The Devil's Wife by Holly Hunt

she fell to the bed, holding her wound.
          I climbed up the bed, uncurling her and undoing the buttons of her shirt near the wound. She was still trying to get away from me, but I ignored her movements, looking at the bandaging. There was a spot of crimson blood leaking through, quickly reddening that part of the bandages. I cursed, pulling gently at the cloth to bare the wound to the air. The stitches in her muscles must have ripped from their beds, judging by the speed and spread of the blood.
          "Looks like you've torn some of the stitches," I explained, climbing off the bed. She whimpered as I darted out of the room.
          I headed into the kitchen to retrieve the needle, thread, a glass of scotch, and the cotton dressing I had left on the counter. I returned to the room to find that Clarissa was holding her wound tightly, as though hoping that she could push the pain out through her back with just her hand. There was blood seeping out between her fingers, starting to dribble down her arm to my bed.
          "Don't touch it," I said, sitting down next to her and putting the supplies on the bedside table. "You'll put an infection in it."
          Clarissa watched me with wide eyes as I unwrapped the bandage, being careful not to make her sit up for too long. Using her stomach muscles might tear the stitches more, and I didn't know what damage that would do. I helped her lie back and let her drink a little from the scotch glass, then dipped the needle and a ball of dressing in it.
          "Why are you helping me?" she asked, relenting and holding her shirt up above the wound for me while I removed the old stuffing.
          The light was too dim in the bedroom for her to see what I was doing, but I could see the damaged muscles inside the wound well enough. I swabbed out the wound again and replaced the torn stitches, being careful not to cause her undue pain.
          "Because you remind me of someone I used to know, a long, long time ago."
          "A Demon?"
          "An Angel," I corrected, closing off the stitches and repacking the wound. "I knew her in Heaven, before the Fall. I raised her, with the help of her brothers Azazel and Aspen."
          "I know someone called Aspen. He's a terrible cat." She relaxed back into the pillows, only the rigid set of her jaw showing that she was in pain. "I thought all Angels were created—born—whatever, fully grown?"
          "Not all of them were. At least, her entire family were born, rather than created. Her name was Sera. She was my wife, my best friend aside from Aspen."
          "Oh. So do I—"
          "Yes." I swabbed the wound again, pressing fresh dressing into her stomach to try to staunch the blood. "In the right light."
          "Did she fight on your side during the Battle of Heaven?"
          "There was no battle, but yes, she was on my side. The Fall was pretty much the end for her and her family, the Grigori." I wrapped a clean bandage around her stomach. "She Fell to Earth with me, but God didn't save her as She did me. She let her die on the ground below while I watched. She held me back from helping her."
          "She...died?"
          "Yes. While I was becoming this"—I gestured to my red skin, self-contempt in my voice—"she was falling from Heaven at thousands of miles an hour. I found her, broken and bleeding, in the woods near here. I buried her there and now I live nearby. I was trying to keep her close."
          My voice turned sorrowful, mourning, and I tried to fix it, clearing my throat as tears welled in my eyes. I could tell by her sad expression that Clarissa had noticed. Let her pity me properly. "She was four months pregnant with my daughter."
          Clarissa gasped. "I'm sorry, Lucifer," she whispered. "No one should have to deal with the death of their child and their other half at the same time. Not even the