Page 20 of The Demigod

Even my body had changed.

Where there had been some extra winter padding over my belly and hips, I had seemed to hollow out; the lines of my ribs and hip bones started to show themselves.

I looked away, uncomfortable at the proof of how poorly I’d been taking care of myself.

It would all be worth it, I told myself as I stepped under the lukewarm water and scrubbed some of the stress and exhaustion away.

I felt almost human after brushing out my hair and slipping into a pair of fleece-lined leggings, thick socks, a sweatshirt, and a sweater, then made my way out of the hotel room.

I skipped yet another vending machine meal since I had a mission to accomplish before the sun went down.

I promised Daemon a warm shirt. I owed him at least that.

So I drove the long road back toward town, using my credit card to charge the warmest coat I could find—a vintage leather jacket with thick lining inside.

Did I worry about my credit as I slipped the jacket on over my own to enjoy the extra warmth on the drive back to my car’s hiding spot? Sure. But if all went to plan, I could get a good job again and rebuild my credit. If it didn’t… well, I think the last thing anyone was going to worry about was their credit score.

I sat in my car, trying to calm my frazzled nerves, my belly sloshing around—making me glad I hadn’t eaten anything—at the idea of what state I might find Daemon in.

But I owed it to him not to be a coward, so I climbed out of the car and started my long trek through the woods, figuring that by the time I got there, he would have his extra hour to heal.

Or so I thought.

As I crept down the stairs, I could hear his frantic, labored breaths. I knew that sound. I’d heard it too many times coming from the people the gods had tortured. It was the sound of someone just trying to survive the pain they were experiencing through their whole bodies.

I swallowed hard as I made my way in front of him.

There was no stopping the whimper that escaped me when I got a good look at him.

His face was swollen beyond recognition, blood and bruises covering every inch of his face and neck. There was no blood staining his shirt—a small miracle—but I would bet that the skin beneath was mottled with bruises, that there might even be broken bones.

“There you are, shadow girl,” he murmured, attempting a smile, but ending up wincing instead. “I’m not pretty yet,” he added as I sniffled.

The tear slid down my cheek, falling off my chin and landing on the leather jacket.

“Hey, hey, easy on the merchandise, sweetness. Don’t need it all soggy.”

He was the one tortured to an inch of his, er, life. But he was trying to lighten the mood, to make me feel better.

“Sorry,” I said with an unattractive snuffle as I wiped my cheek.

“Why don’t you get all that pretty over here and unlock me? My fingers are tingling.”

Right.

Because the tingling in his fingers was some sort of major concern when his face looked like that.

Up close, the metallic tang of his blood flooded my nostrils. Incredibly, though, by the time I was done with his shackles and looked back up at him, the swelling in his face seemed to have gone down by half. I blinked once, twice, sure my eyes were deceiving me.

“Told you I heal fast, sweetness,” Daemon told me with a soft smile. And I watched as his split lower lip literally sealed itself closed right before my eyes.

“Any chance I could get that coat?” he asked as he slumped against the wall, likely waiting for the life to come back to his limbs.

“Of course,” I agreed, pulling it free, then helping him into it. “Better?” I asked as he seemed to visibly relax at the warmth.

“Smells like you,” he said.

“Oh, sorry.”

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