Page 164 of Devil's Deal

He laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around me.

“Of course. Her name was Marlena, and she had a younger sister, Wanda. Both girls fell in love with the same man, but Marlena, who was serious and quiet, didn’t catch his eye. He married Wanda, who was a vibrant, cheerful girl. Marlena couldn’t stand their happiness, and it drove her crazy. One night, she poisoned her sister, who was pregnant, and slipped into her marital bed to seduce her husband. He fucked her, but when he woke up in the morning to find his wife dead and her sister in his bed, he killed her. Slashed her throat open.”

I shiver, and he laughs like it’s just an amusing story. I remember what he said about the mortal world being the source of his entertainment. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me he finds this human tragedy worth a laugh.

“You’re evil, do you know that?” I whisper, snuggling closer.

“Yes, darling. I am the devil, am I not?”

Chapter fifty-one

Sweet

I don’t know how many times I get thirsty for Woland’s blood over the next few days. I remember the thrum of power under my skin, the glorious feeling of needing no food or sleep to live. Time and again, my hands itch to pull out the stopper and have even just one little drop.

Every time, I stop myself.

I wander through the woods, and the weather gets progressively chillier. The days are still warm, but there is a bite of autumn in the air. I spend the nights huddled under blankets of moss, shivering in the cold. Even though I know Woland’s blood would give me magic to warm myself, I don’t touch it.

Every night before I go to sleep, I try to do a spell in the hopes my magic might break through. Every time, I meet a wall.

At least, I’m not hungry anymore. Woland seems to have accepted I won’t cave because of discomfort, and so every time I wake, I find a tray of food by my side. I eat most of it and wrap the leftovers in a napkin to have in the evening. There’s always enough to keep me full all day long.

I don’t even try to thank him. Providing for me is the least he can do since I’m banished because of him.

I touch the gorgeous pendant, his blood, his collateral, dozens of times every day. It calms me and makes me nervous all at once.

As I walk, stopping often to admire flowers or have a dip in the river, I mull over what Wiosna said about using blood to control someone. It’s not much to go on, and trying to figure out the best way to turn Woland’s gift against him keeps me busy and focused.

If not for this goal, I would be a shaking mess.

Yet even without that problem to solve, I wouldn’t get bored. On the fifth day out of my remaining ten, I meet a licho—or at least, I think that’s what it is. It’s the size of half a man, its body covered in fuzzy black fur, its eyes huge and owl-like. It stares at me with hostility, and when I cautiously come over, it snorts with disgust and disappears in a puff of smoke.

On the sixth day, I meet two wilas. They dance among the trees, their skin golden, hair silver, and they are so beautiful, my eyes tear up from the sight. They beckon to me with their long, graceful fingers, but I don’t go, knowing wilas are as deadly as rusalkas. When they come over, intrigued, I point at my chin.

Their large, dark eyes grow wide, and they run away, each in a different direction. Both seem to drift through the undergrowth, all sinuous grace even when afraid.

When eight days pass, my anxiety grows beyond what I can handle. I spend a long time in the river, getting myself as clean as I can without soap. My dress is threadbare and stained after weeks in the woods, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

I keep my hand on Woland’s collateral almost constantly. I’m afraid it will disappear, taking my meager chances with it.

He still doesn’t come.

I wonder what he’s so busy doing. Whom he would send to help me if I called his name. And what it will be like when he finally returns.

Whatever happens then, there is something final to it. The three weeks he gave me will run out, and whenever I try to figure out how he plans to force me to be his, I get jittery and restless. Everything hinges on me getting my magic back and then using it successfully to stop him.

This is such a bad plan. I have no guarantee it will work, and it’s all based on a rusalka’s bawdy joke.

Whenever I panic, running through a list of other ideas in my head, I always end up with the same conclusion. Woland is more powerful than anyone I know who could help me. Even Rod and Chors, when I spoke to them, were reluctant to act against him.

And still, the ninth night, I sit by the river and call on Chors, hoping against hope he might appear and somehow give me a way to hide from Woland. But it’s no use. The god of the moon doesn’t come.

On the tenth day, I walk without breaks until evening. I keep wondering why he agreed so easily to this trade—sex for telling me the truth. My mind goes to really dark places, trying to understand why he wants to fuck me before he claims me.

Maybe his way of forcing me will actually involve torture. Or maybe he’ll have to mutilate me somehow. Maybe he’ll take away my will and passion. Kill my zmora. Maybe he'll blind and mute me, and that's why he wants to enjoy me before I’m damaged.

I wouldn’t put it past him.

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