{"id":201870,"date":"2025-09-05T08:49:13","date_gmt":"2025-09-05T08:49:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/201870\/"},"modified":"2025-09-05T08:49:13","modified_gmt":"2025-09-05T08:49:13","slug":"read-the-first-chapter-from-wicked-believer-by-kait-ballenger","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/us\/201870\/","title":{"rendered":"Read The First Chapter From ‘Wicked Believer’ by Kait Ballenger"},"content":{"rendered":"

Author Kait Ballenger whips up a spicy sequel to Original Sinner<\/a>, a no-holds-barred dark romance where the devil and his queen-to-be explore the bounds of kink, even as they stand on the brink of war.<\/p>\n

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Kait Ballenger\u2019s\u00a0Wicked Believer<\/a>, which releases on September 9th 2025.<\/p>\n

I wasn\u2019t always immortal. And I\u2019m not sure I\u2019ll ever get the hang of it. Not like Lucifer, a.k.a. Pride. He and the other seven deadly sins, the high-profile billionaires who run this city, make the divine life look easy.<\/p>\n

I came to New York a good, if damaged, Christian girl. Then Lucifer opened my eyes to the darkness. To the hunger burning inside me. To a world of pain and pleasure like nothing I\u2019ve ever known. Now it\u2019s all I crave.\u00a0He\u2019s\u00a0all I crave.<\/p>\n

But as I grapple with this new existence\u2014and the events that led me to it\u2014unseen forces push me and Lucifer apart. Paparazzi track my every move, Lucifer\u2019s family plays their wicked games, and I hardly know who I am anymore. Or who I\u2019m meant to be.<\/p>\n

A celestial war is brewing, and Lucifer\u2019s siblings are out for blood\u2014and the dark power inside me calls me to join the fight.<\/p>\n

Charlotte<\/p>\n

People love to make heroes and villains out of ordinary men.<\/p>\n

I stare down at my father\u2019s coffin, the black lacquered casket gleaming. His supporters shout in the distance, which in the middle of a dusky Kansas cornfield means it\u2019s impossible to tell who the protesters are and who are paparazzi, but still, I refuse to look at them, pretending to listen to my father\u2019s eulogy. The autumn air outside is cold. Frigid and wet. Cold enough my high-heeled toes are nearly as numb as I feel. But I don\u2019t need to hear the minister\u2019s prayers to know exactly where my father\u2019s heading.<\/p>\n

Lucifer will make sure of that, even if I ask him not to.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t ask.<\/p>\n

I feel his smooth hand in mine, his tall frame looming at my side. Lucifer\u2019s dark gaze levels on the minister in an expression that\u2019s supposed to appear solemn, or so it seems. Ever since I went to work as an intern for his company several months ago, I\u2019ve belonged to him, and he to me. Or so I thought, until recently.<\/p>\n

Now I\u2019m starting to think Lucifer might belong to no one. Least of all me.<\/p>\n

He feels my gaze on him then, his dark eyes flicking toward me as the corner of his mouth curls. \u201cEyes forward, Charlotte.\u201d<\/p>\n

Like a good girl, I do as I\u2019m told, turning back to the minister as I whisper, \u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lucifer\u2019s grip on my hand tightens, his thumb caressing my skin in approval. He may not be my boss anymore, but he\u2019s never had to give me a paycheck for me to call him sir. I\u2019ve been his submissive since long before I understood what that word truly means. But being his completely, irrevocably, suits me.<\/p>\n

Though these days, I\u2019d be lying if I said I didn\u2019t have my doubts.<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you like to say a few words?\u201d<\/p>\n

I blink, suddenly realizing that the minister\u2019s speaking to me. I\u2019m the only surviving member of my father\u2019s family, after all, not to mention the closest thing to a mortal here, aside from the so-called minister, at least. Whoever he is, I\u2019m pretty sure he\u2019s no more a preacher than I am a virgin, but with the obscene amount of money Lucifer\u2019s paying him, he\u2019ll be whatever we need him to be.<\/p>\n

Reluctantly, I step forward, shuffling past the gathered line of mourners, which consists of a few paid pallbearers, and the Original sinners. Lucifer, Azmodeus, Leviathan, Satan, Belphegor, Beelzebub, and Mammon. Or \u201cMimi,\u201d as she insists I call her. Pride, Lust, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony, and Greed, respectively.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a rare sight, all seven of them together like this. These days they prefer to live topside. In New York City. Though currently we\u2019re a far cry from home.<\/p>\n

I hurry past them, trying hard not to make eye contact, though I can feel their gazes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m fairly certain if it weren\u2019t for Lucifer, I\u2019d be dead before morning.<\/p>\n

But for all the cruel games they play, Lucifer\u2019s siblings fall in line easily, each of them keeping their distance as I head toward the podium. They know better than to risk Lucifer\u2019s fury, for today at least. Things are different now that Lucifer gifted their Father\u2019s redemption to me. I\u2019m no longer their brother\u2019s harmless mortal plaything.<\/p>\n

Now I\u2019m something else entirely.<\/p>\n

Not that we\u2019ve figured out what, exactly.<\/p>\n

I step onto the makeshift pulpit beside my father\u2019s grave. A few extravagant bouquets of narcissus flowers wait for me alongside several large photographs of me and my father. The pictures make me look like the ever-dutiful daughter I once tried to be. The daughter I was for the first twenty-three years of my life. Before I decided I no longer wanted to be Daddy\u2019s broken little girl.<\/p>\n

Now I serve a different kind of villain.<\/p>\n

I glance toward Lucifer, my stomach fluttering the moment our eyes meet in a way that\u2019s all too familiar. The nod he gives me is meant to be supportive, encouraging, but still, it makes my knees go weak. I can\u2019t help but imagine what wicked things he\u2019s thinking\u2014maybe how I\u2019d taste on his honeyed tongue. Like he hasn\u2019t already claimed me in every way imaginable. Though with him, I\u2019m always eager for more. We\u2019re insatiable, really.<\/p>\n

Sex has never been our problem.<\/p>\n

I swallow down the longing that thought sparks in my chest before my gaze flits from him out toward the waiting crowd. It\u2019s a motley crew from three distinct sources. My father\u2019s congregants\u2014members of the Righteous, the far-right fundamentalist hate group my oh-so-loving preacher for a dad founded to spite me. Then there are Lucifer\u2019s fans and mine, our supporters. And finally, the true bottom-feeders, the paparazzi who stalk us endlessly.<\/p>\n

From here, it\u2019s hard at first to tell any of them apart. In the twilight, the flashes of their cameras nearly blind me. But despite the fact that I\u2019m here at the funeral of the one man who should have protected me, several of their signs are clearly meant to hurt me.<\/p>\n

Little whore.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s one of the Righteous\u2019s favorites.<\/p>\n

Followed by Bride of Satan.<\/p>\n

I roll my eyes at that one. Lucifer and I aren\u2019t actually married, and though I\u2019m still wearing his ring on my finger, our initial engagement was fake. The media\u2019s not exactly aware of that little detail. Not to mention, Satan is technically Lucifer\u2019s brother, Wrath. People often get that wrong. To the Righteous, the Originals are all the same. Seven devils cut from the same cloth.<\/p>\n

But my personal favorite is a sign that simply reads You\u2019re going to Hell.<\/p>\n

I scoff.<\/p>\n

Like I\u2019m not already its willing queen.<\/p>\n

I shake my head, turning back toward the funeral. It\u2019s only fair, I suppose. My father, their precious martyr, wouldn\u2019t be dead if it weren\u2019t for me .\u00a0.\u00a0.<\/p>\n

My attention slides back toward Lucifer. We haven\u2019t spoken about it directly, but he doesn\u2019t need to say it out loud for me to know. He doesn\u2019t regret a thing.<\/p>\n

Killing my father. Lying. Manipulating me.<\/p>\n

The last one, most especially.<\/p>\n

I keep silent, tamping down the resentment that stirs in me despite my desire.<\/p>\n

My father\u2019s place in Hell will be particularly punishing.<\/p>\n

Though I can\u2019t help but wonder if Lucifer killed him for me or his own twisted ends .\u00a0.\u00a0.<\/p>\n

I glance down at the lectern. A prepared speech is there, something Imani or someone in Lucifer\u2019s PR team wrote for me. In the mix of the media chaos over the last few weeks, I didn\u2019t even think to prepare my own father\u2019s eulogy, and honestly, I\u2019m not certain I would have if I\u2019d been given the chance.<\/p>\n

My gaze finds Lucifer\u2019s again, this time staying there.<\/p>\n

Like there\u2019s no one there except for him and me.<\/p>\n

His intensity sears through me, his expression downright devilish. With dark hair and even darker eyes that I swear sometimes hold a hint of hellfire when he looks at me, he\u2019s painfully beautiful. So beautiful that it makes my chest ache.<\/p>\n

See also<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

His is the face of God\u2019s once-most-cherished angel.<\/p>\n

A stark contrast to the villain I know he can be.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy father used to beat me,\u201d I say into the sudden quiet, surprising myself as the unscripted words drop from my lips. Several cameras flash distantly.<\/p>\n

I ignore them, focused on my memories. Lucifer knows this, but it\u2019s the first time I\u2019ve admitted it publicly, and though it was supposed to be just me, his siblings, and the pallbearers present, this will no doubt be plastered across every newspaper stand and media outlet around the world come morning. \u201cAnd his followers, his congregants, turned a blind eye.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words come out barely above a whisper, but I\u2019m certain everyone hears me.<\/p>\n

I look toward the nearby crowd, their silence as cold as the frozen ground beneath our feet. \u201cHe wasn\u2019t a good man. He didn\u2019t even try to be.\u201d I stare down at my hands then, unable to stop the tears that gather, though I\u2019m not sure whether they\u2019re meant for my father or for me. \u201cAnd I\u2019m not sorry he\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMurderess! Jezebel!\u201d<\/p>\n

I suck in a harsh breath, gripping the lectern as someone from the crowd interrupts me before they\u2019re quickly silenced and hauled away by the attending police.<\/p>\n

Lucifer and I don\u2019t go anywhere without a police escort these days. Not after the anthrax that was delivered to his penthouse\u2014meant for me and sent by someone who didn\u2019t know I\u2019m immortal. I\u2019m guessing they know now.<\/p>\n

Privacy is a distant dream.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I wish .\u00a0.\u00a0. I wish I could be .\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I mutter, struggling to collect my thoughts. \u201cSorry, that is.\u201d I blink, surprised when a tear falls onto my hand where I clutch the lectern, the first and only I\u2019ve shed for him, but I refuse to look up from where I speak into the microphone. \u201cI wish he could have been the father I needed him to be. Wish he could have been so many things .\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I glance toward Lucifer again, and I don\u2019t need to see how his throat writhes as he swallows to understand he feels my words keenly.<\/p>\n

They\u2019re as much for him as they are for me.<\/p>\n

I suck in another ragged breath, knowing this next part is likely to start a riot among the already-violent crowd, the people who are so eager to have a piece of Lucifer, of me. To tear me limb from limb for what they think I represent. But I don\u2019t say it for them.<\/p>\n

I say it for me.<\/p>\n

And for Him.<\/p>\n

The God I still pray to every night, when Lucifer isn\u2019t listening.<\/p>\n

\u201cMay God have mercy on his soul.\u201d I barely manage to choke the words out before I\u2019m stumbling off the platform.<\/p>\n

The crowd turns mutinous in an instant, the mixture of my father\u2019s congregants, the Righteous, and the paparazzi pushing past the SWAT team\u2019s barriers and shields with ease. They\u2019re overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. I don\u2019t look toward them or the other Originals to gauge their reactions as I rush into Lucifer\u2019s arms. All I know is that he catches me, pulling me into his chest and allowing me to bury my face in the smooth Italian wool of his Armani suit.<\/p>\n

My eyes sting with tears as he ushers me away. The crowd surges forward, and before I fully know what\u2019s happening, Lucifer\u2019s shoving me into the safety of a waiting Lincoln Town Car. The door slams behind us, locking instantly as the vehicle starts to pull away.<\/p>\n

\u201cVultures. All of them,\u201d he growls.<\/p>\n

Harsh faces plaster against the Town Car\u2019s tinted windows, surrounding us as they scream their hatred at me. Somehow Dagon, Lucifer\u2019s demon chauffer\u2014freshly topside in a new human-skin suit that\u2019s taken some getting used to\u2014manages to inch the vehicle forward without running anyone over as I bury my face in my hands. I clamp a cold fist over my mouth, stifling my scream. I can\u2019t look at them. I can\u2019t.<\/p>\n

We pull free from the crowd, and finally I lift my head to look out the window, watching at the last second as my father\u2019s casket is hurriedly lowered into his grave and the riot police fruitlessly attempt to regain control.<\/p>\n

But it\u2019s the sight of what\u2019s beneath that chills me.<\/p>\n

My face presses against the cool glass as I struggle to breathe.<\/p>\n

From the hole in the ground, dozens of pale, shadowed hands reach up toward my father\u2019s casket as if to pull him down into the bowels of Hell beneath, and as I glance toward Lucifer, uncertain whether it\u2019s the gravediggers\u2019 doing or the fallen angel beside me, my stomach drops, and I know that, not for the first time, my prayers have fallen on deaf ears.<\/p>\n

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