Page 17 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter seventeen

Roots

“That’s unfair,” I whine. “You didn’t let me think.”

“You’re the one who claims to not care for me at all,” he says smoothly. “It shouldn’t matter what I do. Rise a little, pet. That’s it.”

As I lift my hips, he pulls my ass closer until I’m perfectly positioned to take him inside me. His hands rest on my waist, pushing down so gently, it’s as if gravity alone coaxes me to impale myself on his cock. My thighs burn as I resist, my heart hammers, and I just wish for a moment of peace to think clearly.

Or maybe a cold bath.

“What the fuck?!”

I conjure a rainfall of icy water that drenches us both. I have so much magic, it comes easily, and pelting rain whips my face and hair. Woland snorts out water, and I slide off him clumsily, just in time. He stands up and leaps away into a dry patch. I end the spell, laughing hoarsely even as I shiver from the brutal cold.

“So I can’t use your magic directly against you, but I can make a little rain,” I tease with a grin as Woland shoots me an angry look, water glittering in his antlers. His light orbs glow on, undisturbed.

“I’ll start with the upir,” he hisses, full of spite. “And I’ll leave the woman and baby alive, making it clear it was your fault. I won’t even need to touch you. Their hate will do the job.”

My heart aches when I imagine it for a moment, the perfect torture designed to hurt me the most. The devil knows where to strike and how to twist the knife.

But I know him, too.

“Do it and I will go to Perun,” I say, swallowing my fear. “You claimed throughout this unfair negotiation that I have nothing to bargain with, but that’s not true. Touch them, and it’s over. You can lock me up, chain me to the floor, and do whatever you want, but I will find a way to run. I always do. Your precious rebellion will die, and you, my darling , will lose.”

Woland advances, his hooves splashing water from small puddles on the uneven stone floor. I realize his shadows are gone, and the space we’re in is much vaster than I thought. It’s an enormous cavern, the devil’s furious steps echoing off the far walls. The ceiling, which is just tall enough to fit Woland’s height, is supported by massive pillars chiseled with shapes of snakes and vines.

“I don’t care what the fuck you think will happen,” he hisses, grabbing my throat. “I gave you a chance to pay for what you did to me. You flung it away.”

There it is, that simmering rage I expected and feared.

He pushes me back until I hit a pillar. His fingers tighten, just enough to constrict my breathing, and I dig my nails into his hand, already knowing how futile it is. Woland hunches low until his face is level with mine, burning eyes holding my helpless gaze.

“What… did I do… that was so bad…” I try to ask, but my voice is barely loud enough to hear.

His fingers tighten and he laughs, the sound horrible and cruel. I gasp in shallow breaths that supply too little air. His big hand wraps clean around my neck. His thumb caresses me once, and then he squeezes.

“Do you have any idea how many women would beg on their knees to be offered what I gave you?” he asks, eyes cold as he watches me suffocate. “My child, my eternal protection and fidelity, my home, access to my blood. I gave you more than any woman before you, and you fucking ran. ”

I blink heavily and stop struggling. My thoughts swirl too slowly for me to make sense of what he’s saying. Is his pride wounded? Why does he care so much?

Woland loosens his hold, scoffing with disgust, and I wheeze in big breaths through my bruised throat that he still holds in his palm.

“You offered me… a cage,” I say, my voice scratchy and taut. “Why don’t you… offer it to those women… who beg you.”

His shadows flare around him in a magnificent display, dark magic oozing in every direction until it looks like he has enormous wings made of darkness. His eyes dim, and he bares his teeth in an expression so beastly, I press my back into the pillar with a jolt of fear.

“You have no idea how close I am to slaughtering those three right now,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, his nose touching mine. “I’ll make you watch. It will break you into pieces. I swear, Jaga, if I can’t have you whole, I’ll have you broken.”

My instinct is to taunt him to just do it already and watch me take my revenge, but I bite my tongue. His eyes are so wide, pupils dilated, and he breathes hard. His hand around my throat trembles. He looks wild, unhinged, and I suddenly believe his threat.

He will kill them. He’s on the edge of losing control.

And yet, he’s still here, with me, not chasing down my hapless friends. He wants to hurt me, but he wants something else more.

It takes every ounce of willpower to go against my nature. Woland has threatened and bruised me, and all I want is to fight him until the world crumbles to dust around us, but that’s not how I’ll win.

I put my arms around him, jolting when I feel how tense he is, little trembles wracking his robust frame. He truly holds on by a thread. If I say the wrong thing, he’ll snap.

“I missed you,” I say, stroking his back with infinite gentleness. “I missed you every day. I hated you, I was terrified you’d find me, and yet the longing was greater. Do you know what I did every night in my room before I went to sleep? I made little illusions of you just so I could see your face.”

His breath hitches, a shiver going down his spine. I swallow hard, because it hurts to speak, and my voice is so hoarse. But this is what he wants. He told me, he asked for it, and it should cost me nothing, but it’s my deepest, most shameful truth, and that’s why I’d rather say anything but this.

“If you hadn’t tried to lock me in a cage, I would have stayed with you.” My voice drops low, my throat refusing to say things I haven’t had the courage to admit even to myself—until now. “Despite everything. Despite what you did to me and my friends. That’s how much I need you.”

He gathers me to himself, lifting me easily until I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to his warmth. I’m half-naked, drenched in cold water, but his touch soothes the pain of secrets ripping out of my soul.

“And I’d like to stay by your side,” I confess, my lips barely moving.

It’s terrifying, what I say. My words make Bogna’s death mean nothing. Sara’s death, the baby’s death—all meaningless, because I choose him despite what he did to them.

“But not if you make me your slave,” I add, my pulse a wild, fluttering moth in my chest. “Not if you force me to come to heel like a dog. So no, I will not take your deal, but I’ll offer you something else instead.”

I fall silent, my body tight with uncertainty. I don’t know if I managed to break through his wrath. Maybe even just a hint of rejection will send him on a murderous rampage. Maybe I’ve wounded his pride enough to make him truly hate me.

When Woland nods once, releasing a long, heavy breath, I sag in relief.

“I’m listening,” he says, so quiet, I barely hear it over the sound of a drop splashing into a puddle.

“I’ll stay. I’ll even fight on your side, because I hate what Perun is doing. I will not be at your beck and call, but I’ll be here, and you can invite me to your bed. Just don’t… Don’t threaten my friends if I refuse you. That’s a cage, too, and I hate being trapped.”

He leans his antlers on the pillar above my head, taking a deep, rib-flaring breath. I hold on to him, my bare back pressed against the cold stone, my front pleasantly warm. He’s so hot. Like a furnace.

“You’ll sleep in my bed every night,” he counters my offer, his voice rough. “We don’t have to fuck, but you’ll stay here. Nowhere else. With no one else.”

I need only a moment to consider.

“Fine. But you’ll help me protect Dar.” When he makes an inquiring noise, I explain, “My friend’s baby. I did something to him. Something that’s apparently forbidden. I don’t know what he needs now, but I think you might.”

Woland takes another deep breath and pulls away from the pillar, holding me tightly. He walks through the cavern, his hooves echoing, until he steps onto a thick, woven rug in a dark corner of the cave. I lift my head just as he sits down on a high, enormous bed covered with crimson sheets. The frame is made of carved, black wood that immediately reminds me of his skull throne he conjured once to sit on.

I can’t believe it. It’s the devil’s bed.

“It’s so odd to see it,” I say, stroking his tense nape. “You have a bed, just like everyone. It seems so… mundane.”

He snorts, arranging me in his lap until I sit sideways. He pulls a thick coverlet closer and covers me, avoiding my eyes as he arranges the fabric around my shivering body with great care.

“I don’t need to sleep, but sometimes I choose to. What did you do to the baby?”

“He sort of… died. The second toll last night killed him. I… I might have brought him back.”

His hands freeze, gripping the edges of the coverlet. When I look up, his eyes are bright, studying me with piercing attention. I clear my throat, the burn gone now, healed by Woland’s blood. When he still says nothing, I squirm, playing with the coverlet he bundled around me. It’s soft and thick, the fabric better than any of my dresses.

“Say something.”

“How much time passed between his death and your intervention?” he asks finally, voice perfectly even.

“Maybe a minute. I acted instantly. I don’t know if it matters, but I talked to him. You see, when I died, I still heard everything. I heard your voice when you came, and I stayed to listen. That’s why I thought he might hear me and linger long enough.”

Woland is quiet, and when I risk a glance at his face, he watches me with uncanny intensity.

“What? It wasn’t that hard,” I mutter, defensive under his scrutiny. His lack of reaction unsettles me. I’d prefer it if he made fun of me.

“How exactly did you do it?” His next question is mild, almost indifferent. “Describe the entire process.”

He can help Dar , I remind myself, settling in. I tell Woland everything that happened, the thoughts I had, how much magic I poured into the boy, how I held on to hope. I explain which of his organs I focused on the most. Then I tell him about Lech’s reaction. Woland listens without interrupting until I’m done.

“The boy will be fine,” he says in the end. “You’re right, the rodzanicas might realize something is wrong, but they don’t go out much. They aren’t a threat. You should rather worry about yourself.”

My gut plummets with foreboding. “So Lech was right? It’s against the law?”

Suddenly, Woland grins, his calm indifference falling away. He seems delighted.

“It’s not just against the law. It’s against nature, life, and the foundations of creation,” he says cheerfully, his light tone belying the seriousness of his words. “The good news is, if you’re ever found out, you’ll be chained right next to me when we’re sentenced to an eternity of suffering. You’re as bad as me, poppy girl, or even worse. It took me centuries to get where I am, but you? So evil, at so young an age.”

He laughs warmly, and I roll my eyes, more annoyed than scared now.

“I don’t see how helping a baby stay alive is wrong. If anything, the toll that took his life in the first place is the true evil. And I wish you were serious. You make it sound like a joke, and yet you talk about eternal suffering.”

“If things were up to me, it would be a joke,” he says, his smile gone, though his eyes still spark. “But alas, we live in Perun’s world. That means you can’t tell anyone, ever. Does the mother know?”

“Just Lech. But he won’t say anything.”

Woland’s brows lift. “And you trust him with the fate of your soul? Jaga, if Perun finds out, he will chain you to the roots of the Great Oak, and as they slowly grow and spread, they will tear you apart, but you won’t die. This kind of punishment is meant to last an eternity. That’s what he did to…”

He breaks off, blinks, and his eyes refocus on my face with a certain watchfulness.

“To whom?”

“To his brother. He liked to play with creation, too. And look where he is now.”

His voice is bitter, eyes averted. I snuggle closer, eager to hear more, and Woland’s arm tightens around me.

“You mean Weles,” I say. “Or should I not mention his name? I heard there’s a law against it, too.”

The devil gives me a crooked smile. “Say his name all you want down here, but not in the city. Names have power. Or have you forgotten?”

He presses his thumb to my lower lip, and I gasp softly, remembering the night when he got me to take his name. Every time I said it, it cut a wound into my tongue, and he kissed me, sucking blood out of my mouth.

“Do many people call you by name?” I ask, remembering the rebel who was shocked I was able to say it.

“A chosen few,” he says with a smirk. “All right, I will help the boy. If it turns out you resurrected an abomination, I’ll give him a merciful death. Which side of the bed will you sleep on?”

I narrow my eyes on him, but in the end, I decide he’s upheld his end of the bargain. I asked him for his opinion and he gave it. Thanks to him, I won’t be as worried about Dar.

“The one farthest from you. And you promise my friends will be safe?”

Woland scoffs under his breath. “As long as they don’t betray us or get themselves stupidly killed. And as to your question about my tactics, my condition stands. I’ll tell you when my thorns are inside you.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need to know.”

I try to sound cool, but his low chuckle lets me know I fail. He embraces me tighter, burying his face in my hair, and then lets me go.

“Fix your dress and get yourself warm and dry,” he says as I stand on the rug between his spread legs. “I want to see how you wield magic.”

“And why would I show you?” I ask, pulling up the torn front of my dress to cover myself.

My hair is still wet, dripping water, and I know I’ll catch a chill if I don’t get warm soon. I have enough magic to conjure a dozen new dresses. And yet, here I am, being obstinate, because Woland’s commands annoy me to no end.

He surprises me with a reasonable explanation.

“Because we’re on the same side for a change, and I need to assess your abilities. You said you want to fight. I’ll let you if you’re strong enough. Or you can stay down here and keep my bed warm. Your choice.”

He leans back on his hands, regarding me with a cunning smile. In the end, the cold and my pride win. Woland knows me like no one else, and after long weeks of hiding who I am, I long to show off.

I stride over to the wall by the bed and make a tall, narrow piece of it reflective. When I see myself, I huff an angry breath and whip toward him with a glare.

“You removed my disguise.”

Indeed, my hair is red again, my face freckled, features my own. My eye patch is gone. I didn’t notice in the blood frenzy before, but he must have taken it off.

“You look the best when you’re yourself,” he purrs. “Besides, you don't need it anymore. You were hiding from me, after all.”

With fingers trembling from the cold, I comb through my hair, focusing on making it dry and warm. Water evaporates from my scalp, steam rising, and Woland makes a low sound of approval.

“It’s not that simple,” I say when I’m finished. “My friends know me as someone else.”

“And now they will learn who you truly are.” He waves my protest away like it’s that easy. “You can tell them what you want apart from the prophecy. No one knows about it, only a few of those who came to your Kupala Night. We can’t risk Perun finding out. Do you need me to explain why?”

“Because he’ll take me away and make you lose your rebellion,” I mutter, trying to match the edges of my dress as closely as possible before I seal them closed.

“Well, that is my reason to keep it secret. You should focus on the fact Perun will torture you, and if that fails, he’ll kill you. It pains me to say it, but he’s more powerful than me. He has all of Slawa’s magic at his disposal. You don’t stand a chance, so don’t talk about the prophecy.”

“Fine.”

I focus on making my dress whole, and the torn edges fuse together. The tear is still visible, but only just. I close my eyes and imagine warm, soft trousers hugging my legs. A moment later, they appear, a bit too loose, the seams imperfect, but at least they are warm. I dry my shoes and dress.

“Conjuring is one of the most advanced spells,” Woland murmurs. “You seem quite efficient. Are you close to running out?”

I shake my head and focus on my upper body, imagining a woolen sweater. On a whim and because I really want to impress him, I add a bit of embroidery—a bunch of poppies against the cream wool over my chest. The sweater appears on top of my dress, snug and warm. My breathing grows faster from exertion, Woland’s magic almost spent, though I’m still good for a spell or two.

“I think you discovered a new way to arouse a man,” he murmurs, coming to stand behind me. “It usually works the other way round, but you got me horny putting clothes on. My powerful witch.”

The hard proof of his desire presses to my back. I watch us in the mirror. I’m tall for a woman, yet still so much shorter than him. He towers over me, and we clash in so many ways. I’m dressed in warm layers, he’s naked; my skin is fair and freckled, his dark gray; I’m slender, he’s muscular, his shoulders broad and manly. And yet, we share something, too. Both of us sport uncanny eyes.

“Woland?” I ask softly.

“Hm?”

“You said Perun will kill me if he can’t have me. But what will you do? When whatever you’re plotting right now inevitably fails?”

His lips curve in a smile, but his eyes remain serious as he pulls some of my hair away from my face, his claw teasing the side of my neck.

“If I have to choose between you and victory, I’ll choose victory. I’ve fought for centuries, and it’s what I want the most,” he says quietly, and I shiver, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“But unlike Perun, I will be sorry to kill you.”