Chapter 14 Beg
Chapter fourteen
Beg
I watch my throne room, the beautiful gems sparkling prisms in the light of the fires, and breathe. My heart throbs, making wet, laboring sounds. It feels like days have passed since Jaga left me here, though I know it can’t be more than a few hours.
I don’t think she’s coming back.
Whatever she did to me prevents me from calling for help. I tried summoning Nyja and Chors, the only people I can stand seeing me like this, but nobody came. The throne room is perfectly quiet, and Jaga is probably far away by now.
I lost her. Serves me right.
When the door on the far side clangs open, I don’t bother lifting my head. My body aches, and every move fuels the pain.
It’s my first time suffering like this as Woland. Weles possesses a degree of humility, an enjoyment of pain and debasement that gives him satisfaction, sometimes sexual. As Woland, I enjoy inflicting pain rather than receiving it—unless it’s from Jaga’s hand, as I learned today.
I wish she was here.
“Now, that’s something I never thought I’d see.”
My head jerks up, my lips parting with effort. The dried crust over my wounds breaks up, and fresh blood trickles down my chin.
“You! But how…”
Each word burns my lips, but I have to know. She has no right to be here.
“So inarticulate and tedious. I expect better from you.”
Mokosz smiles her most beatific smile, turning in place until her rich blue skirts twirl prettily. My heart hammers faster and faster with shameful, smacking sounds, revealing my terror even as I strain to hide it.
“You can’t be here.”
“Oh, pish. I can do anything I want. Unlike you, it seems. Poor Woland. Need a hand?”
Her smile is sly, the palm extended toward my heart soft and easy, but her eyes gleam with a cruel light.
The full meaning of this calamity drowns my thoughts. Something must have happened up there. Did Perun attack us while I was bound and helpless? Did Nawie fall? Or—no, no, no, fuck no, please—did Jaga do what she threatened me with so many times?
Did she give her soul to him?
“What happened?” I force out through my tight throat.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Mokosz grins and turns away, conjuring a large mirror that hovers in the air, reflecting her face and bosom. She smiles, tilting her head this way and that as she fusses with her hair. I watch it with mounting horror.
Mokosz is in my throne room. In my most sacred sanctum.
We fell.
“Did you take Nawie by force?” I ask, begging my heart to quiet, but all it does is beat harder, the valves fluttering wetly.
“A bit of force never hurt anyone.”
“Where is she?”
Mokosz pouts into the mirror, frowning. A moment later, her lips tint red—the red of poppies. When she turns to me with a white-toothed smile, I know she knows who I mean.
“Who, dear Woland? There are many women in your life, aren’t there? I am one of them, and I am here.”
I can’t bear her games, so I hang my head and whisper. “Jaga.”
“Why should I tell you?”
Her laughter is cold and cruel, so at odds with her innocent appearance. Mokosz hums under her breath, walking away to inspect the nearest wall. I turn my head as much as the ropes allow to keep her in my sight.
“You like pretty things,” she muses. “It stands to reason, of course, since you like me so much. Why did you like her, though? It’s offensive, my dear.”
I take a shaky breath. It’s for nothing. She won’t tell me, but at this moment, I’d give away all my power to know.
“Please,” I force out through gritted teeth. “I beg you. What happened to Jaga?”
She laughs, throwing her head back. “You beg me? That is so humiliating. Oh, Woland. What has she done to you? You have to admit, I was bad sometimes, but I never turned you into such a pathetic mess.”
She comes closer and stops, her smile replaced with a frown. “Now I want to see if I could break you worse.”
Her gaze lowers to my crotch and I sigh in bitter dejection as she wiggles her fingers tauntingly.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” I ask through gritted teeth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Hm. That’s true. Let’s not waste time.”
Her arm strikes out like a snake leaping out of grass.
I hiss when she grabs my cock. Mokosz regards me with a cool, superior smirk as her fingers work me with unfeeling craftsmanship.
This is no lover’s touch. She wants to get me hard as fast as she can, her movements crude, even painful.
Arousal would numb the pain, but Mokosz is the last woman I want to touch me.
I look away, gritting my teeth. She pulls and squeezes, humming under her breath. When a minute passes, then another, and I fail to respond, she hisses and steps away.
“What, nothing?” she asks tauntingly. “Have you finally given in to old age, then? You’re an impotent.”
I sneer at her. “Not at all. You just don’t do it for me.”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion as she searches my face. I watch her back, breathing shakily through bleeding lips. My magic trickles out of me along with my blood, a puddle of it congealing on the floor. This is hopeless.
“You’ve bled too much,” she finally says with a shrug. “It’s all there is. Had you been well, you’d have jumped on my offer.”
I laugh hoarsely, not caring that each snort of laughter makes my chest bloom with more and more pain.
“Jumped on your offer. How many times do I have to reject you? Mokosz, you mean nothing. You embarrass yourself even worse than me, and I’m the one bound and bleeding. Have some self-respect.”
She sneers, the hate in her eyes sharp and vicious. “What, because you only get hard for your fucktoy? Spare me your bullshit.”
I grin, my wounds splitting further, more blood gushing down my chin. How ghastly it must look. I don’t care.
“That’s right. I only care about one woman, and she’s not you. Now where the fuck is my poppy girl?”
She flinches away, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. I blink, sensing a discrepancy. This is wrong. Something is wrong.
Mokosz schools her face into a look of arch superiority, but I see another face in my mind’s eye. Jaga wide-eyed and crazy, Jaga hurt, Jaga raging.
“Is a mad fucktoy not good enough for you?”
I blink that image away, my open chest flooding with hopeless pain. She’s gone. I’ll never get her back.
Mokosz laughs under her breath, and it sounds giddy, a little mad, like a cackle. This is not her pretty laugh at all.
“She gave herself to Perun.”
I study the goddess’ triumphant face, and she studies me back. Her entire body vibrates with anticipation. I frown. This is wrong, too. Our eyes lock, and I realize Mokosz has never looked at me like this, not once. Not even when I was deep inside her, whether as Woland or Weles.
Her eyes pierce me now. It’s like she wants to wrap her gaze around my soul and drag it out of me to examine. Like she wants to know me.
The only thing real Mokosz observes with such scrutiny is her own reflection.
“Oh, she did?”
My voice is colorless as the tension and agony seep out of my body. I slump in the ropes, battling the shadows encroaching on my mind. I want to sleep.
“Yes,” she gloats viciously. “She went straight to us after she left here. She let Perun claim her. Now he rules. You’ve lost, and you’ll never win again.”
I try to take a deep breath, but my broken ribs protest. I grunt, my weariness too enormous to resist. Would it be so bad to sleep? I should give her time to come up with another scheme. She’s so good at this. Not even Perun tortured me this well, and he’s known me for thousands of years.
“Woland? Haven’t you heard me?”
“Oh, I heard you, love.”
She gasps, offended, and I hum wearily.
“But you gave yourself away,” I whisper. “So forgive me if I don’t react. I’m glad you’re still here.”
Jaga heaves a sigh of disgust. Magic swirls around her in bright, intoxicating currents, and I blink the shadows away to see her appear in place of Mokosz. She folds her arms on her chest.
“What gave me away?”
I want to smile, but my face remains numb and frozen. I don’t think I can move anymore. My voice is barely a whisper.
“Your eyes, love. Your eyes.”
She narrows them, watching me with that sharp attention Mokosz is incapable of, and finally huffs, turning away on her heel. Her shoulders rise in tension as she mutters under her breath.
“Useless, all of it. Lies and tricks like always.”
“Nothing I said was a lie.”
Her laughter is dull and hollow. She shakes her head and snaps her fingers.
My ropes slither away, and I land on all fours, squeezing my eyes shut when the change in position makes the pain triple in strength.
I breathe shallowly through my nose, fighting to contain nausea.
Jaga stomps away, and I crawl after her, sick with longing.
She stayed. It must mean something.
“You have… enough of my blood… to shackle my tongue… make me speak only the truth.”
She freezes, her hands curling into fists at her sides. I wheeze, pressing my hand to my hot, laboring heart when it feels like it will fall out of my chest. With a humiliating amount of effort, I manage to sit up, my legs folded under me, my heart no longer threatening to splat onto the floor.
Sick, twisted torture. Oh, how I adore her. My evil witch.
“Is this another trick?” Jaga asks, turning sharply.
“Try… and find out.”
I can’t hold up my head anymore. It tips back, and I choke on my own breath as antlers weigh me down. I can’t lift my head, can’t breathe, can’t even look anymore. I think I’m about to faint.
“Pathetic.”
Jaga drops to the floor in front of me. I choke, trying to breathe her in. She always smells so good, like power and smoke, like herbs and wine, like home.
She huffs with annoyance, and I moan from shock, magic spreading through my body as she allows me to heal.
The moment of euphoria is short. I gag on a scream as my ribs snap back to cover my heart, the bones reforming, my skin and muscles knitting themselves back.
My flesh feels so cold and dry after being exposed for so long, my heart hammering in relief when it’s finally hidden away where it belongs.
My lips are open as I gasp for air, my head still tilted too far back. Something splashes in, cold and thick, humming with power. My own blood that’s congealed on the floor. I swallow it with disgust, knowing it’s the quickest way to rebuild my power.
Warm hands grip my head and lift it just enough to help me drink faster.
Jaga mutters incoherently, so close, her breath tickles the sharp tip of my ear.
I swallow more of my cold blood, disgust mixing with gratitude, and I shake, relying on her hold even as I get stronger, hoping she’ll stay close forever.
She is not fooled. Jaga lets me go, rising quickly. No more blood comes. I heave my head up and press my hands to my thighs, gulping in deep breaths.
“Is it really possible?” she asks, defensive and hostile. “I can make you speak only the truth?”
I sigh deeply, disappointed with myself because I haven’t thought of this before.
“Yes. Use my blood. Make an amulet, like before. You can wear it around your neck and I’ll never lie to you again.
Not that I want to. It’s just a habit that’s hard to break.
Will be a relief—if you force me to be truthful. ”
When I lift my head enough to look, Jaga eyes me with distrust, her fingers curled tightly around a knife. I open my arms, stretching them wide to the sides.
“Or carve me some more. Do whatever you want. I’m your servant.”
She scoffs, looking away, but not before her cheeks redden. It might be from anger or embarrassment. Or maybe she likes the sight of me at her feet and is loath to admit it.
“Come on. Try, poppy girl. You know blood magic works. You’ve done it before.”
Her gaze returns to my face, sharp and scornful.
“You’re a disgrace. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
I laugh, dropping my hands to my lap. “I have no shame, love. And I have no more pride, either. If I lose you, I’ll lose everything, so do with me as you please. Make me crawl, make me beg, make me hurt. I will debase myself—for you.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows with discomfort.
Magic gathers in front of her, red light coalescing into a triangular shape, a crystal bottle that looks just like the collateral I gave her, the one she ripped out of her body to let me find her.
The blood swirling in the magical sphere floats out of it, siphoned into the crystal bottle.
Jaga stoppers it and puts the chain around her neck.
It hangs between her breasts, heavy and red, and she sighs deeply, closing her eyes to focus.
It takes but a moment for me to feel it. My tongue tingles, feeling rigid and tight, like I am not free to speak anymore. Jaga frowns, tilting her head to the side. The tingling lessens, and I smack my lips, trying to disperse the numbness.
“I made it so you can lie to everyone but me,” she admits grudgingly, avoiding my eyes. “It would be amusing to make you speak only the truth.”
I nod, heaving myself up with a grunt. “But you didn’t, because we are at war and I must be able to lie to keep my identity a secret. Thank you.”
She shrugs, her jaw working. I stand, watching her with scrutiny until I realize why she behaves so oddly. Jaga doesn’t hate me anymore, not as much as before. There’s a thin, fragile thread of trust between us. My pain must have appeased some of her anger. I am forgiven—a little.
“Well, ask me,” I whisper, drilling my gaze into her reluctant profile. “Ask me anything you want, and I’ll tell you the truth.”
When her eyes lock with mine, they are defiant and wary, and I understand why she dawdles. The questions she has for me must be as revealing as my answers will be.
She takes a deep breath, holds the air in, and closes her eyes. Her shoulders drop in resignation.
“If you have to pick between me and defeating Perun, what will you choose?”