Page 20 of Not Today, Satan
I reach the demon dorms before pausing to catch my breath. My legs tremble, threatening to send me face-first into the granite. I lean against the wall for support as I tiptoe farther into the dark passages. There are torches lining the hall, but most are extinguished. If there’s one things demons hate, it’s light.
The demon rooms all look alike from the outside, each with a heavy wooden door and silver knob. Snores from within rumble the doors on their hinges. No one can snore like a demon. And theyallsnore. As a kid, I used to try to determine which was louder: the screaming of the shadelings or the snores of those who punished them.
I creep past the closed rooms, remembering that Nathan Reynolds passed through these same halls before stumbling into my room and no one stopped him.
Maybe wedoneed to increase security.
My thoughts are cut off by two voices piercing the dark, and I freeze, my heart racing.
“I know what you mean,” a masculine voice I recognize as belonging to a souldier says. “My wife doesn’t understand who I work for. I can’t call in a vacation day whenever I want.”
“Exactly,” another voice counters, deeper than the first. “I asked for our anniversary off, and I thought he was going to pitch me into the Ignis River right there. I pretended it was a joke.”
I scan the hall for a hiding place, but the dorms lack any decor beyond concrete walls and floors. Demons aren’t exactly known for their interior-decorating skills.
The voices draw closer, and I press into the wall until something jabs into my lower back. A doorknob. No snores permeate the wood, so the demon who lives here is likely on patrol.
Taking a breath to steady myself, I reach behind me and turn the knob, gritting my teeth against the squeaking metal. I back into the room and inch the door closed as the souldiers pass my position. Their conversation continues as they exit the hall.
I rest my forehead against the door and close my eyes, my muscles uncoiling.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
My stomach clenches and I spin at the familiar voice. “Ferus?”
“You were expecting someone else, Princess? It’smyroom, after all.”
I groan inwardly.
Of all the freaking doors to open.
Ferus’s quarters, like Father’s, are dark as night, with black walls and furniture, lit by a single torch in the corner. The only color is the crimson demon himself, lounging on the bed, his orange hair bright against the satin pillowcase. He grins, his teeth glowing in the firelight.
“Oh,” I manage in a small voice that doesn’t sound like my own. “Wrong room.”
Ferus bolts off the bed and creeps toward me. “Who are you looking for, Princess? I’d think you know the place pretty well by now.” His eyes trail up and down my body, and I instinctively back into the door.
I straighten in a failed attempt to match his height. “These halls are too dark. I thought this was Atty’s room.”
He chuckles and the aromas of bloodwine and ash perfume the air. “I don’t believe you, Princess. You know Attero’s at the other end of the hall.” Placing his hands on either side of my shoulders, Ferus pins me to the door.
I should’ve taken my chances with the souldiers.
I try to flee, but my body refuses to cooperate, and I force my face to remain neutral. He’ll grab onto any hint of weakness he finds.
“This is quite the ensemble for bedtime.” Ferus fingers my hood with one hand before slipping it beneath my cloak and skimming down my side to my hip. He rests his fingertips on the hilt of my sword. “Do you always wear weapons to bed, Princess?”
I swat his hand away. “Not that I need to explain myself to you, but I was coming from the practice room.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Ferus takes a breath and straightens, removing his hand from beside my head. “Training to take Daddy’s place. What a waste of time. Do you actually believe you can do your father’s job? No one’s going to listen to the spoiled little girl who got the throne without even working for it.”
My face heats, and I stare at the ground. “I’m not spoiled.”
“No?” He leers at me over his sharp nose. “What have you done besides get in the way? I fought for my place down here. Waged war next to your father like the rest of his souldiers. I was cast from my home, severed from my wings, and my body is scarred from battle. You, Princess, have done nothing to earn your keep. You pretend to fight with a wooden sword, but you’ve never lived the real thing. Talk to me when you’ve proven yourself worthy of your place on that throne.”
He growls the last words, and I flinch before straightening my spine.
Ferus may have fought beside Father, but I bear the scars of that battle daily. In Father’s distance, in his wrath, in his lies that led me to believe I’m alone.
