Chapter 24 Alliance
Chapter twenty-four
Alliance
It’s already night when Jaga finds me in the Hall of Fires, where I’m pondering a glowing map stretched like a phantom miniature of the world on the floor.
It shows Nawie, Slawa, and Wyraj, the land dotted with minuscule trees and glittering rivers.
Tiny explosions of lightning zap the forest west of the mountain with the city of Slawa. The storm rages still.
My gaze snaps to her hands when she approaches, and I can’t help but wonder if she washed them after playing with the rot for hours.
They look clean, nothing lodged under her nails, and I relax.
There is something uncanny about the unflinching way she faces the most disgusting aspects of bodies, but if she washes her hands after, I can live with it.
“You said you brought me a gift.”
“Ah, yes.” I straighten, giving her a small bow. “I’m afraid half of your gift is already asleep, but the other half should be awake. She was knitting when I left her. Do you want to see her now?”
“Who?”
“Your friend Rada.”
Jaga folds her arms, looking anything but happy. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, and her nostrils flare, sending pleasant tingles down my spine. I consider for the first time that maybe my kink for pain and humiliation is more powerful than I thought. Maybe I’ve made her hate me because I enjoy it.
Oh, the complexities of men. I’ve been alive for thousands of years and still don’t understand everything about myself.
“Why have you brought her here?” Jaga demands in a sharp voice that tightens my balls with pleasure. “Tell me the truth.”
I smile and bow again, which enrages her further.
Yes. I definitely like it. Which is so peculiar, because if I were Woland, I would plot how to subjugate this feisty woman and get her underneath me.
We are so different—yet so symmetrical, me and him.
Light and shadow, submissive and dominant, polished and rough.
Jaga waits for my answer, and I do my best to focus, wondering how to phrase it best.
“I wasn’t completely certain Perun wouldn’t unload his fury on Slawa after my stunt. Therefore, I grabbed the two people you love the most and brought them here to keep them safe. My intentions were completely hon… Completely… Dammit.”
She blinks, and her lips stretch in a sharp, predatory grin. “You were about to lie. ‘Completely… honorable’, you tried to say. What’s dishonorable about your intentions, Weles?”
I sigh and look up at the black, glittering ceiling. “If your friends are in Nawie, you’ll want to stay here. You’ll fight harder to save us. You might give me your soul—to keep them safe.”
She inhales sharply, then her hand is on my throat, squeezing. My blood flows south in such a rush, I wobble on my feet. Her angry, mismatched eyes are an inch away from mine, and she hisses furiously, her breath smelling like wine and honey.
“Are you going to threaten them if I don’t? Will you use Dar to blackmail me? Tell me!”
“No!” My voice is raspy under her hold, but she’s not squeezing hard enough to rob me of breath. “It was pure emotional manipulation, I swear! I want you to like it here. To call it home.”
“This will never be my home!” she hisses through clenched teeth. “Because you took away my chance at an afterlife. Stop scheming, stop trying to… Just stop!”
Her mouth is so close to mine, I feel its heat, and she’s breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling against my chest. I am as hard as a rock. But instead of kissing her like I want to, I purse my lips and blow a stream of air right into her mouth.
Jaga stumbles back, and I feel the surge of power within her through our bond. She clutches her chest, shaking her head, then screams, helpless and furious.
“You could be at home here just like I am,” I tell her when her scream dies down, replaced by hiccupping, angry sobs. “Not as one of the dead, but as a goddess. One more to herd the souls with Nyja and me.”
She spits on the ground at my feet, her face ugly with scorn. “I am not a goddess!”
“Yes, you are. Maybe you have no shrines in the mortal world, and maybe nobody prays to you yet, but you are one of us. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be.”
“You’re mad,” she hisses with a disdainful glare, composing herself. “Where did you put them?”
“One level above,” I say instantly, pointing up with my chin. “I made her a beautiful home, Jaga. She wants to be here, as does the child. They have a pretty cottage with a garden, a dog, and two cats. She’s happy. And safe.”
“I’ll see for myself.”
She stomps away with a loud thudding of her heels, and I fist myself through my pants with a groan. What have I done to deserve this?
Well, many things. But apart from that?
After I deal with my discomfort, thinking of Jaga and her angry eyes, I go to Chors, who’s floating on his back in his cave. He is still strong since the full moon was a few days ago, and the perfect choice to act as my emissary.
“How is she?” he asks as soon as I enter.
I want to laugh and scoff at once. Jealousy, always jealousy, but also affection. Maybe it’s natural that we both care about the same woman. We’ve been the closest over centuries, me and him. Chors means to me even more than Nyja.
“Why don’t you see yourself?” I ask. “Though be warned, she likes playing with pus and entrails these days.”
He smiles wryly, raising his arm above his chest. The water glitters silver as it slides down his forearm, and he sighs.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to give you two space.
Everything I’ve done since you saved her was to help you win her back.
But Father, I am disappointed. You made it sound like she was completely immortal before.
Because you loved her so much, you couldn’t handle her dying.
And now I learn she can, in fact, die. From your hand. ”
I huff with bitter amusement. “I am not that selfless.”
“I suppose not.” He hums thoughtfully. “You know, it cannot be love until you two are equals.”
“How do you know?” I ask, sitting in the sand with a sigh. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No. But I’d like to try.”
The world rocks around me like a boat, and I grab fistfuls of the discolored, silvery sand as I struggle to regain balance. But it’s only me that’s shaken, not the cave.
I haven’t even realized how enormously afraid I was of this—that he actually loves Jaga.
Because I cannot be selfless for her, but I could for him, and the thought terrifies me. That he loves her and I might be capable of giving her up to make him happy.
“What?” Chors asks with a small smile when I don’t reply. “It surprises you?”
I clear my throat. “No, of course not. I knew you were like this. And… I wish you luck in your search for love. You’ll need it. It’s a horrible ordeal and the best thing in the world to love someone.”
“How would you know?” he asks with a husky laugh. “It’s not like you are truly in love with anyone. Not even yourself. More so the pity. Someone should love you, Father, at least one person in all the worlds.”
I growl in irritation, conjuring a flock of tiny fish in the water. I direct them with my magic until they gather under Chors and nibble on his buttocks and feet. He flails with a shocked gasp, submerging briefly, and I laugh.
When he emerges, looking wet and unusually annoyed, I get up.
“You love me, son, and that’s enough. Will you go to the King of Bees once Perun’s tantrum is over?
Tell him Perun keeps attacking us, as well, and we’d like to join forces to fight him.
Make sure to comment on all the destruction you see in the forest, and how bleak and pitiful it looks.
That should convince him well enough. The King is incredibly vain about his wood. ”
Chors tilts his head to the side. “You mean woods?”
“I said what I said.”
And now, there’s nothing else to do but wait.
Jaga has ensconced herself with Rada, only coming out to check on her victims every two hours.
I feel tempted to send my shadows to spy on their conversation, but refrain in the end.
She’s entitled to some privacy, especially now that the bond connecting us will let me know as soon as something serious happens to her.
Then I remember it works both ways, and a devilish idea pops in my head. I go over to my throne and claim it for myself for once, conjuring an enormous wall of obsidian in front of me. I pull my cock out of my pants, already hardening at the thought of how furious Jaga will be when I do this.
I made myself come before, but it was a quick, purely physical affair.
This time, I allow all my suppressed yearning, love, and need to explode with full force to make it resonate across our bond.
To help myself I conjure a memory onto the black wall before me.
Here she is, Jaga by the river, taking my name while I drink blood right from her mouth.
I sigh and slouch back, watching us, her and Woland, as I stroke myself.
She is so small under him, so pale and pink and freckled, out of her mind with lust. She seems years younger, too, even though it was barely over a year ago.
Such an innocent Jaga, already a queen jerking me around by my balls.
Then comes the moment when he hears the cry for help from Nawie. He grows rigid in the scene, and Jaga looks up with confusion, dazed and wanton. In reality, I went away and left her alone in the dewy grass.
But today I choose a fantasy instead of the truth. The scene continues, Woland shaking off the call and coming back to his witch, so very selfish. She parts her freckled thighs wider, and he pushes in, so very slowly, instantly knowing something’s wrong.
How I wish I had done it differently when I took her the first time.
Now, in this fantasy, I get to do just that.
Woland stops, checks with her, and pulls out, working her looser with his fingers and magical lubrication.
She’s hot and feverish, writhing in his grip, and I stroke myself faster, remembering how she feels inside.
Like a cunt, of course, one of a million yet special, because it’s Jaga’s cunt, and for a fucked-up reason, it makes all the difference in the world.
Current Jaga’s voice booms in my head. “What the fuck are you… What is this?”
She sounds angry, then bashful, coming through our bond like a vengeful wife ready to catch her husband cheating only to be shocked by his faithfulness.
“I was bored, so I decided to pleasure myself, and since I can’t get it up without you, here we are.”
She is silent, but I sense her in my mind, looking out through my eyes. Woland pulls his fingers out and strokes his cock, spreading her wetness and his down his shaft. The golden orbs shine bright, making it glisten, and he bends down low to give her a slow, tender kiss.
“This is how I should have done it the first time.”
Woland pushes her knees up to her chest and enters her slowly. Pleasure fights pain on her face while he looks down at her with infinite tenderness and lust. His thrusts are gentle and restrained, and he pulls out after a few to kiss her lips and whisper in her ear.
“Have you considered that we could have another first time? You’ve fucked Woland dozens of times, but Weles—never.”
“Fuck you. Don’t speak to me. I’m going.”
And yet, she stays on in my mind, watching avidly.
Woland enters her again, and she stretches in bliss, long arms thrown above her head where her gorgeous wet hair lies strewn in the grass.
I stroke myself faster, and there is no sound coming from the scene, but her lips move, and I know she’s chanting my name.
“Yes, beautiful poppy girl,” I hiss through clenched teeth, sounding like Woland. “Take it all. Be mine. Be only mine. And then make me yours.”
Woland’s hips snap faster and faster, and Jaga cranes her neck back, screaming her release. He stills with a beastly expression on his face, his body trembling as he spends himself, and I know he locked her in, his thorns throbbing deep inside her body.
I gasp, painting the floor with my release, and close my eyes, shaking. I let too much come to the surface, all that yearning, that pitiful anguish. Yet, I still feel Jaga with me, and it gives me hope that’s even more of a torment than the hopelessness before.
“You asked me once why I always used the thorns. Truth is, poppy girl, I just couldn’t help myself with you.
I am hardly in control when you are around, and it was like that from the start.
Instincts ride me, base and beastly, and I blunder and fail and fuck up.
I would have won you over a hundred times if I didn’t want you so much. Isn’t it ironic?”
She says nothing but stays, watching quietly through my eyes as I tuck myself back in my clothes and dismiss the obsidian wall with the image of us cuddling in postcoital bliss. She stays when I pour myself a large glass of her wine, and then later, when I stare at the fire, waiting and wanting.
“Come join me. I miss you.”
But she never comes.