Page 45 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter forty-five

Truth

More cuts pierce my skin, one landing worryingly close to my right eye. I cackle, loud and insane, remembering that this is the eye I pretended to have lost. Won’t it be funny if Wera’s spell gouges it out?

The strzyga notices the fire engulfing her shins and screams, dousing herself with water splashing directly from her palms. I cackle as the fire roars higher, water only egging it on. It jumps onto her cloak now, and she shrugs it off with frantic movements, but the fire devouring her trousers keeps climbing up her hips.

She’ll burn like a Marzanna effigy at the end of winter.

I laugh and laugh even as I collapse to my knees, blood turning the snow under me into a red sludge. My eyes land on a dark shape in the snow. Right. The baby. It’s quiet as I float it to me, putting up a shield with the last of my magic. I still laugh, big, fat chortles escaping between my chattering teeth.

As soon as it lands in my arms, I know it’s dead. There is no breath, its body already cooling. I throw my head back, holding the dead, bleeding child, and laugh hysterically, louder and louder, until icicles as long as my legs tear off from the edge of the roof opposite me and shatter on the ground.

How did I not believe in fate before? The symmetry of my life proves it exists. I am a helpless plaything in somebody’s scheme, and they are having heaps of fun with my life. Why can’t I laugh, too?

“Put it down, sweetheart,” comes Woland’s quiet voice behind me.

I look down, still laughing. Tears stream down my face, freezing into a crust of misery. Ahead, Wera rolls on the ground, no longer enveloped in flames, but steaming. Woland must have extinguished her.

“Put it down.”

The baby weighs so much in my hands, so heavy in death. I give it a proper look, noticing the rusty scales around its motionless, open mouth. Bastard scum , I remember. That’s what dragons call their progeny.

It’s well and truly dead, and I can do nothing more for it. I obey Woland, and as soon as I do, his hand falls on top of my head, his shadows swirling around us. He brings me to our chamber, and I keep laughing, though quietly now. It’s not because I’m amused but because if I stop, I won’t be able to breathe.

It happened all over again. When will I learn?

“Jaga. Stop.”

I turn away when he circles me to face me, and Woland growls, grabbing my shoulders. He turns me roughly and folds me into an embrace. His skin is cold, and I laugh into it, snorting. Gods, I choke anyway. What’s the use?

“Jaga. It’s all right. It wasn’t your fault.”

And here I thought I couldn’t laugh any harder, but I was wrong. I howl, my mad mirth shaking us both, echoes of my cackles bouncing off the walls. Woland takes a deep, impatient breath and holds me closer. When the skin on his chest underneath my mouth splits, I lap his hot blood between unsteady, chuffing giggles. My wounds heal. The pain ebbs away.

And with the pain, my laughter dies.

“Finally,” he says, a shiver going down his back when I dig my nails into it.

“Not my fault?” I ask with a tiny guffaw. “Of course it wasn’t! It’s yours. Your rebellion is such a joke. Master. ”

I burst into another bout of cackles, and Woland shakes me, not gently, but not too hard, either.

“Snap out of it. You’re going crazy, and I need you sane.”

But I keep laughing, the look in his eyes as he kissed Mokosz bouncing in my skull. I’ll never be rid of that memory unless he wipes my mind clean. Lazily, with barely any magic left, I snap my mental barrier tighter.

No. No wiping. I will remember it.

“You need me sane?” I ask between hoarse giggles. “Is a mad fucktoy not good enough for you?”

He grunts in displeasure, pushing me away until his palms are on my shoulders, claws digging in. He drops his head low, his face so close, I try to flinch away. It’s all I see, and the intimacy of him filling my world makes my skin crawl.

“I only said that to protect you,” he snarls through clenched teeth. “If she understood just a fraction of your significance… If she knew what you mean to me… Jaga, Mokosz cannot stand female competition. In her mind, all male gods are hers. If she learned how deeply I care about you, she’d do anything to remove you. That’s how jealous and mad she is.”

When he pulls slightly away, I shrug, snorting with amusement. Sure. If he says so.

Honestly, I’m kind of having fun now. I am beyond caring after everything that happened, and Woland is so earnest, putting on such a splendid performance, it’s a joy to watch.

“You’re weak,” I tell him with a grin. “Always trying to appease someone. Either a rapist dragon, a jealous goddess, or your rebels, who are a bunch of animals. You’re not powerful at all. Pitiful god.”

A muscle flutters in his temple, his jaw clenching. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring wide, and blows it right into my face. I purse my lips. Woland’s grip on my shoulders hurts, but I refuse to complain.

“Yes,” he says finally, his voice dropping into the cold, measured cadence of barely controlled fury. “I am weak because you make me so.”

I snort with derision. “What does that even mean? How do I make you weak? I am no one! A mortal healer from a backward village and a fucktoy. You are a god, are you not? What could I possibly do to make you weak?”

His body is rigid, his claws digging into my skin drawing blood.

“And yet,” he says in that same lethal voice. “You make me weak, because a stronger god would have put you in a leash and muzzle long ago. I chose to woo you. I chose to give you freedom and meaning, because I cared for your insignificant, mortal opinion. It ends now, poppy girl. I’ll do what I must.”

I don’t have it in me to be afraid. The only response I have for him is a smile and careless words.

“Do what you will. I will never be yours,” I say. My heart sings with the rightness of this choice. “Do you know I almost gave in? The last few days, I desperately looked for a reason to give you what you want. And there was none. You offered me no reason to trust you. Now I know what your rebellion is truly about, and I’ll never support it. I’m leaving.”

He laughs, guttural and unpleasant. When I try to shake him off, he grabs my braid and turns me around until my back is pressed to his front, his body unyielding, his hold tight.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he hisses, his breath hot in my ear. “All the fucking frustration, the hoops I had to jump through, you’ll pay for. I tried to be patient for your sake, but it’s over. I played a lovesick fool, I gave you friends, I made you feel welcome here, and I will have a return on my investment. We’re done playing games.”

I go slack in his hold, the remnants of my heart breaking. But I don’t even blame him. The fault is all mine. Fool me once…

I knew what he was. And I fought almost to the very end, but he wore me down. Stupid girl, I let myself believe his lies.

He laughs, the sound cold and cruel. “Remember when I almost fucked you by the river? I had you pinned, willing and ready, and I still left, because I got news that Perun was away from Wyraj and vulnerable to attack. I adore your cunt and I care for you, but dear, you’re just a woman. No woman will ever be more important than my fight. It’s na?ve to expect that.”

Hot tears fall from my eyes, and I tense, willing the laughter to come back. I cannot cry for him. I will not cry. I wipe my face with harsh movements, glad that I’m facing away from him. Maybe he won’t notice.

Woland huffs with frustration, his hold loosening. He strokes my shoulders as if to soothe me, and my tears stop when I sense his pity. I growl weakly, but I don’t have the strength to shake him off.

“I feel things for you,” he says, his voice calmer. “Things I haven’t felt for anyone. Not everything was a lie. But Jaga, it’s like I told you—we cannot be happy unless this fight is over. You are an instrument to my victory, one that refuses to cooperate, and I cannot love you for it. But I could—I could. Just stop being so stubborn.”

My cackle is dull and hollow. I don’t believe a word he says. For the first time in my life, I feel like an utter fool, completely useless, my mind broken. I can’t believe I trusted his words of love.

I always took pride in my intellect, but as it turns out, I am the dumbest person I know.

“So that was it?” I ask, hoarse and quiet. Even my voice sounds broken. “Welcoming me here, making me your consort, the ring, all of it… It was just one giant manipulation.”

Which I knew. I knew that. And I still fell for it.

Woland’s voice loses its cruel edge, becoming pitiful. I hate his pity. I’d rather he mocked me, but instead, he explains with an infuriating gentleness how he fooled me.

“You were doomed the moment I saw where you put my collateral,” he says, his hold tight, but not painful. He presses himself to the length of my body with possessive familiarity. “I understood what you felt for me, and it opened so many possibilities. I knew you so well by then. I knew exactly what to do.”

I swallow, tears threatening to fall. Gods. When will I learn?

“I decided to work with your weaknesses instead of using them against you. Your great capacity for caring, your need for friendship and acceptance—I used that to make you care for my movement, my people, my goals. I fanned the flames of your misguided, youthful love. Don’t feel bad that you fell for it. Older, more experienced women would have fallen faster than you.”

He presses me closer, and my gut plummets, cold dread freezing me from the inside. A moment ago, I wasn’t afraid, but when I realize how openly he speaks, revealing all the secrets he kept from me, a sudden panic grips my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

“Why are you telling me this?” I demand, my voice growing high-pitched from fear.

He sighs deeply, partly resigned, partly amused. My skin crawls with disgust. Oh gods. This is it. He found a way to heal my infertility. He’ll rape and impregnate me, and I won’t be able to stop him. I have no magic to spare. I’m trapped.

“I suppose I needed you to know. You’re awfully frustrating,” he says with a bitter chuckle. “So sweet and rewarding one moment, an obstinate hag the next. But like I said, you do have a special place in my heart. I long to lie in bed with you, joined by my thorns, and honestly tell you things, even the worst ones. It’s exhausting to keep secrets from you. Ah, how you tremble. It’s delicious. Do you finally have some respect for your master?”

I shake from silent laughter that’s pure despair. It’s e xhausting to keep secrets from me? I find it hilarious that I used to share that sentiment. I longed to trust him, to let him close, for the love between us to grow.

But his love was a lie. And mine was a misguided error of a pitiful, stupid girl.

“All you’re a master of is a bunch of corrupt, hideous creatures,” I say, my voice trembling with that muffled laughter. “You’ll never win anything. And you’ll always be weaker than Perun.”

He snarls, and I grin, my words hitting the mark. That’s where it hurts, what he cares about—to defeat the top god. He turns me sharply, his claws raking through my skin, and I welcome the pain. It’s so much better than pity.

“Tell me, then,” I say, looking into his angry eyes. “Is that your true cause ? You just want to throw Perun off his throne, is that it? Do you even have any idea what you’ll do afterward? I don’t think so. This is just a petty fight for you. A pastime for a bored, lazy god.”

His hands clench into fists until blood drips between his knuckles. He juts his chin forward, and I feel the tension in him, coming off in waves. He wants to hit me. Maybe even kill me. I laugh in the face of his anger, too reckless to care.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Woland growls, his voice low and threatening.

“And I don’t care to know.” My smile turns into a grimace of hatred. “Because that weakness you used against me, my love and caring, is gone now. I will leave this place one way or another, because I’ll never support you or your movement after everything I saw today.”

“Oh, Jaga,” Woland says, his face growing gentle, just a hint of a contemptuous sneer twisting his mouth. “Everything that’s done can be undone. You said you were almost ready to surrender, and that’s all I care to know. I’m glad we had this conversation. And I’m sorry. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

He smiles, something sad and regretful in his eyes. Cold terror grips my limbs, and I stare, dread growing in the pit of my stomach, until he speaks again.

“You will forget everything that happened today.”