Page 62 of Not Today, Satan
Now that the shadelings are no longer attacking, we appear to be alone. There’s no sign of souldiers or a trap. Father probably thinks I forgot about this place, since he brought me here so young. Instead, I’ve never stopped thinking about it and why it exists in the first place.
“Sure.” I lean against his shoulder, letting the bed comment slide. “Just keep an eye out in case.”
He takes the stairs slowly, wary of banging my ankle against the railings. I drop my head, recalling how careless I was carrying him across that bridge. I tossed him around like a doll, focusing only on escape and not on how many times his leg smashed into the railing. To be fair, he was unconscious and I was being chased, but he deserved better.
We reach the landing, and I lift my head and let out a groan.
Of course there’s only one bed.
It sits in the center of a room twice the size of mine, the frame made of ice, with delicate snowflakes carved into the headboard. It’s decorated with teal pillows and a thick aqua blanket, which is threaded with silver that glitters as the light hits it.
A built-in fireplace takes up the opposing wall; facing it, a sculpted armchair stands in the corner. Across the room sits a vanity, littered with empty bottles I suppose Father once imagined would contain my mother’s perfumes. Beside that is a closet filled with dresses of all the colors of the Underworld: crimson reds, ebony blacks, and smoky grays.
Unlike the first floor, there are windows up here—icy arches etched into the walls that are thin enough to let light in but keep the storm out.
A shiver rips through Nate’s body, so violent it jolts me.
That can’t be good.
I study the fireplace, relieved to see that it contains three unused logs. I blast a fireball at the wood. It catches with a spark and then lights, bathing the room in an orange glow.
“If I wasn’t exhausted, I’d be impressed,” Nate says.
“You should be anyway. Who knows how old those logs are? I wasn’t even sure they’d light.”
“When it comes to you, I’m always impressed.”
My cheeks heat as he lowers me onto the bed. Kneeling, he unlaces my boots and pries them off one at a time, apologizing when I hiss in pain. He drops them at the foot of the bed before leaning over me.
He studies my ankle, gently tracing around the swelling and watching my face for any reaction. His touch is light but confident. Tingles spread up my body as his fingers follow the line of muscle up my leg, lingering on my calf. He spreads his palm and massages the back of my lower leg in circular motions. I stifle a moan as my body relaxes into his touch.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Trying to stimulate blood flow. It’ll help your ankle heal faster.”
I peer over my stomach at him with raised eyebrows. “Where did you learn that?”
“Movies.”
“Of course.” I drop my head, and it sinks into the mattress.
He increases the pressure on my calf, and I close my eyes. Whatever he’s doing is working. My leg muscles unclench, sending a chain reaction through the rest of my body.
“Plus, my foster brother was super into sports,” he continues. “He was injured a lot. He didn’t like me much, so I was always trying to prove I could be a good brother. I learned how to treat sports injuries for him. I thought if I eased his pain, he’d be kinder to me. He wasn’t, but hey, I tried.”
Sitting up on my elbows, I study him through narrowed eyes. His brow remains furrowed and his jaw tight as he focuses on my calf muscle, but it doesn’t conceal the pain in his eyes. My chest aches more than my foot at the thought of someone treating him so harshly.
“I’m sorry, Nate,” I say. “I know what it’s like to have someone in your life you can’t please no matter what. I’ll do everything Father asks, and he still wants nothing to do with me. If it helps, I can’t imagine anyone not liking you. You somehow even got me to like you—and I was raised to hate humans.”
He smiles at me, and I smile back. Our gazes linger, his fingers tracing along the back of my leg. Goose bumps trail over my entire body, not only where he’s touched. Using my elbows, I inch up to see him better. His hair’s still damp from the snow, and a bead of water trails down his forehead and along his cheek. I reach to wipe it away.
The fire pops, and we both jump.
I fall back on the bed, and Nate drops his head. He clears his throat and releases my calf. “You should get some rest.”
“Yeah.” My skin still tingles from his touch, the pain in my ankle barely a whisper. “We should.”
He drops into the armchair and wriggles his butt into a cushion that matches the bedspread. “This is shockingly comfortable.”
