Page 135 of She Who Holds My Wrath

I’m trying, really trying, not to be mad at Daisy. I get why she’s basically holding me hostage. I do. She’s protecting me. Saving me and keeping me alive. But that doesn’t stop the resentment from creeping in when I’m elbow-deep in demon blood at four in the morning, wondering what I did in a past life to deserve this.

I was finally getting back on track. Cheer was going well. Drama classes were going well. I was about to audition for the lead role in the biggest production our college had ever put on. And then, of course, some creepy demon asshole had to show up, put not-my-head on my table, and ruin my entire life. Kinda fucking rude, honestly.

I hand the two bottles to Cassyr with a smile, which is only met with a grunt which I assume is a ‘thank you’ in his own moody ass language. He pops the cork and carefully pours the dark green liquid into the soldier’s mouth.

Cross-realm training started yesterday, and the casualties have been brutal. According to the paperwork I had to file—me, a human, filing paperwork in Hell—this soldier is from Fjellheim Heights. The whole thing still feels wildly surreal. It was hard enough coming to terms with the fact that Hell is real and populated by demons with horns and magic and… whatever the fuck else. But other realms? With people who look so different, so otherworldly? It’s bizarre in a way my brain still hasn’t fully caught up with yet.

The soldiers from the Realm of Mists, as Fjellheim is nicknamed, have translucent skin and wear pale, almost pearlescent armour. This one took a sun-arrow straight through the shoulder, courtesy of a Solaran soldier. And gods, it was brutal. The arrow didn’t just punch clean through. The sun magic that’s imbued into the tip left the wound burned, and charred from the inside out. All of that information was helpfully listed in his file that I had a nosy at.

I cringe as Cassyr gives the injury one final wipe before layering salve beneath the bandage.

The first day I came to help the healers, I threw up no less than five times. Thankfully, my eyes and stomach are adjusting to my new career path. But I still can’t stop myself from cringing at the sights. I’ve gone from being a cheerleader and drama student, to healers’ lackey. Yay me.

Thank fuck tomorrow is my assigned day off. I need a lie-in, a bubble bath, and an illegal amount of snacks. I also need to see Daisy. I’ve barely crossed paths with her since arriving. She’s busy being queen and organising for an actual war, while I’m down here being scowled at by Cass, the grumpy ass. A fitting nickname, if you ask me.

“Don’t you have like magic or something you can use instead of potions?” I ask, tilting my head at him.

He rolls his eyes again, because of course, he does. “Yes, I have the ability to briefly remove a patient’s pain while I work.”

“Did you use it on him?” I question, nodding at the now-sleeping soldier.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He huffs in irritation. “Because his injury wasn’t severe enough to warrant it. It takes considerable energy and focus.” His gaze flicks to me. “Something I struggle to maintain when you’re yapping in my ear.”

“Sorry,” I murmur quietly, fiddling with my fingers.

I’m not used to people not enjoying my loud, bubbly personality. Apparently, in Hell, having a personality at all is a flaw. I’m genuinely trying to be helpful, but it feels like all I’m doing is irritating him. So, I decide to busy myself, cleaning up the supplies Cassyr used, dumping the bloodied rags into the flaming pits where I saw other healers toss dirty bandages.

As I reach for an empty tonic bottle, Cassyr huffs and places his large hand over mine. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m not used to having someone work with me. And you talk… a lot.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks at both the words, and the contact. “I’ll try to be quieter,” I say quickly. “And stay out of your way.”

He shakes his head, something like a smirk tugging at his mouth as he pulls his hand back. “You can finish for the day. Training ends soon, so I can’t imagine we will have many more casualties.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. I’m so annoying you’re sending me home early?”

“You could always empty the sick buckets,” he offers with a grin.

“Nope. Absolutely not. See ya.” I bolt before he can change his mind.

I hate all bodily fluids, but vomit is my personal hell. I’m pretty sure I have emetophobia. Just thinking about sick makes my heart race, and if someone throws up near me? I’m gone. Spiritually deceased.

Back in my room, I peel off the black healer’s robes and dive face-first onto my bed.

If there’s one thing Hell does right, it’s beds. This thing is massive, and it feels like a cloud. I don’t know if I’m getting special treatment because the queen’s my best friend, but this room is bigger than my entire flat back on Earth. It has a four-poster bed with soft silk sheets, large windows that look out at the distant mountains that somehow have dusted white tips despite it being basically summer, and an actual fireplace, with wood and everything. It’s amazing. And the attached bathroom? Huge tub. Huge. Do I miss home? Obviously. Am I complaining about the accommodation though? Absolutely not.

After an hour-long bubble bath, I tug on some black cotton PJ bottoms that were placed into my room’s closet for me, and flop back onto the bed. I miss my phone. I miss social media. I miss my freaking TV. What the hell am I supposed to do when I’m not working? Read? Stare dramatically out of a window? Develop a personality outside of caffeine, oversharing, and Taylor Swift? That part sounds terrifying.

My eyes are just starting to drift closed when a firm knock sounds at the door. “Ugh,” I groan. “Do I never get a moment’s peace?”

I pad over and open it to find Cassyr standing there, still in his healer’s uniform. His gaze flicks down my body before he visibly catches himself.

“Cassyr?” I murmur.

His amber eyes snap back up to mine. “You left this in the infirmary.” He holds up my beaded bracelet that I got given to me at a Taylor Swift concert.