose All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. * * * For updates on my upcoming releases and promotions, sign up for my reader newsletter! I promise not to bite (or spam you). CALLIE ROSE NEWSLETTER Contents 1. Sophia 2. Sophia 3. Lucifer 4. Sophia 5. Lucifer 6. Sophia 7. Lucifer 8. Sophia 9. Lucifer 10. Sophia 11. Lucifer 12. Sophia 13. Lucifer 14. Sophia 15. Lucifer 16. Sophia 17. Sophia 18. Lucifer 19. Sophia 20. Lucifer 21. Sophia 22. Lucifer 23. Sophia 24. Lucifer 25. Sophia 26. Lucifer 27. Sophia 28. Lucifer 29. Sophia 30. Lucifer Epilogue Books by Callie Rose Chapter 1 Sophia It’s taken me an hour to pack up the car, and I’m still working on it. It’s not that there’s a lot to pack, just the things Lucifer’s people left in the cabin for us. But I’m taking my time because some part of me is still hoping that Lucifer will come back before I leave. It’s been days but, if this were a movie he would show up just as I’m on my way out. I’m dragging my feet in hopes of having that moment before heading back down the mountain to the movie capital of the world. But this armful of clothes is the last of it. Looking back at the empty cabin, my heart twists in my chest. He’s really gone—not off fighting a battle gone, not waiting for the most dramatic moment to pop back up gone, and not stepped out for groceries and got distracted gone. No, Lucifer is gone, gone, and it hurts. My hand travels up to my shoulder, to the mark on my skin. It’s small, a pattern that might be overlapping runes, the color of a birthmark. It’s pretty. I don’t mind having it, except that I think the tattoo might be a replacement for Lucifer’s protection. I would rather have the devil himself, but who asked me? He certainly didn’t. A small, frightened part of me argues that I’m not being fair. What if an enemy crept into the cabin and dragged him away? What if we were attacked in the dead of night, and he left to chase down the attacker? What if he’s alone and trapped, or lying wounded somewhere? The tattoo itself is proof that those arguments are nonsense and nothing more than selfish, wishful thinking and baseless fear. Lucifer’s absence is the result of a planned departure. He wasn’t attacked. He crept out under his own power, leaving me with nothing but a mark and whatever supplies were in the cabin. He wasn’t forced out. He left, and he didn’t even tell me why. Shoving down my heartache, I slide behind the wheel. The registration and insurance in the glove box have my name on them, and my ID was left in the cabin, along with my phone and a wad of cash. Lucifer’s people are nothing if not experts at their jobs. It didn’t even occur to me to think about things like ID and money when I was imagining my escape from Hell. Now that I’m back on Earth, I’m glad somebody else had the presence of mind to consider the practicalities of human life. I hope he’s okay. I want to be angry with him. I want to be furious even, but even knowing that he chose to leave me doesn’t ease my worried mind entirely. I just can’t imagine why he would have left like this, or what the mark on my shoulder means. A full tank of gas might have been enough to get me back to the valley, but as I glance at the gas gauge, I remember that we didn’t stop more than once on our way out here. I’m sitting on a quarter tank, so I’ll be lucky if I make it to the next exit. A frustrated sigh escapes my throat, but part of me is happy for the distraction. I’d rather think about which gas station snack is the least likely to trap me in the bathroom for the rest of the day than wondering for another moment why Lucifer would just leave me like this. You know, apart from the obvious. Reflective-glass chimes shaped like angels glitter mockingly at me through the gas station window. I make a face at them, then put them out of my mind as I push through the door. Pop music plays over the speakers, overlapping with the rambling newscasters on the TV behind the register. It feels surreal. The sounds, the smells, even the way light reflects off the normal, everyday materials of earthly buildings. I don’t know exactly how long I spent in Hell, but I didn’t expect it to be long enough to make a gas station feel like an interdimensional tourist trap. I don’t see anyone else at first, but as I’m perusing the various different kinds of caffeine and judging the gastrointestinal risk of the snacks, I can hear a pair of male voices arguing in the back. I can’t hear what they’re saying exactly, but they both sound pissed off. I waste some time, giving them a chance to resolve whatever issue they’re having, but eventually my patience runs out. I carry my small armload of road food to the counter and stand there for a moment. There’s a bell, but it’s well on the other side of the split-level counter. With a sigh, I stretch over the barrier and tap the bell hard and the voices in the back go silent. “Hello? Anybody working?” I call,