Devil's Deal: A Dark Fantasy Romance

44. Wild

I cough, holding on to his knee for support, while Woland breathes hard, faint tremors running through his leg under my grip. When I can breathe again, I look up and startle when his tail brushes tears from my cheek.

His expression is soft and sated. He pulls me into his lap, and I climb on, a bit clumsy, a bit disoriented. I settle across his lap, my head on his chest. He supports my back with his arm and sneaks his hand under my dress, his fingers painting patterns on my calf.

This is so odd, and yet, surprisingly right. There is intimacy between us, not born of friendship and affection but of the constant push and pull, our shared stubbornness and desire. I don’t know anything of him, yet I know him. And he knows me better than any living person in my life.

I relax in his arms, enjoying this new display of affection. It feels nice. He’s big and warm, and his hands hold me so safely. My usual loneliness eases, his closeness filling a hollow place inside me.

For a while, he strokes my leg as we both sit on his skull throne, watching moonlight scattering on the river.

“Come with me,” he says in a low, quiet voice. “We can go right now. It will be good, Jaga. We will stay together for as long as we enjoy each other, and if we get bored of this after the war is over, we can go our separate ways. I’ll be faithful while we’re together if that’s what you want.”

The warm feeling of connection snaps and breaks, and I tense in his arms. Because of course he did this. Everything he does, even if it seems like affection and intimacy, is for one goal.

“Let me guess,” I say, my voice calm and quiet, betraying none of my disappointment. “It can only happen if I let you claim me.”

He sighs, lowering his head until his antlers obscure the sky above me. “Yes, Jaga. But it has to be this way whether we are together or not. And if you don’t agree, things are already in motion to make it happen, one way or another. You’d be spared much suffering if you just agreed now.”

“And now you threaten me,” I hiss, making to slide off his lap but he holds me tightly. I groan. “Fine! You have your end of the deal to hold up.”

He sighs and straightens, his hold tightening still. “Very well.”

I look at him. His mouth is twisted in a sour grimace, and my heart beats faster with excitement. Finally, I’ll have something. It won’t solve all my problems, but it will get me closer to saving my twelve-year-old self.

“The time secret first,” I say, excited and uneasy all at once.

Woland releases a long breath and looks me in the eyes, his mouth set in a firm line.

“The secret to controlling time is very simple,” he says, one corner of his mouth curving up like he’s trying to smirk but doesn’t have it in him. “You just need to be older than time itself. Everyone who was born before time can manipulate it easily.”

I gape at him, my thoughts whirring. “But… But that’s…”

“Completely useless to you,” he says with a dark laugh. “I wanted to punish you when I came up with the idea for this trade. I told you not to take it.”

I snap my mouth shut, my fury rising like a tide, yet I can only blame myself. Did I know he couldn’t be trusted? Yes. Did I still take this deal like a fool? Also yes. Because after he saved my life, it seemed like something changed.

Or did I just want to believe him because I wanted to get my hands on him? Am I that pathetic? I grit my teeth together, but that doesn’t help. I’m so angry, I can barely breathe.

“The mark on my chin,” I demand in a growl.

Another sigh. Woland clenches his jaw in silence, looking at me with pity and regret. Finally, he speaks, sounding almost apologetic.

“I will tell you, just not now. You didn’t specify when I had to do it.”

White hot flames of fury choke me from within. “And what’s your excuse for this one?” I hiss viciously, my fingers curling with the urge to stick them in his eyes.

“I wanted you to suck my cock since you’re the only person I enjoy right now,” he says with a lopsided shrug. He still holds me tightly. “You should know better than to make deals with the devil, poppy girl.”

I struggle viciously, trying to get out of his grip, but he has the audacity to hug me tight. He doesn’t even grunt with effort as I push and scratch, using my elbows, trying to get an angle to bite him. That fury winds around my spine and bursts into my head, turning my thoughts into an angry buzzing.

And still, he holds me. “I’ll make it up to you,” I think I hear. “Jaga, just stop for a fucking moment and…”

Stop? I’ve barely started. My zmora stirs in my chest, and I shove her out, opening the doors wide for all my fury and hate. She bursts into life, a magnificent creature with vicious claws and flaming red hair.

“What…” That’s as much as Woland says before she’s on him, her claws shearing down his face.

“Yes,” I gasp, feeling everything she feels, the skin of his cheek splitting open under her claws, hot blood rushing out. “Do his eye.”

But she never gets another chance to maul him. Woland stands with a roar, and I slide off his lap. He pounces on my zmora, pinning her to the ground. She struggles, spitting and hissing, but he holds down her legs with his, his hands restraining her wrists.

“What do we have here?” he asks, the skin on his cheek knitting itself together.

She tries to get free, but I feel her helplessness. He is so much stronger. So much more powerful. A sudden panic bursts to life in my chest, sickening and painful. If he kills her now… If he does anything to her…

I never should have let her out, but of course, I couldn’t control myself. If we get through this, she and I, I’ll have to train myself not to throw tantrums. But if I lose her, everything will be lost. She is what keeps me going.

“Woland, please,” I say, and he looks at me, his eyes shining.

“Come here, Jaga.”

There is no space to argue or disobey, so I follow his command at once, falling to my knees by his side. I look at my zmora, my heart filling with more pain and terror than I’ve ever felt at once. I don’t even think I was that scared when I was dying, because then, the sun and my injuries made me numb.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, looking into her eyes filled with helpless rage.

“No need to be sorry,” Woland says with a low laugh, pinning her down harder when she struggles again. “She’s beautiful. So very you.”

He shoots me a wicked grin. Next thing I know, his mouth is on my zmora’s, and he kisses her, even when she bites him with a snarl. I feel it all, her fury, hate, and lust so powerful, it sweeps through me like a gale. I gasp, tearing at the grass to brace myself as Woland kisses down my zmora’s neck, and she whines long and loud, the taste of his blood in her mouth making her soar.

And of course it does. She is me.

Woland straightens and grabs her throat, releasing her wrists. With his free hand, he pulls me closer and kisses me, his blood and hers mingling in my mouth. And I hate him, so I rip into his lip, too, just like she did, and he laughs.

“You wild thing,” he says, pulling back, his eyes glittering with pleasure.

My zmora doesn’t even struggle now, just lies there, looking as dazed as I am. Woland leans in to give her one more kiss and stands up, motioning me toward her. I grip her hand and help her to her feet. We hug, melting back into one.

I clench my fists and turn to Woland. “You deserved it,” I grit out, glowering at him.

He only grins, coming closer until he buries his hand in my loose hair. “Few mortals can call on their zmoras while awake. I had no idea you had it in you,” he says with something that looks a lot like pride. “I thought your magic was too weak. Well done. Now I want you even more.”

I clamp my mouth shut so as not to reveal anything, because apparently, he doesn’t know the truth: that my magic isn’t weak but sealed away. At least, I hope it’s not weak. All I have to go on is Wiosna’s assessment from when I was a child.

This is another reminder Woland lies to me regularly. Not long ago, he let me think he knew everything that happened while he was away, but that’s evidently not the truth. He didn’t hear my conversation with Wiosna and he didn’t see my zmora.

It’s good to know I have some secrets to hold over him, even though I just revealed one in my anger.

“Well, I don’t want you at all, and I hate you. Go away,” I say, gritting my teeth.

He grows serious, gold eyes boring into mine. They hypnotize me, and I desperately want to fall in, but that’s not an option.

“Maybe another trade?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing my cheek. “An orgasm for an orgasm. I can make you come right now, and we’ll be even.”

I snort, turning my head sharply so his hand falls away. “No. Tell me what the mark does.”

“All in good time.”

Gods, I want to spit on him and stomp my feet, but that would be so undignified. I’ve already lost control of my rage today, and got a good scare for that. I suppose I am grateful he reacted differently to what I expected. I truly thought he would wring her neck for daring to attack him.

But instead, he was delighted. The kiss he gave her still buzzes on my tongue. A sudden image pops into my mind, me and my zmora, both riding him. One on his cock, the other on his tongue, all the sensations combining.

Then I bite the inside of my cheek to the point of sharp pain, because I am furious with him, and I should control myself better.

But oh, now I want to try it, and he’s the only person I could ever do it with. A mortal man would obviously think it witchcraft and impale me on a spear rather than his cock. And even if I could seduce a god, I suspect everyone but Woland would find my zmora hideous.

And she is. She is a creature made of darkness, hate, and anger, containing all the petty, unpleasant, vengeful parts of me. She is what I’ve been taught to keep hidden, because her ugliness would repulse people even more than my nicer parts do. I thought no one but me could even look at her without wincing.

Yet Woland kissed her, and he did it eagerly, without the slightest hint of hesitation.

I feel her in my chest now, radiating warmth and satisfaction. She wants to come out again and frolic with him.

“I have to go soon,” he says with a sigh of regret, interrupting my thoughts. “But don’t worry, poppy witch. One way or another, you will soon be mine. We’ll make up for all the lost time.”

“Stop this,” I growl, facing him. “Stop pretending you’re… I don’t know… infatuated with me. I’d never fall for it.”

He smiles, but it looks forced. “Good. Never fall for my charms.”

I open my mouth to say that’s not what I meant, but he dissolves into nothing, taking the chair and the lights with him. I am alone on the river bank, the moon high in the cloudless sky, the cool air giving me goosebumps. The fall is still weeks away, but the nights are getting chilly, even if the days are mercilessly hot. Now that I’m alone, I feel that chill all the way to the bone.

Feeling grumpy and defeated, I trudge back home.

My sleep is too short, and I spend it trapped in a nightmare. A large, black bear tries to eat me and fuck me in turns. I run as fast as I can, but he’s always a breath behind me, smelling like smoke and animal musk.

When I wake with a gasp right before dawn, I don’t even have to think about what the dream represents. The bear is Woland, and it’s clear my mind finds him incredibly threatening. I scoff to myself, shaking my head. Why didn’t I have any nightmares when I still hardly knew him and he threatened to rape me if I married a mortal?

I remember the way I puked all over Waclaw’s nettles. And yet, now that I know Woland, now that I’ve been so close to him physically, after he saved my life—now I get nightmares.

I wonder if it’s because I’ve let him too close. He can hurt me in ways no one else can, and that’s terrifying, because he absolutely will if it gets him his goal. I keep giving him parts of me, yet he cannot be trusted with any of them.

I should never forget it.

The day starts slow, and I feel under the weather. The prospect of walking through the fields again makes me nauseous. I could probably deal with it just fine if I had a good night’s sleep, but Woland and my nightmares took that away.

Dressed and with my hair pinned, I go out for water. On the way to the well, I stop by my herb garden, staring at it with shock and anger.

All my herbs and the plants surrounding the garden are completely withered, some blackened to dust. I stare at my lovage that was so robust. It’s now a shrunken husk of itself. My mint and chamomile are the same. A quick look around tells me no herbs survived.

It’s obvious someone did it on purpose. It’s too neat. If it were a natural occurrence, wouldn’t more plants in my garden be affected? Yet, this blight only touched my herbs. I look up sharply, peering at the path over the hedge. Was it a prank? If so, the prankster isn’t anywhere around, which is a pity. I’d love to beat them with a broom for destroying a huge part of my livelihood.

I’ll probably have to use Czeslawa’s trick and strew thorns around the cottage. If anyone steps on them, that will give my zmora a blood trail to follow.

After having a quick breakfast, I spend my morning digging around my herb garden to find the cause of the blight. If somebody cursed my plants, they would have left a little token here, the vehicle for the curse. Yet, hours pass, and I find nothing.

When I’m busy washing the dirt from under my fingernails, Jarota knocks on my door. I invite him to sit in my patient room.

“What can I do for you, zerca?”

He sits down with a grunt, bracing on the table. “My joints hurt. Czeslawa made me an ointment, but I’ve run out.”

I nod, wiping my hands on my apron. “Do you mind if I take a look at the joints that hurt the most?”

He lifts his robe to show me his knees, which look swollen. His fingers are affected, too. He’s unable to straighten them completely. I nod, recognizing the signs.

“Well, we can’t cure it, but we’ll keep it from hurting and getting worse. For now, I’ll mix you a herbal brew to drink, and I’ll make you some fresh knitbone root ointment. I’ll drop it by in a few days.”

Jarota nods gratefully, and I get busy mixing the herbs while thinking where I saw a robust knitbone plant recently. It was most likely by the river, since knitbone likes damp places.

When I hand Jarota the pouch with herbs and explain how to make the brew, he suddenly bends in half. A loud, hacking cough bursts from his lungs, and he grips his knees, coughing harder and harder until he grows red and tears stream down his face. I give him a cup of water when the fit is over, eyeing him worriedly.

“How long have you been coughing like this?” I ask, wondering why he didn’t mention it.

He shakes his head, bewildered. “I haven’t. This is the first time.”

I study him dubiously, because that kind of cough indicates an advanced infection. Still, I won’t quarrel with him. I grab a small bottle of pine needle tincture. It’s made from the new, green pine offshoots in early summer, and I have a few for personal use. I already know I’ll have to make more next year.

“This is excellent cough medicine,” I say, handing it to Jarota. “Take a spoonful twice a day and it should clear up in no time.”

He thanks me profusely and leaves, but not before he has another coughing fit in my ante-room. I look at my supply of cough medicine. If this spreads, there will barely be enough to treat a few patients.

I resolve to save them for children and difficult cases. For now, I’ll mix up a substitute from currently available herbs. I set out with my basket, determined to get everything I need, complete with a few handfuls of thorns.

Someone’s messing with me, and I will punish them for it.