Page 64 of Not Today, Satan
A blood-red dress hangs deep in the back of the closet, and I tug it off the hanger and put it on before the full-length mirror. It’s a perfect fit, hugging my curves before falling to the ground in a long skirt, the straps crossing in an X between my wings.
My wings. They’re enough to steal my breath.
I haven’t seen them since leaving Dominus. I’ve felt them growing, dragging down my shoulders as I walk and pulling if I sit the wrong way. But I haven’t studied them. Not like this.
They frame my shape, surrounding me in black and gold, peeking over my shoulders and hugging my forearms. Sunlight breaks through the window and spills light across the room. The gold in my feathers shimmers when I move. Nate wasn’t lying when he called them beautiful. They’re nothing I’ve seen before.
I suck in a breath. I’d almost prefer they looked like Father’s wings. At least I’d know what to expect from those. These hold a mystery in their feathered layers I’m not sure I’m ready to explore.
Opening the door to what I assume is a second closet, I silently cheer when I find a small bathroom with a sink and two baby-blue plush towels. Holding one of the towels under the water, I jump when the liquid hits my skin. It’s as frigid as the ice outside. It probablyisthe ice from outside. As far as I’m aware, Nix doesn’t have plumbing in the lots.
I scrub my skin and hair until the towel’s more brown than blue before tossing it aside, dampening the second one, and returning to the bedroom.
Nate murmurs softly as I sink to the edge of the bed beside his chair, but he barely stirs. His features are calmer in sleep, lips fuller and pressed into a pout, cheekbones less pronounced. His hair drapes over one eye, tickling his nose. I push it off his face and wipe the damp cloth down his cheeks and forehead so that I can get a better look, clearing the caked-on dirt and tensing when he moves.
His skin is smooth, not a hint of stubble curving against his chin, as shadelings no longer grow or age down here. It’s not scaled, like most of the demons in their true form, and it’s kissed pink from the cold. When I’ve removed all traces of mud, I drop the rag and warm him with my fingertips, my heart fluttering in my rib cage.
How can a human be this perfect? Caring and unselfish, amusing yet thoughtful. Handsome, even after months without showers while navigating mud and snow.
He can’t be real.
I trace his nose and mouth, cup his chin, then run my hand down his neck and over his shoulder to his bicep, marveling at how it fills the curve of my palm. My fingertips whisper against his chest before trailing back up to his lips.
I’ve spent my life avoiding contact with shadelings. Father assured me they’re evil—and many of them are, or they wouldn’t be here—but Nate’s different. He’s never done anything to purposely harm me. Even when he learned I planned to betray him, he stayed with me.
I’ve spent my life in the hottest depths of the universe, but being with Nate is the first time I’ve felt real warmth. Even in the middle of a snowstorm while trapped in an ice castle.
Nate’s eyes fly open, and his hand grabs my wrist. My breath catches in my throat. I try to pull away, but his grip is firm, his eyes clouded with confusion.
“Devica?”
Heart thudding so hard it may burst, I lean forward and place my mouth on his.
He gasps against my lips but doesn’t pull away. I close my eyes and press harder. Nate’s hand releases my wrist and moves to the back of my neck, his fingers trailing up my skin and into my hair.
I’ve never kissed anyone before, but the way Nate kisses me back, I’m pretty sure he has. He’s confident in a way I’m not, and he caresses my cheek when I hesitate. He pulls me onto his lap and parts my lips with his tongue.
He still smells like ice and snow, and the fire’s barely a spark now, but neither of us stop to complain about the cold. I curl my fingers into fists behind his head so I don’t accidentally set him on fire as my temperature rises.
This is why everyone in those books of Father’s liked kissing so much. I used to skip those parts, since they seemed ridiculous and fictional, but I finally understand.
A white flash bursts before me, and visions dance across my eyes. They’re visions of Nate, so clear they’re like my own memories:
Nate as a boy, helping a girl stand after she fell off her bike.
Nate, a little older, aiding a middle-aged woman as she navigates a busy intersection.
Nate comforting a fellow orphan in a home full of terrified children.
And Nate, carrying me through the snow as shadelings clamber after us.
What is happening?
I push against his chest, breaking the kiss, and jump off his lap. My sword still lies on the nightstand, and I grab it and hold the blade to his throat. It visibly trembles, and I use my other hand to steady it.
“Whatareyou?” I growl.
His eyes widen, and he holds up his palms, still caked with mud. “I’m Nate. You know, the dude you’re breaking out of here? I’d like to point out that you kissed me, not the other way around.”
