Page 112 of Not Today, Satan
He’s a souldier. He’ll have handcuffs. I just have to get them.
Feeling along his waist, I hold my breath to stop myself from gagging. The handcuffs aren’t on his waist.
Something snaps around my wrist, pinching the nerves. I drop my sword, the feather weight suddenly too heavy as I fall to my knees.
No. This can’t be happening.
“Looking for these?” Ferus drags me up by the cuff locked onto my wrist. “I grabbed them from him in case.” He kneels beside me as the room spins. “If I remember correctly, these render you powerless, don’t they, Princess? Look at you, too weak to even hold up your own sword.”
He cackles, then shoves me down the stairs.
My body bounces to the floor, bruising with each step. My arm cracks as I land, and I scream in pain. My mind reels as I pull at the cuff, trying to slide my wrist out of it. But he’s put it on tight, and I’m too weak.
No, he can’t win. I refuse. I’ve gone through too much for this to be the ending.
Ferus searches for his weapon beneath the throne, but I’ve kicked it too far for him to reach. He rips off his vest, wraps it around the hilt of my sword, and rushes down to me.
I try to roll away, but the pain is all consuming. It worsens with every movement. Tears threaten my vision, but I blink them away. I’ll be as damned as everyone else down here if I let Ferus see me cry.
He kneels beside me and strokes my hair, his touch making my stomach recoil. “Oh, poor Princess, that sounds like it hurt. If you want, I can cut your hand off at the wrist and the cuff will go with it. Your hand will grow back. Eventually.”
I pull out of his grasp as the taste of my own blood fills my mouth. Pressure pushes against my temples with a vice grip, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Of course you’d cheat to beat me. You’d never win in a fair fight, and you know it. You’re a coward.”
He growls like a wounded animal and stomps on my foot. Everything goes black as my bones shatter beneath his heel. I howl and blink rapidly against the darkness. Pain blazes from my foot and up my calf like fire. I moan against clenched teeth and close my eyes so he can’t see the tears pooling in them.
If I wasn’t wearing this damn cuff, I’d set the entire room ablaze. Fury and pain fight for dominance in my chest, contorting my breath in my windpipe.
“I never said I was brave,” Ferus jeers. “I said I was smart. Now, what would you prefer? The entire wrist or just the finger? I’m partial to the finger, myself.”
“I have a finger for you.” I hold up the one I’m referring to, then spit blood in his face.
“So vulgar for the daughter of an angel. It’s almost endearing.” He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “You know, my offer still stands, Princess. Marry me and we’ll rule this place together. Of course I’ll call all the shots, but you’ll have the honor of sharing my bed.”
I gag bile into my mouth.
Ew. Absolutely not.
“I’d rather die than marry you,” I say through bared teeth.
“That can be arranged.” Ferus watches his reflection in the glass walls and uses the corner of his shirt to wipe the rest of my blood off his face before flashing himself a wide grin. “You know, I improved more than my sword, princess. Maybe these will change your mind.”
Still facing the mirror, he rips his shirt open and lets it fall.
I prepare to tell him I don’t need to see more of his ugly-ass self to know I don’t want to marry him, but all I can manage is a horrified gasp.
Ferus’s skin glows in the lights of the throne room, highlighting the red on his back. The red of my father’s wings. Once pasted to the wall of his bedroom, now tacked onto the spine of a monster.
“What have you done?” I choke out as I take in the way the wings are crudely sewn to his back with crisscrossing black thread. His flesh is raised under each mark, as though even his own body knows the atrocity of this act and is trying to reject every stitch.
“Like them?” Ferus fluffs out the feathers, a breeze drifting across my face. “Figured once the big guy left, he wouldn’t need them. I can’t believe the boss never thought to do this himself. He was so bloody sentimental about these things, nailing them to the wall and staring at them pathetically. I forced a souldier to attach them for me. He wasn’t exactly great with the needlework, but they do the job. And I think it adds to the effect, don’t you?”
He moves close enough for me to see that some of the stitches are still bleeding and filled with pus. They reek of infection and something more sinister. Like death and fire and sulfur all mingling together.
I gag and roll myself over so I no longer have to look at the horror he’s made of the pieces my father both loved and loathed most about himself.
Diripo’s body comes into view, and my breath catches. All I need to do is press the button on his belt to release the cuff and get my strength back.
I’ll heal enough to fight.
