23. Knife
I choke on my next breath, the stench like a worm slithering down my windpipe. Woland waits patiently for me to stop coughing, and I clench and unclench my fists, squeezing the loose soil in my left one convulsively.
When I breathe again, he traces the shell of my ear with a gentle finger. I roll my head to glare at him, and he hums with disapproval.
“I’m saving your life, little witch. Show some respect.”
I want to laugh but manage only a weak huff. My eyes water from the coughing, and my body aches from the werewolf’s bulk on top of me. And yet, the danger clears my mind, at least. I can think fast, and so I do, my left hand playing with the soil. It helps me stay calm.
Woland’s expression turns impatient. “Say it or I’ll break the spell. You’ll die.”
I squeeze the earth in my fingers, desperately trying to think. I have to say something, have to keep him talking, and in the meantime, try to somehow get an advantage.
“I’m considering your offer,” I say, trying to make more room for my left arm.
He laughs indulgently. “Considering it? You have to think about whether you want to live, is that it? Jaga, there is no other way. You’re mine and you know it.”
I shuffle, trying to twist at the waist, my shoulder pressing into the werewolf’s immobile paw. “But you never said what it actually means. Being yours.”
Woland purrs, the sound animalistic and sensual. “I’d show you if you didn’t have so much dog on top of you. There are so many things I want to do once I claim you, poppy girl. Brutal things. Devious things. I’ll make you scream from pleasure until you pass out.”
I grunt from effort, shuffling harder under the werewolf’s weight. My muscles burn but it seems it’s all in vain, my body barely changing position. And yet, I can’t stop.
“So you will fuck me,” I gasp out through clenched teeth. “But what else?”
He hums in thought. “That depends on you. If you please me, I’ll let you sit at my feet, making everyone envy your privileged position. If you don’t, I’ll probably let you do what you want and only call on you when I need you. I’ll always be able to find you when you’re mine.”
I heave and push, and suddenly, my left arm is free. Enough to raise it high, though I don’t try it now, wary of betraying my meager advantage to Woland. I grab another big fistful of soil, my heart hammering painfully.
“You can find me anyway,” I point out through gritted teeth.
He chuckles warmly. “Well, that’s because you never go anywhere. Always stuck in this village, so terrified of the evil lurking in the big wide world, aren’t you? Once you’re mine, you’ll be able to walk freely and nothing will harm you. I take care of my belongings, Jaga. Think about it. The things you could learn and see, in this world and the other.”
I swallow, my body shaking harder. It’s time, and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and yet, I can’t bring myself to break the moment outside time. As soon as I say no, he’ll cancel the spell, and I don’t even know if my plan has any chances of working.
Most likely, I’ll die.
“The other?” I ask, my voice unsteady, my ears buzzing with the inevitability of what I must do next.
“Mmm, yes. When you’re mine, you’ll be able to tread where gods do. You’ll see it all. Where souls go after death. Where we rule and war with magic. I bet even your unruly powers would grow strong in Slawa. Think of the things you could do.”
My palms squeeze convulsively. Out of all the things he says, this one is the most tempting. To see the land of gods, to claim real magic, unhindered by my lack of power. I entertain it for a moment, breathing shallowly to keep the stench out.
It could all be so easy. My life secure, my future exciting.
I imagine what it would be like to be protected by Woland. The devil crosses between worlds without effort; he rules shadows, can curse people at will and, most importantly, rules time. He’s insanely powerful. I remember even Strzybog deferred to him.
But my breathless excitement evaporates almost at once. I can’t trust his promises, and besides, I would never forgive myself if I let him claim me. Woland owes me a life, Bogna’s life, and if I give him the ultimate power over me, I’ll never become strong enough to avenge her. I’ll always be in his grip. I know that.
It’s just that I am so exhausted, so terrified of death, a part of me desperately wants to believe his lies. It wants the easy way out, but if life taught me anything, it’s that the easy way always comes with an exorbitant price.
“I’ve considered your offer,” I say hoarsely, squeezing the lump of soil in my fist.
I turn my face away from Woland, forcing myself to look into the werewolf’s gaping maw. I’ll have to act quickly the very moment it unfreezes. Even then, it’s touch and go. I don’t think I can win.
“Look me in the eyes when you say it,” he says, a lusty edge riding his voice. “I want to see it on your face. The moment you’re mine.”
I don’t turn. My heart beats faster and faster, so fast, I can’t breathe. And yet, with my last breath, I choke out a quiet laugh before I say, “I’d rather die.”
Woland is silent, and I don’t dare look at him. Sour sweat pours down my face and into my eyes, and my breaths come gasping and ragged, each punctuated by a guttural moan. Any moment now. Any moment, the werewolf will bite.
“Die?” Woland repeats after me, sounding mildly surprised. As if my words haven’t sunk in yet.
I choke down another breath and another, desperately blinking sweat out of my stinging eyes. I have to keep looking. Can’t miss the moment it happens.
“You… You’re rejecting me.”
I’d laugh if I had any air to spare. He sounds almost petulant, like a child told he can’t have honey with his bread. My vision blurs, the gaping maw becoming two, and I blink harshly, letting out a grunt. Oh gods. How long will it take him?
“You’re mad,” he hisses, angry now.
Good. I swallow convulsively, widening my eyes so I see every detail, every little twitch of the beast above me as soon as it comes alive.
“You’re mad if you’d rather be his… the dog’s… than mine.”
I want to ask why he thinks it’s so strange. After all he did, I think my choice is the only reasonable one. But my breath is shallow and hot, my throat burning.
Please, oh, please. Let it end.
But Woland seems intent on making me suffer. “Look at me.”
When I don’t, he growls in fury, his shadows wrapping around my throat and gripping my hair. He turns my head forcefully until our eyes lock, my vision going bright with pain as something twinges in my neck.
“Say it again,” he snarls, his face twisted in wrath. When I stay silent, his shadows plunge inside my mouth and down my throat until I gag. He growls, pulling them out, more shadows enveloping my body where they can reach me under the beast. They press to my skin, as if trying to hold me in place.
He sits up by my head, and I glimpse his naked body. He lowers his head to mine, sinuous like a serpent, his wrathful face filling my vision as he growls.
“Fucking say it!”
His eyes burn, so bright, they are almost white. He bares his teeth at me in a snarl that almost looks like a grin. I’ve never seen him so angry, and a tremor of new fear slices through my gut.
And yet, I don’t change my answer. “I’d rather die than be yours.”
The devil straightens and roars, throwing his head back. His throat cords with the effort of holding the weight of his antlers. I try to turn away, but his shadows don’t let me.
The air around me vibrates with the force of his roar, the sound penetrating into my bones, making my entire body tingle. More pain and fear shoot up my spine until I’m ready to beg for this to be over.
When the sound ends and Woland pants violently, each breath ending on a small snarl, I want to ask him why he cares. But that would prolong this ordeal, and I just wish for it to be over, one way or another.
“You obstinate witch,” he growls, bringing his face so close to mine, I feel his hot breath on my lips. “You have no fucking idea what’s riding on this, do you? So typically mortal. Selfish and short-sighted.”
I’d feel offended if I had any space for things other than horror and pain, but as it is, I can only bite my tongue and brace myself for when the spell ends.
Surely, he’ll do it now. He’s so angry, I can’t believe he’ll let me live another second.
And yet, Woland takes his time. He straightens, huffing with fury. His eyes glitter when he looks at me, his shadows moving over my skin like he needs to keep touching me. My body is on the verge of giving out. I swallow with difficulty, my head splitting with pain, my limbs shaking with uncontrollable tremors.
“Just… end… it,” I choke out, my teeth chattering. “I won’t… change… my mind.”
He snarls in response, his tongue flicking out, black and long. My eyes tire from looking up at his face as he sits on his heels, so I lower them, unmoved by his nakedness. His long, elegant claws tap out a compulsive rhythm on his bare thigh. The movement draws my eyes to his cock, lying long and flaccid across his lap, thorns pricking around the base.
I test his hold on my head, but his shadows only tighten, putting pressure on my windpipe. I freeze and focus on my breathing.
Because it’s almost over. Either he releases the spell or I’ll pass out. I’m dead either way.
“Fuck.” Woland sighs deeply, his claws digging into the muscular flesh of his thigh. They draw blood, and he growls.
Next thing I know, his bloody claw rams into my mouth, a hot, coppery taste on my tongue. I try to protest and move away, but his shadows flood my nose, forcing me to swallow. Only when I do does he withdraw his finger.
“What…” I wheeze out, but my throat fails me, my voice breaking. I swallow again, trying to soothe the burn, realizing too late that I should have spat out the remains of his blood instead.
My heart gives a powerful thump, rattling my ribs. I cry out.
Suddenly, brightness floods my vision, the darkness of Woland’s shadows around me becoming textured and nuanced. I groan in pain, something slithering in my veins, powerful and hot. Something alien.
My skin burns, my throat throbs, and my mind is on fire. I thrash from the pain, and my body feels inexplicably stronger, moving more easily under the werewolf’s bulk. I’m still trapped, but there is a sense of power thrumming inside me.
Clarity fills my mind, my thoughts sharpening. As soon as it began, it’s over, my heart beating in its normal, strong rhythm, my senses keen, muscles tight and ready.
I have no time to wonder what happened. Woland’s shadows wrap around my right leg and yank it out from under the werewolf. My dress tears open from hip to hem. I cry out, but the pain seems to be dulled, my protesting joint instantly soothed. The stinging gash on my chest stops hurting. I don’t understand what’s happening.
“You’ll need this,” he growls in a low, angry voice.
Then, his palm is on my thigh, stroking up and up, almost to the junction of my legs. I try to jerk away from his touch, but his shadows hold me in place. He doesn’t touch me between the legs, his claws running back down until they meet my makeshift strap for my knife.
I blink, staring up into the werewolf’s maw, a clump of dirt in my free left hand. Something cold touches my skin. He slides it slowly beneath the strap, and I recognize my knife, its silver blade settling into my flesh with sharp familiarity.
“What are you doing?” I ask, sounding so much stronger now.
My body hums with energy, sparks of power going off along my spine. I realize it must be because of the drop of his blood he forced inside me. Somehow, it wiped away all my pain and exhaustion.
“Balancing the stakes.” There is gravel in his voice, betraying fury and tension. When he laughs sharply, it comes out forced. “It will be more fun to watch this way.”
I want to reply, but his claws trace the shape of the knife on my thigh, sharp and ticklish. My skin pebbles with gooseflesh, and Woland heaves a weary sigh.
“We could be fucking right now if you didn’t insist on being so difficult,” he mutters under his breath, as if talking to himself. “Foolish witch.”
“I’ll never lay with you,” I bite out through clenched teeth, even as my body warms from his touch. The pads of his fingers stroke my inner thigh, and I can’t help it. My core tightens with anticipation.
Woland gives a mirthless laugh. “Then you’ll take me standing. But not today. Brace yourself, poppy girl.”
That’s all the warning I get. His shadows release me and he walks away. I grip the earth in my left hand tighter. Suddenly, time comes rushing back, the air filling with sounds, and I hear each and every one, my hearing sharper than normal.
Something lands on my cheek. The drop of saliva from the werewolf’s muzzle.
I don’t wait, don’t think, don’t look. With a wide arch, I raise my hand and fling dirt into its eyes. The beast snarls and jerks away, just enough to let me free my right hand. I grip my knife, but it’s too late. The jaws gape open and lunge, right for my throat.
Driven by instinct, I cover my face with my left arm, my movements preternaturally fast. The werewolf’s teeth close around my forearm, and I don’t feel the pain yet, just gratitude. I’m alive.
Using the few precious seconds I bought with my arm, I yank the knife free and bury it in the werewolf’s throat.
Hot blood squirts down my fist, the growl building in its throat turning into a whimper. For a moment, we’re both frozen, Przemyslaw’s eyes filling with pain as they look out from the monster’s face.
Then they close. The werewolf breathes out, and I fancy there is something in its breath, something more than just air. Something charged.
Those eyes stay closed when the face around them shifts, fur disappearing, the muzzle turning into a human jaw, teeth shrinking and letting go of my bloody arm. My knife is still buried in its throat. His throat. Because the werewolf is gone, the human body of Przemyslaw in its place. His bulk falls on top of me, heavy and lifeless.
I’ve just killed Przemyslaw.