Dedicated to Cleveland Heights, Ohio, and its high school for giving me such colourful people--especially Craig "McGiggles" McGaughey, known in this story as McGreggor--to play with.

Prologue
The ale puckered Ilisibeth's taste buds as she held it in her mouth, savoring the drink's flavor. From somewhere behind her came the annoying rattle of knucklebones being tossed. She'd grown weary of the sound, having listened to it every night for the past eight days. If only her aunt would deign to leave this cesspool! It wasn't that Ilisibeth didn't like the cities of mortals, she just hated having to share space with such creatures as these lowlifes here tonight.

Especially considering the leers they kept tossing her way.

Ilisibeth was not, by any stretch of the imagination, conceited. However, she had become quite conscious of her buxom figure, curly blonde hair and deep green eyes because of the way the eyes of the men around her gleamed whenever they looked at her. Faces covered in thick beards with determined, cruel brows and hard, piercing eyes kept turning towards her. Those that were more inebriated than others went so far as to stare. And those yet more off their nut were brave--and stupid--enough to ask her for favors. Ilisibeth had made sure that they regretted doing so the next morning when they woke up not in her company, but in the company of another man, sometimes one they didn't even know. Of course, at the time they had gone to bed together, the two men--always two who had propositioned her for sex--thought that the other one was the fairest maid in all the land....The moans of despair and shrieks of horror the morning after had been delicious. Ilisibeth was not one to be bothered.

None of the men had dared to approach her after that last pairing.

Ilisibeth sighed. If her aunt didn't decide to leave here soon, maybe she'd just slip off on her own. For once. That woman. She took a gulp of her drink, trying to drown her distaste. She disgusts me. More buxom than her niece, red-brown hair, and just overall absolutely gorgeous. And as vain as sin.

Ilisibeth gulped her drink again and thunked her tankard down on the table. May as well head up to bed soon.

A roar of laughter erupted from behind her, causing her to jump. She half-turned her head to cast a glare behind her at the revelers. Ilisibeth sipped her ale once more, thoughts quieting, pulse slowing to its normal speed.

Movement made her eyes automatically shoot up, igniting a distant spark of curiosity in her mind. Waiting to be pounced on and raped at any moment had caused Ilisibeth's muscles to be bowstring-tight, ready to spring. But it was only a man sitting down at a table in front of her, not more than a few feet away. All that her eyes could see, since a serving-maid blocked her view, was the sleeve of his red velvet tunic. What he was doing in this city was beyond Ilisibeth's reasoning. He was only asking to get robbed, possibly raped by some of the crueler gutter-rats, and definitely killed. She found herself feeling sorry for him as the serving wench finished taking the order of a table of burly tannery-workers, and moved off.

Whoever he was, he was gorgeous.

Long, black hair framed a face that ended in a delicately pointed chin and was as white as cream. His full, pouting lips moved sensuously as he ordered a drink, the movement as graceful as a dancer. His deep blue eyes, attentive to the flirtatious wench, held a surprising malice. Ilisibeth found herself staring, mouth all but dropping open. Never, in her many long years of life, had she ever seen anyone like this, male or female. He had every feature she could ever hope for in a lover. She blushed, about ready to look away, when the stranger's eyes met hers. Looking into them was like drowning. That was until he smiled a smile that dripped poison and contempt for everything. His attractiveness decreased by half, and alarms went off in Ilisibeth's. Time for bed, now!

She stood up, leaving the rest of her ale, intent on getting up to the safety of her room. It was easy to loose herself in the crowded commonroom, and as soon as she reached the stairs, she immediately felt safer. She cast a glance behind her, and saw the stranger was hot on her heels.

Her reflexes took over again and her eyes flicked to a spot filled with sudden movement. A man dressed in oily leather rose slowly, like a giant, from his bench. He was easily a full head taller than Ilisibeth, and had greasy brown hair and a beard damp with drink. Judging by the unfocused, myopic way he looked at Ilisibeth's follower, he was also very drunk. She knew what was about to happen, and swore she'd repay the man sometime later, when he'd sobered up.

He scratched his loins with a tanned hand and smiled at the blue-eyed man, who was now frowning deeply. Ilisibeth was more than glad the expression was not aimed at her. "Well, well," the man drawled. His friends grinned and nudged each other in the ribs, mumbling words of encouragement to their pal. "Y'know, we don't take kindly in these parts for--wha is it ye called?--ye fae. And since ye was so kind ta walk passed us, so's we don't hafta hunt ye down, I think iz time ta punish this sick freak." He looked backwards at his friends, grinning. "Wha ye say, eh?"

Ilisibeth winced at the cruel, malicious smile the man with blue eyes now wore. "Of course you realize the irony, my good man, in the kind of punishment you mete out." His voice was as smooth as silk and easily heard over the din of the commonroom. As the man in front of him smiled, Ilisibeth watched her pursuer's face contort into a mask of pure rage. The skin on the bridge of his nose wrinkled in a way that made him look purely demonic and a shadow seemed to flutter over his features. He brought his delicate hand up in an arch, slender fingers pressed together, and hardly swayed as his appendage connected with the other man's jaw.

A large thump and a wet crack silenced the room as the tanned man slammed into the wall, ten cubits away. He slumped to the commonroom floor, knocked out, at least, if not dead. The blue-eyed man glared at him as though he wanted the man to burst into flame as the rest of the patrons milled about him to help the man to his feet and the innkeeper came running from the kitchen. None of them seemed to notice him. But Ilisibeth did. She ran to her room with eyes wide and locked the door behind her, thinking about pushing the bed up against it. Luckily, she'd gotten a room without a window. She hadn't had a choice at the time, but now she was very grateful for the extra protection. The only way into her room was through a plank of wood as thick as her wrist. No one was coming through that, not if she had anything to say about it.

Ilisibeth breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the door. When her breath had slowed and the roiling in her stomach quelled, she looked over at the lamp on the bedside table. Some servant had come up and lit it earlier. Another happenstance to be grateful for. She took the lamp off the table and over to the fireplace. A fire to sleep by would be nice.

Kneeling on the hearth, she got out a lucifer and dipped it into the lamp's flame. The slightly oiled strip of cedarwood caught immediately. She held it out to the kindling, intermingled with the logs in the andiron, only to have a full blaze blossom to life before the lighter even created an ember.

Ilisibeth jumped back, jerking her hand away just in time. The lighter fell to the flagstones and landed with a musical clink and bounced, snuffing out the flame. She inhaled a deep breath to calm herself yet again, and stood up, deciding the same servant that lit her lamp must also have given her logs soaked in oil. That was the only explanation she could think of.

A burgundy-hued shape separated itself from the shadows by the bed. She gasped, recognizing the raven locks, the ivory skin. The man smiled at her, his blue eyes cruel and penetrating. She froze like a frightened rabbit.

"And here I thought you had more spine." He smirked as he slid onto the bed. The smirk turned sultry as he did so, the gleam in his eyes lecherous. Ilisibeth met the corner behind her with an audible thump. "But no matter." His smile didn't waver until it got no response beyond fear. Pops and hisses from the fire filled the awkward silence.

The smile finally faded, though the gleam never left his eye. "I'm sure you're wondering what I'm doing in here, how the fire started by itself, and who I am." He shrugged and rose from the bed, fluid as quicksilver. "There are other magics in this universe than yours."

Ilisibeth just barely suppressed a squeak of alarm. How did he know? "I have no magic," she said simply.

The man's smile returned, cruel this time, instead of inviting. "I know what you are, m'lady. You are the manifestation of all beauty. And I--" he bowed slightly with one arm extended "--am commonly called Lucifer, among those of that new religion that has not yet spread to this land." His smile widened into a grin that displayed abnormally long canines. He righted himself and came closer to her.

She cowered in the corner. "What do you want with me?" Her heart raced and a slight film of sweat covered her skin.

Lucifer's grin got impossibly wider. "Why, my lady, just you." His bluer than blue eyes looked Ilisibeth up and down, clearly enjoying that which they took in. "Just your body. Your perfect body." He advanced, quick as lightning, and pressed his body against hers.

She shivered at his touch and exerted her control over him--or tried to. Lucifer just blinked, his smile becoming sultry once again. "That won't work on me," he whispered, then chuckled deep in his throat.

Ilisibeth was ready to panic and fight her way out. "Why me?" she asked, stomach churning. Lucifer rolled his hips forward. It was easy to tell how aroused he was.

"Because of your beauty." Lucifer looked down, clearly ready to concentrate on something besides talk. Whether Ilisibeth blushed because of the compliment or because of the lump being pressed between her legs, she wasn't sure.

A hot breath escaped her lips, body suddenly burning with want. "My aunt is--" She wasn't sure what to say.

Lucifer looked into her eyes, annoyance written plain on his face. His eyes, however, were thoughtful. "Ah, yes. The embodiment of desire. I have known her, and she did not satisfy me. Nor would she let my seed grow in her womb."

This time Ilisibeth did not bother holding back a yelp of surprise. "What?!" she squeaked. "And whoever said I would?"

Lucifer chuckled once more, smiling in a sadistic way. He liked to torture. "You do not have the embodiment of anger or pain backing you, m'lady. And don't think you will simply kill my seed; it is far stronger than that of a mere mortal." His eyes closed as he rolled his hips into Ilisibeth's pelvis again. She wouldn't be able to hold him off for much longer.

"Why me?" she asked again, unable to think of anything else to say. If only she could get out and down the stairs....

Lucifer growled fierily. "You women talk too much!" His eyes snapped open, and because of the way the shadows created by the fire danced on his face, Ilisibeth swore she saw horns. "I already told you!" He pressed her against the wall, squeezing the breath from her lungs. "I want my son to look as beautiful as you are. This is not my true form. Now, then, the night is wasting." Ilisibeth yelped as Lucifer grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over to the bed with strength he should not have been able to muster.

Deciding he would leave if he thought he'd gotten what he came for, Ilisibeth resigned herself to letting him have his way with her. Perhaps later she could get one of her relatives to kill the child growing inside of her.

Whoever this man was, Ilisibeth wasn't about to give birth to any whelp of his.