“What do you know of love?” Duke hissed. His cold tone broke as a battle waged inside him. “The girl under the floor who had to demand loyalty at sword point. And you!” He turned on Lucifer. “All you do is consume. You’re not the Devil, you’re gluttony personified.”

Even as he spoke, though, his hand fisted in Lucifer’s jacket, hanging onto the rich cloth like it was afraid Lucifer might let go. His other hand jerked faintly, fluttering in Octavia’s direction, an injured butterfly looking for refuge.