Devil's Deal: A Dark Fantasy Romance

9. Dance

When I compose myself enough to look, Swietko has already melted into the crowd. I clench my fists and turn, plastering a fake smile on my face as my heart hammers with pure terror. Because I feel them. The inside of the circle pulses and shimmers with extraordinary amounts of power that raises the hair along my arms. The power is like a heartbeat, and it makes me sick.

My body breaks out in a fresh wave of sweat.

“I’m sorry for barging in,” I say, dismayed to hear how gasping my voice is.

Strzybog waves me away with a pleasant smile, Foss purses his lips angrily, and the Rodzanica doesn’t react. She doesn’t even look at me. Woland is hidden.

“You can’t leave, can you?” Nyja says, coming closer, but slowly. I think she senses my fear and discomfort. “Oh, dear. The levels of magic gathered here are bound to give any mortal a headache. Strzybog, could you…”

She turns to him, but before she finishes, Strzybog nods with a smile. “Say no more. My pleasure.”

I don’t understand what’s happening, so I just stand next to Nyja and watch quietly as Strzybog takes a deep breath that puffs up his already wide chest. He then bends his knees, pursing his lips tightly, and blows.

He blows on the nearest fire.

I watch in awe as the fire lifts cleanly off the ground, leaving behind singed earth, and gently floats further and further down until it settles with a sizzle in a new spot. Strzybog does the same with two other fires that are not directly by the river. As the circle grows larger, I can breathe more easily.

It’s like the magic concentrated inside becomes diluted, the air lighter and easier to take in.

Meanwhile, a few people jump away from the bonfires that suddenly appear too close for their comfort. There are a few raised voices and fearful looks, and the majority of the crowd moves further away, circling the big Kupala fire.

Ida stays nearby, her eyes narrowed on me. At that moment, with her face twisted into a mask of hate, she doesn’t look beautiful at all.

Evidently, what Swietko regarded as a punishment for me is the object of envy in Ida’s eyes. How quaint. I wish I could trade places with her, but I’m trapped. So I sigh, putting another fake smile on my face, and turn to Strzybog.

“Thank you. This is much better,” I say when he straightens, beaming. “Out of curiosity, how far can you blow them apart?”

His white teeth flash in his handsome face, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “As far as needed, poppy girl.”

I nod, glancing at Nyja. She and Strzybog seem like the kindest and most trustworthy of the visitors. I think being trapped just with them can even be a pleasure. There are so many things I can ask them.

Maybe I will just ignore the others.

“So the mortals are never in control? It’s just for show?” I ask.

Nyja shakes her head. “Not necessarily. Most of us can’t tamper with the fires, or even cross into the mortal world. Strzybog, of course, can cross freely and is powerful, so…”

“Stop. Don’t give away our secrets,” Foss cuts in, smoke blowing out of his nostrils.

There goes my plan to pretend he’s not there.

I turn to look at him and flinch, seeing how much he’s changed in an eyeblink. He has grown and his face looks no longer human-like but completely alien, lengthening into a muzzle covered with thick, silver scales.

“Oh, goody,” Strzybog says with a laugh. “You want to give the mortals a show now that you have enough room to spread out? Go for it!”

“I do not give shows,” Foss hisses, closing his eyes. A moment later, he returns to his earlier shape, just hints of scales here and there betraying what he is.

When the dragon turns away and gulps his mead noisily, Strzybog raises his eyebrows at me with a grin. “Works every time,” he says under his breath, leaning to my ear.

When Woland growls, he rolls his eyes and steps away. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Either claim her and be done with it or let me play.”

Just then, the first lively notes of music drift over, and Strzybog glances at where the musicians stand.

“Ah, finally! Mortal entertainment,” he says, clapping his hands. And even though he shows excitement and good humor, I have an inkling Strzybog doesn’t think much of the mortal world and the things it has to offer.

Play, he said. Like we exist only for his amusement.

I’m about to ask him about it when a heavy forearm curls around my waist. When I look up, my eyes meet Woland’s yellow gaze. He towers over me, his antlers obscuring the sky. His overwhelming proximity makes my stomach tie into knots.

“I enjoyed your wine,” he says, and my skin flames with heat.

I don’t know why, but he made the words sound entirely too suggestive. Something squirms in my belly, hot and eager, but the feeling is lost under the current of revulsion.

Cold slithers down my spine and I try to move away, but his grip tightens. Sharp tips of his claws dig into my stomach.

“It can be so easy, Jaga,” he says, lowering his face to my ear. My eyes widen, because his voice sounds so different. It’s lost all the cruel, demanding edges and is now soft and tantalizing like a caress.

When his lips press to the shell of my ear for the briefest moment, I jolt hard.

“W-what?” I ask, desperately trying to call back my previous disgust while a hot, helpless wave of need shivers down my spine. Suddenly, his proximity feels confusingly good.

“Giving in,” he purrs.

His warm legs rub mine through my dress when he slowly steps behind me. His forearm locks around my ribs and his other hand brushes aside the hair on my nape that escaped my braids. Ahead, I see only darkness. We are again locked in the intimate enclave of his shadows, and my heart beats faster and faster.

We’re alone. I’m trapped with the devil.

But this time, there is something else mixed in with my terror. Warmth spreads through my body, gathering between my legs, and it’s so powerful, I want to sag against him. A heavy daze presses in on my mind, and my thoughts slow down, but not before I think one last sober one.

This is arousal. And it’s not my own.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Woland says in a low, mesmerizing voice as his palm drifts up to cup my breast. “See, Jaga? You don’t need to be afraid. Just give in. Tell me you’re mine.”

My tongue wants to obey at once, but I press my lips shut, my last coherent thought still swirling under the lustful fog that fills my head and body. I rub my thighs together and moan through closed lips when a clawed finger gently circles my nipple through my dress.

But I am not his, my mind argues laboriously through the heavy pounding of pleasure in my blood. Why would I say that? Why?

“Why?” I ask out loud. The word comes out as a moan.

Euphoria curls between my legs, pounding heat spreading over my most sensitive parts. It feels like a touch, yet it’s not.

Oh, gods. It feels so good.

“Because you belong to me,” he whispers, and his voice seems to come from many directions at once, caressing my ear, playing over my lips, pushing inside me where no one’s ever touched me before. I gasp and press back into him, desperate to feel his hands on me.

And yet, a small, belligerent part of my mind reminds me I shouldn’t. He’s controlling you.

“You want to be mine, don’t you, Jaga?” he whispers, and I shiver from the top of my head down to the soles of my feet as his hot, insistent breath presses to my cheek. He bends low over me, his body curled around me as his fingers lazily fondle my breast in a way that should be forbidden.

He’s so good at this.

My body rages from his touch. Everything inside me, from my lips, through my aching breasts, to my wet, swollen core begs me to give in.

As if sensing that, Woland smiles, gently cupping my cheek and turning me to look at him while he still stands behind me. My lips fall open as I take him in, a new wave of heat surging down my spine to pool low in my belly.

He is magnificent. His skin is still dark gray, his eyes still yellow, his nose still crooked, but I see those features in a new light, like he’s revealed a facet of himself that was hidden before. His antlers spread out like a crown surrounding his head, making him into a wild god, a being of nature and power. I stand in awe, and the fact he is so close, his power brimming over my skin where we touch, makes me lightheaded.

It makes me feel so special. Like a chosen one. A favorite.

No longer demonic, he is the most striking creature I’ve ever seen. Beast, my mind whispers, but the thought doesn’t scare or disgust me. Beast or not, he is so beautiful, I could weep.

I want to worship him. I want to kiss every inch of his face and after I’m done with it, I want to trail my lips down his chest and taut stomach and take him into my mouth. I’m on the brink of saying yes when he speaks again, his white teeth flashing in a seductive smile.

“I’ll give you all the pleasure in the world, mortal. All you need to do is say you’re mine, and I’ll make you come until you scream. It will be the best moment of your pathetic life.”

He lets go of my cheek and grips my breast a bit too hard. I gasp, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat.

Something inside me snaps, a world of hurt blooming behind my heart. A favorite just seconds before, now I feel rejected. Like trash.

Before the feeling overwhelms me, I pack it tightly and hide it away, but the pain does its job. Something is wrong, and I fight against the lustful fog in my mind, desperately trying to think.

Finally, his words sink in. Mortal? Pathetic life? It’s like a sharp prick of a thorn in the most beautiful flower bunch.

The dissonance is just enough to let me think again, though every thought is hard won. My basest instincts are still loud in my head, begging me to give in, to say yes, to do anything he demands.

Begging for his cock.

Yet enough sanity trickles in for me to decide that no, I will not be his. Not because he’s the devil. Not because he’s evil.

Because he doesn’t respect me.

Woland’s clawed hand abandons my breast and slides down my stomach while his lips press to my cheek. I gasp in a deep breath and tighten my body against him.

“No.”

He stills completely, even his breath stopping. His body is still curled intimately around me, the tips of his fingers reaching just past my pubic bone. After a heavy pause, he repeats after me.

“No?” He sounds stunned and unnerved and some of my arousal scatters when heady triumph takes over its place.

I shocked the devil. Surely, that’s a victory.

But then, my self-satisfaction wobbles and blinks out when Woland snarls in fury and pushes me away so hard, I fall to the ground. I look up as he advances on me, black hooves digging into the earth. He grips my throat and raises me so high, only the tips of my toes graze the grass.

“You dare to tell me no?”

I grip his palm and dig my nails into his flesh, but it’s useless. I can’t make him let go. So I choke in silence, looking into his furious yellow eyes, his snarling breaths hot on my lips. His face is twisted in wrath and looks beastly where moments ago, I thought of it as handsome, or even more, the most beautiful in the world.

But that was all a lie. This is reality. And it’s hideous.

Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision, and Woland flings me away with a snarl of disgust. I land in the grass again, wheezing through my battered throat. He huffs, stomping hard with his hooves, and then straightens, throwing his head back.

A furious, agonizingly loud roar splits the air. I cover my ears and cower down in the grass, begging any gods that hear me for this to be over. After a few frenetic heartbeats, it is.

Woland stomps closer and yanks me up by my hand.

“Let go!” I cry out when pain slices through my shoulder.

He doesn’t. His lip curls in a sneer, and he flicks a poppy off my chaplet until it vanishes in the swirling darkness of his shadows at the edge of our enclave. When I cry out in protest, he grips my hand harder and lowers his face to mine so we’re eye to eye. I flinch, terror roiling in my gut.

“You will obey me, poppy girl,” he says mockingly. “Or you will watch everyone you love die.”

His eyes bore into me, angry and demanding. All the anguish he causes rises inside me until I can’t take the pressure anymore. I burst out laughing.

Woland frowns and moves back but doesn’t let go.

“I don’t love anyone, devil boy,” I spit out in his face, anger taking over the fear. “So do your worst.”

He studies me for a moment, and then his face clears, forehead smoothing out. In an instant, all the anger is gone, and my stomach flips with unease.

Too fast. No one can control their emotions like that.

“I will,” he says, ominously calm. “But first, we dance.”

I gawk at him as he straightens, his head towering so high above me, the antlers spread into the sky. That’s how we emerge out of the shadows: with Woland holding my hand and looking down at me as I gape, suddenly speechless.

Sounds filter in and a cool breeze swirls down my nape. I shiver.

“You’re mad,” I say softly, yet it must be loud enough for the others to hear, because Nyja gasps and Strzybog guffaws. We’re back in the present.

“Well, to be fair, sanity is no fun,” the lord of wind says.

Woland doesn’t comment. He pulls me, without violence this time, to an open stretch of grass. When I half-heartedly try to tug my hand out of his grip, he cuts my inner forearm with his claw. I hiss at the pain.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, more angry than afraid now. The others see us, and even though they are his friends and not mine, at least I’m no longer alone with him.

“I have my reasons,” he says flatly, turning me gracefully around so that I face him. My hand is still in his, but his grip doesn’t hurt.

“Tell me your reasons and maybe we can negotiate,” I say cooly, even though the possibility is odious. I’d rather go home and bathe my body in cow shit to wipe away every touch of his hands and his odious magic.

I want to never see him again. Never speak to him again.

What he did to me… It’s more than despicable. I still can’t come to terms with the vileness of it because I never thought it was possible for someone to control another like that. I feel humiliated for how I responded to his manipulative magic. And yet, I am also triumphant.

I said no. And in doing so, I wiped his self-satisfied smirk right off his face.

Mortal or not, I won with the devil. Except, that was just one battle. Something tells me he’s ready to wage a war.

Woland confirms my suspicions when he answers, “Tell me why you want to travel to the past, and I’ll share my reasons with you.”

His gaze is cold and calculating. My body tightens with distrust so strong, I feel it like a tingle across my scalp.

“You have no honor and you don’t respect me,” I say slowly. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

His mouth tips up just a tad and he nods once. “You don’t. So we dance.”

The protest is already on the tip of my tongue when he twists his hand in the air, making the music louder and faster. The drums become feverish, the flutes shrill and anxious, and soon, other sounds flow in, seamlessly joining the melody, making it rich and resonant. Around us, the circle suddenly fills with more creatures.

I look around in awe at the crowd of beings I only know from stories. There are young maidens in flowing, white dresses, their faces so beautiful, they are unreal. Shaggy, fur-covered beasts with bright, canny eyes, wearing clothes like people. Creatures large and small, some flying around on moth wings, some so tiny, I can barely make them out in the grass.

All of them laugh, squeal, and move in a feverish, carnal rhythm.

When Woland grabs my waist and turns us both to the fast, breathtaking melody, I follow his lead. The music seeps into my bones and my body answers, and so we do just what he said.

We dance.