Page 32 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter thirty-two

Duel

“Take it. It won’t bite,” he says with a low chuckle.

I don’t dare touch the tiny, intricate band. It’s made of a gleaming, black metal and inset with three red gems that glitter like wine in moonlight. The metal is twisted, looking a bit like black, naked tree boughs. The ring is menacing and stunning at the same time, but I can’t appreciate its beauty.

Back home, the richest people in the village sometimes bought rings from the traveling tradesmen to give to their girls as a sign of betrothal.

Wera’s mocking voice floats to the surface of my memory like a dead fish. As if he’d ever marry the likes of you.

“I don’t want a ring.” My voice sounds hollow and far away as my head spins. So much has changed in the span of one night. I don’t understand how Woland can go from avoiding me for weeks to this.

Is it truly all because of his jealousy? Or is it all a part of his plot—to baffle me so much, I’ll lose myself and become easier to control?

“Just put it on,” he coaxes, kneeling on the floor in front of me. “It’s just a pretty little thing to remind you of me.”

I shake my head. “And what else does it do? Not that I expect you to be honest.”

He rolls his eyes in mock indignation. An orb floats closer and bathes the ring in light, revealing incandescent prisms flickering within the gemstones.

“It doesn’t do anything. The gems are made from three drops of my blood, but they are stripped of magic. You can’t use it against me, and I can’t use it to control you in any way. Come on, poppy girl. Let yourself have something nice.”

“Will you force it on my finger if I keep refusing?” I ask, so tired from the sleepless night and everything he put me through.

Woland’s smile is smug and crafty. “No, but I’ll keep pestering you until I wear you down. I really want you to have it. If not for me, wear it for yourself, pet. My people will respect you more if they see my token on your finger.”

“Why do you care?” I ask with a sigh, already knowing I’ll give in.

“It’s like I told you. I hate the thought that you might betray me. If you wear my ring, you’ll remember to whom you belong, and that’s my only goal.”

I clench my jaw and extend my right hand. Woland slips the band onto my ring finger with a pleased huff, his eyes hooded as he looks up, bent low over my palm. As soon as the ring is in place, a searing pain stabs my skin underneath.

“Ow!”

I rip my palm out of his and examine it. Nothing seems to be amiss, and the pain already fades, but when I try to pull the ring off, my finger explodes with agony.

“Just a little something to make it harder to take off,” he says with an innocent smile, his tail twitching smugly. “My thorns gave me the idea.”

I gape at him, shocked by this new audacity. “Do you mean to say this ring has thorns that stick in my finger? Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes,” he says with a bright, shameless grin. “I’m out of my mind with love and jealousy. Show me your hand. Isn’t it pretty?”

I get up without a word, my hands shaking from anger. Woland follows me with a laugh. At the door, I turn and stomp my foot.

“Don’t you have something to do?” I hiss.

“Of course. I need to examine the progress my dearest consort made under Wera’s watchful eye. Make sure to show off the ring. Her reaction should help you appreciate it a bit more.”

“Oh, just leave me alone,” I whine in exasperation, turning my back on him.

Something lashes my ass. When I turn with a growl, his tail hits the fronts of my thighs.

“I already left you alone and it ended badly.” He takes my hand, the one with the ring, and places a soft kiss on the inside of my palm. “Get used to me. I’ll accompany you as much as I can from now on.”

“You think I’ll leave again,” I say flatly, pulling my hand out of his. “That’s what this is about. How is your plot going? Do you have me where you need me?”

He twines his fingers with mine, walking by my side.

“I don’t know what you mean. There is no plot, pet. Only a man besotted with his consort. Here, you must be tired.”

When we reach the deadly staircase Draga had me run up every morning for the past month, Woland sweeps me off my feet with a grin. He carries me all the way up, humming a cheerful melody under his breath, and I let him, though my mood only gets worse.

“You are ridiculous,” I tell him when he kisses my forehead, going down a corridor toward the forge. “Whatever you’re doing, it won’t work. I won’t fall for this.”

His white teeth glint in a roguish smile that makes him look young and very handsome. “Shh, pet. Let me be happy.”

I scoff but say nothing else. When he carries me into the forge, the sounds of fighting die down until the room fills with deafening silence. People stop their workouts and duels, dropping into hasty, almost panicked bows.

Woland waves an indulgent hand, still carrying me in his arms. “As you were. No need for that, soldiers.”

Their reluctance to go back to training, as well as the uncertain looks the rebels throw each other, make me realize Woland doesn’t normally show up here. On the far side of the room, Wera watches us with narrowed eyes, her head still bald, the healed skin shining as if polished.

“Put me down,” I demand in an undertone, knowing how these people would react if they heard me speaking to their master like that.

“Soon. I know how sore you are, my witch.”

Unlike mine, his voice carries. He walks through the forge without haste, and people can’t help but turn and look at us as his hooves thud on the stony floor.

“And what’s the purpose of this performance?” I ask, my lips barely moving since I try to keep my face impassive against the curious glances.

“Just showing you off, pet.”

He deposits me in front of Wera, his hands lingering on my shoulders as he stands behind me, tall and warm. She drops into a deep bow, her fists clenched. I realize why—it looks like she’s bowing to me.

This, finally, is the one thing I don’t hate. Woland huffs with amusement when Wera straightens, ignoring me completely as she addresses him.

“What do you require from me, master?”

“Duel my consort. I want to see what she’s learned.”

Wera’s mouth stretches in a hideous smile, and I already know she’ll go even harder on me than normal. I scoff, trying to shake off Woland’s hands that rest heavy on my shoulders. Thinking no one will hear me, I mutter, “Duel me yourself if you’re so curious.”

The strzyga levels me with the snakelike stare of her milky eyes. “Is that how you address your master?” she asks, much too gleeful as she raises her expectant gaze to Woland. She probably thinks he’ll punish me.

“It’s been ages since anyone challenged me to a duel,” he says with a low laugh. “But that’s my pet—so ambitious. Say, love, have you conquered Wera at least once in your training?”

“She has not, master,” the strzyga replies with an unpleasant titter.

He turns me so I face him, his grin sharp and blinding. “Then I guess I’ll have to go easy on you. I accept your challenge. And I’ll even give you a fighting chance, no matter how meager.”

He presses his clawed palm to my chest. Magic pours in, heady and rich, and the air fills with the faint smell of poppies and lovage, and something else, something dark and rainy. It’s too much, too fast. I grip his forearm to steady myself when my legs threaten to buckle, even as my heart hammers with joy, welcoming my own magic that he took away last night.

It feels intimate, much too forceful, and I grit my teeth to stop from making needy sounds of arousal. My entire body thrums, awake and brimming with power.

“Done,” Woland says, his voice pitched low. “Let’s fight. Try to stay on your feet for longer than three minutes.”

He takes my hand, the one with the ring, and leads me to the nearest empty duel area. As soon as we cross the line drawn on the floor, the barriers hum to life, trapping us inside.

I bite my tongue quite hard. I’ve never been more furious with myself for talking without thinking, because it’s obvious Woland will destroy me within a matter of seconds. And it shouldn’t be so humiliating, because he’d probably defeat anyone here easily, but my stupid pride won’t let me lose.

And lose I will.

When he faces me, his cock is half-hard, and he palms it without shame, giving himself a long stroke.

“I like this game, pet,” he says, eyes lecherous as they slide down my body. “Are you ready?”

Around us, the forge is quiet. Everyone watches, and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this, but what can I do? I widen my stance, calling my magic to hum at my fingertips, and give him a curt nod.

Not a second passes when a spell slices down my shoulder, barely grazing my skin. It cuts through the seams connecting my sleeve to the rest of my shirt. I hiss and whirl away, conjuring an invisible rope to tangle around his hooves. Woland dismisses my spell with a lazy flick of his fingers and sends another cut my way. My second sleeve sports a gaping hole.

“Are you trying to undress me?” I ask, flicking a harmless itching spell at his groin.

The air in front of him shimmers with a shield that easily repels my attack.

“Yes. And you’re doing nothing to stop it.”

When another slicing hex flies at my shoulder, I call a shield just in time. Woland sends something glittering and dark my way, and the shield shatters. We exchange a few more hexes, and I manage to avoid most of his, yet I still end up with my shirt barely hanging around my shoulders.

“Ha!”

Woland’s hex lands, and the shirt falls off me, revealing the thin undershirt below that I know is quite see-through. He grins, and I lose the remnants of my control. Around us, people whisper, and someone laughs under their breath. I discard all the flimsy, efficient spells Wera taught me, since they never worked for me, anyway.

Mud , I think, focusing on the floor under his hooves. Wet, thin, sucking mud.

Magic pours out of me in waves, and the floor transforms. He looks down in surprise, just as his hooves sink in the squelching mass. As he raises his hand to dismiss my spell, I end it myself.

The floor is stone again. And he’s trapped.

“Clever,” Woland huffs, completely unconcerned. “But I only need to do this.”

He snaps his fingers, and the stone cracks. I’m not done, though. While he’s busy walking out of the rubble, I send invisible spiderwebs to wrap around his antlers. Their hold is loose, weightless, and I don’t think he notices it.

Woland steps onto the even floor and sends a sharp cutting spell to my belt. I don’t put up a shield. Instead, I gather dozens of my spiderwebs into my palm and tug.

“What the…”

He falls hard, his body prostrated in front of me, his antlers almost at my feet. Meanwhile, my trousers drop, my belt cut through, but it doesn’t matter, because the forge erupts with screams of outrage, and I’m cackling, gleeful and triumphant.

And then, I’m not.

A powerful force wraps around me, pressing my arms to my sides. I fall, unable to keep my balance, and Woland is on me, angry and delighted as he kisses me heavily, his hand groping my breast.

“So powerful,” he breathes into my mouth before sucking on my lower lip, his hot tongue pressing to mine. “Such a strong witch.”

I try to push him away, the laughs and murmurs around us making me keenly aware that everyone’s watching, but Woland grips my wrists in one hand and presses them to the floor above my head.

“Go on. Blast me off, you pretty thing. I know you can.”

He kisses my throat, his erection digging into my thigh, and I don’t understand how he can keep going after the night we had.

“People are looking,” I choke out, gathering my magic as best I can despite how distracting his kisses are.

“I want them to see. You’re only mine. Everyone will see it,” he says, coming back to my mouth.

He devours me with deep kisses, humming with pleasure until my lips tingle from the vibration of his voice. When his hand dives between my legs, finger pressing to my back entrance to prepare me for his cock, I let my magic fly.

I intend to do exactly as he said—blast him off—but Woland doesn’t even twitch despite the enormous amounts of power I put into the spell. He pulls away enough to look at me, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“Then again, nothing will push me off when I’m on top of you.”

His finger is right there, making me warm, wet, and relaxed, and I breathe faster, hating that my body responds so eagerly to him, even despite the crowd of onlookers whispering while they watch, as shameless as he is.

“Woland,” I say through clenched teeth. “Please. Not here.”

I expect him to ignore my plea and take me right on the floor, in front of a few dozen rebels, so it’s a surprise when he pulls away from my throat and places a tender kiss on my cheek.

“How about now?”

His shadows cover us from every side, the space growing quiet save for our heavy breaths. I relax, knowing we’re hidden, and he dives back for my lips as if he can’t stop kissing me even for a moment.

“The way you wield magic makes me so horny,” he says between kisses, his lips soft and warm. “I love how you manage to surprise me. So smart.”

When he slips inside me, there is a moment of pain, of stretching and bursting. I wince, turning my face away, and he strokes my temple, murmuring words of comfort and praise.

“It won’t hurt in a moment. Fuck, you feel so good around me. So magical. My perfect girl. Here, let me make you come. It will feel better, I promise.”

He brings me to orgasm with his fingers, then fucks me in long, even thrusts, and I forget about where we are until he comes deep inside me, without thorns this time, and his shadows disperse.

The murmuring voices return, and as he pulls out with a pleased grunt, I’m deeply aware of our audience. I cover myself hastily with my torn clothes while he’s already up, his glistening cock swinging between his thighs.

“I’m pleased with her progress,” he says to Wera, walking out of our training area while the barriers disappear. “But she should be tested in the field, as well.”

She bows deeply. “I’ll design a suitable test.”

I patch my clothes with magic, fixing my belt until I’m more or less clothed. I know my face is flushed, forehead sweaty, and when I look around, I meet too many magical eyes, insensitive in their prying. Draga raises her hand in a cheerful wave, then my eyes catch Lech’s blue ones.

His mouth tilts in a sardonic grin, and he gives me a curt nod. I’ve seen him around, but ever since he told me he hated my company, I haven’t talked to him. A pang of sadness squeezes my chest, and I bury it, turning sharply away.

“Let’s go.”

Woland takes my hand, his thumb stroking my skin a few times. He leads me out of the forge, and when we’re alone, he presses my back to a wall, leaning his forearm over my head.

“Are you all right?”

I stare up into those treacherous, golden eyes, desperately trying to pierce through them, into the depths of his mind. What is he thinking? My head spins with confusion, but the glittering gold of his irises holds no answers. I don’t even know whether I can trust the worried tilt of his brows.

“No,” I finally say when he caresses my cheek with his knuckle. “I want to be alone. I promise I won’t try to run away.”

He snorts with amusement and shakes his head once. “I’m too selfish to leave you even for five minutes, pet. Are you hungry? We’ll eat in the common room. I’ll carry you if you’re sore.”

This is all too much. Too much affection, too many words, and too much Woland. I’ve never spent so much time with him in one stretch, and it’s a horrible strain. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall.

“I don’t understand you.”

“You don’t have to,” he says gently, cupping my cheek. “One day, it will all make sense.”