Page 15 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter fifteen

Bottom

Lech leads us through the cavern into a narrow corridor, and then into a small underground room. It’s crammed with crates and sacks but thankfully empty of people. He closes the door and leans against it, giving us a wary look.

Rada sniffs once, swallowing tears, then sits down on the nearest crate and gives Dar a breast. The baby eats happily, lulled into calmness by the long, rocking walk down the stairs. She focuses on him and deliberately avoids looking at Lech.

That’s okay. I’ll deal with him.

“Explain yourself,” I demand through clenched teeth, taking a step closer until he’s crowded against the door.

“I was put under a spell that made it impossible to talk about it,” Lech says in a voice that betrays little contrition. “Which is why I couldn’t warn you. And I know that wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but these are trustworthy, loyal people. You’ll be safe here. These tunnels were built by Weles himself, and they are protected by a powerful, ancient magic. Not even Perun can break through.”

“Loyal to whom?” I bite out through clenched teeth.

I’m furious, but even that anger can’t cover up the fear underneath. I feel like the walls are closing in around me. I’m buried underground with no way out, and a horrible, choking premonition makes my stomach roil with nausea.

“The rebellion,” Lech says, confirming my worst fear.

I clench my fists, my entire body locking up to keep the scream from spilling. It’s useless, though. Panic takes root in the pit of my stomach, making my skin itch with the need to flee.

“I have to go,” I say, my voice breaking. “Move out of the way.”

The upir shakes his head, the familiar sardonic spark glimmering in his eye. “So you’d rather live out there with the risk of dragons trying you on made-up heresy charges or raping you against the wall? Alina, this is the safest place in the world. Most caverns are so deep, the toll doesn’t reach there. It’s a privilege to be allowed in.”

“Privilege,” Rada mutters under her breath, her usually kind voice venomous.

If there’s one thing Rada can’t stand, it’s having her baby threatened.

“I don’t want your fucking privilege!” I scream, my control shattering. “I didn’t sign up for this! You fucking stay if you want, but you can’t stop me!”

“The guards will stop you,” Lech hisses. “What’s the matter with you? I thought you wanted to fight—because that’s what we do! We fight for a better world for us—for Dar! You broke the most sacred law last night, Alina. You belong here. I did you a favor, don’t you see?”

That gets Rada’s attention. “What sacred law?” she asks, her silver eyes searching my face.

I realize she looks like herself again. I am so panicked, I let my illusion slip. My heart breaks when our eyes meet, hers so innocent and soft despite everything she suffered.

My throat tightens with grief when I realize this is our goodbye. I can’t stay. My very presence is a threat to her, to them all.

Because Woland is the leader of the rebellion, and he will kill them once he knows how much they mean to me.

I turn to Lech, my mind made, my panic freezing into something cold and unshakeable.

“Move or I’ll move you.”

He grins, treating it like a challenge. “Let’s wrestle”

The upir folds me into a tight embrace, his strong body flexing with power around me. I don’t even try to break out of his hold. Instead, I make my skin grow spikes.

Lech leaps away with a cry of pain, blood seeping from numerous shallow wounds down his front. I don’t stay to look or assess my dress for damage. The way out is unbarred, and I shoot through the door, shaking off my cloak. It slows me down.

When the corridor ends, I stop, panting. The cavern is crowded now. I count at least two dozen people, all of them between me and the exit.

Upirs, kobolds, mamunas, and others. Some hold weapons but most are empty-handed, many smiling indulgently. Like they’ve done this a hundred times before and already know the outcome. Like it’s a game they are eager to play.

“Now, dear,” the strzyga says with a grin, cracking her knuckles. “Don’t make us hurt you.”

I don’t have a strategy or any space left inside me for thought. All I have is raw panic and the powerful magic humming under my ribs. Led by instinct, I do the same thing I did to Woland that night.

My palms outstretched, I target the strzyga. Fly.

She cries out when the force of my magic picks her up, slamming her back against the fuzzy wall. Her body makes a sickly crunch, and she slides to the floor, her head lolling. She’s unconscious.

A hush falls over the crowd, the relaxed atmosphere evaporating. Eyes narrow while hands tighten on clubs and daggers. My fear and desperation coil into a noose around my neck, and I grin, a cackle bubbling in my throat.

I always laugh when I’m about to die.

“Who’s next?” My voice rings out in the deadly silence.

A kobold, furry and almost as big as a bear, drops down to all fours and charges me. I bring my hand down with my fingers splayed, thinking, cut.

He bellows in pain and rage, stumbling. Four deep wounds on his side ooze dark blood. I laugh under my breath, drunk on my power that I finally get to use. I have so much more to spend.

“Surround her,” a blonde upir woman grunts, crouching to reach into her boot. She produces a short, vicious looking knife.

“How about no.”

I fall to my knees, laying both palms flat on the floor. I only have one shot at this, and then I’ll have to run. The rebels charge at me, and I send a powerful wave through the cave floor. Fall, I command.

Some stumble, some trip, but some stay standing. They come closer and closer, carefully, as if I’m a wild animal they want to corner. I grit my teeth against the stretch in my chest and change my tactic.

Chains.

Metal clinks as half-illusory, half-real chains spring from the floor, wrapping around legs and torsos. My magic pours out in a torrent, and I scream, the pain too much. I cut off the spell and lurch into a stumbling trot. At least the way to the door is clear. Maybe I have just enough magic in me to seal it after I leave so they can’t follow.

“Stop.”

I whine at the sound of his voice. It’s a command infused with the familiar, powerful magic that tastes like blood and lies. I know I’m doomed, I know it’s over, but I don’t obey. I take another unsteady step toward the door. It’s so close.

“Jaga. Stop.”

And then, it isn’t. A wall of shadows grows in front of me, blocking my way. I moan in fear when they reach for me, my body wracked by silent sobs I cannot stop. Soon, he’ll wrap those shadows around me, bury me in the mass of them, and I’ll never leave. I’ll be trapped forever.

But a strange thing happens. His shadows slide down my skin, not touching. It’s like I’m covered by an invisible barrier they cannot penetrate, and I realize with a jolt what it is.

The pendant on my neck, the vial of his blood that I used to hide from him, also contains a spell that stops his shadows from touching me. My relief is short lived. He’ll take the pendant away, I realize.

And I’ll never be able to run from him again.

With my last drop of magic, I press my palm to the pendant. Behind me, his hooves thud with steady steps, closer and closer. I have seconds left.

Mine, I think desperately. No one can take it. Only mine. Mine, mine, mine. Forever.

I cry out with pain when my collarbones move and grind inside me, sliding to the sides. My sternum pushes lower, sending shocks of agony through my entire ribcage. The well in my chest burns with icy emptiness, magic that I can’t afford to spend pulsing out in a wave that remakes my flesh and bones.

My skin melts, and I just sense through the pain how the pendant, burning hot under my sweaty palm, slides underneath my skin.

The agony isn’t over. It moves deeper, burrowing under my flesh, and my bones move out of the way until it feels like I’m falling apart.

Then it ends. My collarbones and sternum slide back. I gulp a deep breath, down on my knees, though I don’t remember falling. Something tinkles. The chain I wore the pendant on falls to the stone floor.

A pair of strong, claw-tipped hands lifts me from the ground. He doesn’t even give me a chance to look at him, just throws me over his shoulder and walks away. I try to do the same thing I did to Lech, thinking spikes, but my magic won’t answer. I’ve spent it all.

“Nobody touches those who brought her,” he says, his deep, beastly voice sending prickles down my back. “I’ll deal with them.”

“No,” I sob. “No, you can’t. Please.”

He doesn’t answer, and I sob harder. “Please. Woland, I beg you.”

Someone gasps, someone else curses, and someone exclaims in a harsh whisper, “She said his name!”

The devil ignores them all. His hooves thud at a steady pace. He takes me down a corridor, through a door, down another corridor, down a winding staircase. I blink and blink, but my vision swims. I just see the coil of his tail swinging in my periphery, and then I drift away, magical depletion taking me under.

I startle awake when a door clangs shut. My heart goes from a sleepy rhythm into a frantic flutter, and I gasp in terror. Woland stops, his chest moving under me as he takes a deep breath.

Next thing I know, I’m in his lap, his arms around me. I shake so badly, my teeth chatter, and I don’t have any strength left. Not even enough to push him away.

A moment passes in complete silence. Then another. I realize I’m not the one shaking. He is.

“Are you laughing?” I ask, my hoarse voice barely a whisper.

All those weeks, I was convinced he would torture me the first chance he got. After all, I foiled his plan. He was so enraged when I ran, and I expected that rage to boil and fester until it exploded when we met again.

But Woland defies expectations. This terrifies me even more.

I want to look at his face to understand what’s going on, but I can’t move at all. Even if I could, his heavy hand rests on the side of my head, pressing it into his chest. His heart beats fast, strong thuds banging like a war drum against his ribs.

After what feels like ages, he clears his throat. His voice is hoarse and quiet. It sounds like he’s suffocating with a powerful emotion, only, I don’t know which one.

“Did you think this disguise would fool me, poppy girl? I’ll always recognize you. I know the shape and taste of your soul.”

My scalp and face tingle as a warm caress of magic slides down my head and body. I make a raw sound, something between fear and curiosity, and Woland pulls my head away from his chest. I look up.

A shaky breath gets stuck in my throat. This is a facet of him I’ve never seen. He looks tortured, his face etched with pain and longing, his eyes blazing gold, full lips parted as he breathes fast. He looks at me like he’s terrified, and I don’t understand it. He has nothing to fear from me. I’m the one who’s afraid.

He doesn’t give me time to sort through my confusion. His clawed hand buries in my hair, and he tugs back roughly, baring my throat. Moving with the sinuous velocity of a snake, he leans over me and sinks his teeth into my skin, pulling a deep drink of blood straight from my vein.

The sound he makes is obscene, a broken moan so raw, it makes my body tighten. He takes another long drink, and I’m lost.

I cry out from shock, pain, and elation. My response shames me, my body growing pliant and soft, pleasure flooding my bloodstream. Woland growls, his claws digging into me so hard, it hurts, but the bliss is greater than the pain. I sink my blunt nails into his shoulders, holding him to me, as he drinks with desperate greed.

It’s like he’s an animal. There is no stopping him, his teeth digging deeper, long tongue lapping at the wound with grunts of avarice. I’m wrapped up in his arms and tail, and with every tug he takes from my vein, I grow weaker. Not from blood loss alone, though I’d love to believe that.

No, I feel with every fiber of my being how much he needs me, and it breaks through the walls I put between us. He drinks like a man who’s been denied water for months. I’m his purest spring, the thing he craves, and now that I’m here, he’s helpless to do anything but take.

My thoughts swirl dizzily, fear abating, a strange sort of trance slowing down the spin of the world around me. I forget everything that happened after we parted. How I survived the forest, the people I met and lied to, the things I did to save them. The person I became, the lie I built, is lost in the whirlwind of Woland’s greed.

I am his again. Like I always was.

And yet… And yet… There was something I was supposed to do.

“Please,” I whisper, my body falling away with a strange sense of lightness. “Don’t kill them.”

My spirit hovers just under my skin, unbearably light. My mind is foggy and unfocused.

“Fuck,” Woland grunts, pulling away. “Drink.”

I open my mouth in silent obedience, expecting his thumb. But he brings me up, pressing my face to the crook of his neck. His skin splits under my lips, and I suckle at the wound with a sob, taking and taking, his blood the most perfect taste in the world, like power and magic and lies.

He cradles the back of my head in his palm, small tremors running through his fingers.

“Drink from me now,” he murmurs. “Not that you need it. So strong. My perfect witch. I’ll fucking hurt you for leaving me like that. Drink, my love. I’ll make you pay for how you made me suffer. Take all you need.”

I weep into his neck, my self-control obliterated. Gods, how I longed for him. No amount of shame and willpower can stop me now that I finally have him. He’s here, just for me, and his blood fills me with magic and the glow of wellbeing.

As I drink more and more, the world opens just as it did once by the river.

I hear the tunnels around us, drilled deep into the mountain’s belly. I hear the rebels skulking around, and my bones vibrate with the groaning shivers of the land supporting all that weight of buildings, so many people, their misery and waste.

I feel the threads that connect my heart to others, pulled taut now. The one between me and Woland is the strongest, but there are others, too. Lech and Rada, little Dar, the milk bar, Foss, Rod, and Chors. And then, there are a few thinner threads connecting me to the world of the dead. Wiosna, Bogna, Bogna’s miscarried babies that I buried, and those who died at my hand back in my village.

And another thread, a thread running straight into the Great Oak, a thread so thin and translucent, it’s almost like a trick of light…

Woland pulls me away from his neck, his skin sealing. I mewl like a kitten denied its mother’s tit, and he breathes hard, embracing me with strong, yet shivering, arms. Under my thigh, his cock strains with lust.

“I gave you too much,” he says in a ragged voice. “The things you make me do. Fuck, how I hate you.”

“Yet you behave so much better than when you claimed to love me,” I say, my voice dreamy and slow, my mind and body suffused with the glittering force of his power.

Woland snorts. “You still have that sharp tongue. Good.”

He slides his claws through my hair, combing it gently. When I open my eyes, I realize we’re surrounded by his shadows. That means we’re outside time, and it helps me relax. In the aftermath of our intimate blood exchange, I need this moment of peace.

I’ll hate him later. I’ll fight him. But this stolen moment I take.

“Where are we?” I ask, settling more comfortably against his naked chest.

His skin is smooth and warm, muscles playing underneath as he moves to accommodate me. He’s just as I remember him, gray-skinned, lean, robust. His antlers tower above me, and I hate the ease with which I accept him now.

The devil. My lover.

“I call this room the rock bottom. It’s the deepest cavern in the rebel base,” he says. “The toll does not reach here. It’s where I stay when I’m in Slawa.”

We sit in silence, and it feels like the last few weeks haven't happened. But they have. He lied to me. He used me. And as I think about it, the warmth flowing through my limbs evaporates, a chill of fear settling in.

Here I am, so comfortable in his arms and drunk on his blood. So foolish, because this is another lie, another deceit, another manipulation.

Woland doesn’t truly need anyone, and certainly not as desperately as he pretends to need me. He is older than time and powerful beyond comprehension. And who am I?

A mortal woman who had the misfortune to be included in a prophecy. I am no one.

Woland growls quietly as I pull away, my body rigid. When I look at him, his face is perfectly blank, eyes opaque. That’s the devil I know, his mask firmly in place. His emotions are wiped clean, just like that, and it reinforces my conviction that he lied to me again. Nobody can shut down true passion just like that. It’s unnatural.

I grit my teeth and make my threat.

“If you touch them, I’ll go to Perun and give myself to him. I don’t care how much time and power it takes. I’ll do it.”

Woland releases a slow breath, something glittering deep in his eyes. His tail twitches with tension, but otherwise, he’s still.

After a long pause in which my heart launches into a violent rhythm of desperation and fear, he nods once.

“Let’s negotiate.”