Page 102 of Devil's Deal

My hand stills when I realize what he means. “So you weren’t truly gone if you heard my conversation with Ida.”

Blast it. What else does he know? Does he know about my zmora? I’ve entertained half-baked, vague plans about using her to attack him when he expects it the least, but if I don’t have the advantage of surprise, I might as well toss that plan.

“You should learn this once and for all, poppy girl,” he says, looking at my hair as he pushes away from the wall and comes closer, his hooves thudding lightly against the floorboards. “I am never truly gone.”

He takes the brush out of my hand and tilts my head until I face forward while he stands behind me. I am rigid and conflicted, half-wanting to turn around and slap him, half-needing to let him do whatever it is he wants.

He took Wiosna away from me, on top of all the other things he’s done. And yet… It’s like I’m drawn to him, helpless to stop.

When the brush runs through my hair, followed by his hand, the claws gently scraping my back through my dress, I have to swallow a gasp of pleasure. My hair is a part of my zmora, a symbol of all the hate I’ve always inspired and felt. My mother was the only person who ever touched it, and her touch was always reserved, a little trembling.

She combed and braided my hair because she had to, but I felt her resentment in every quick, efficient touch of her fingers. I took over taking care of my hair as soon as I learned how to do it at seven. She never touched it again after that. She was relieved she didn’t have to.

The way the devil brushes my hair borders on reverence.

“Jaga, let me sweeten the deal,” he murmurs, the brush sweeping through my hair from my nape down to my tailbone with each even stroke. “I will give you the ability to travel between worlds. You’ll also have a way to go into the past, for whatever it is you seek there, and I will give you back your dead friend and your mentor.”

I tense but he pretends not to notice, brushing slowly, his fingers following after the brush, claws combing through my hair.

“Give me back… Bogna?”

That’s new. I’m not even sure he can do that, and I certainly don’t trust him, even though I want to. Oh, I want to.

I finally realize what it is that draws me to Woland. He is the only person who sees me for what I am. He knows my bad parts, those I hide, those Wiosna tried to yank out of me like weeds, and he approves. The devil looks at the evil brewing inside me and he welcomes it, just like he accepts my hair and dares to see beauty in it.

This is what I long for. This is what makes me want to agree. Maybe if I can be his, I won’t have to hide. Maybe I can be who I truly am. The Jaga who wields elements, who fights back, who crumbles the souls of her enemies into dust and laughs.

“Yes. It’s in my power to give her back, and I will. Even more, I’ll let you drink my blood in exchange for yours as often as you like.”

He lowers his head until his lips brush the spot where my nape meets my shoulder, his antlers looming in my periphery. His mouth moves against my skin, soft and warm, as he whispers.

“Like we did by the river. We can finish what we started.”

A breath shudders out of me. Yes. Yes, I want it all. The power, the sex, him. A shiver runs down my spine, then another. Woland kisses my nape and shoulder, moving carefully so as not to hurt me with his antlers. His arm is around my waist, keeping me in place, and the familiar hot vulnerability overwhelms me.

I can’t move, but it feels so sweet to be trapped here. I am about to say yes when my zmora surges up inside me until I feel her cautionary growl in my chest.

She says not to trust him. She says to question him and see what he does. To test him.

If he passes my test, I can always agree.

I stay in his embrace a moment longer, drinking in his closeness, his power, the way he holds me like I’m precious. And then I speak. My voice is so soft. So curious.

“You must be so desperate. To offer me all this. I wonder how much more I could get if we bargained.”

He stills, his lips stopping just a brush away from my skin. It breaks out in goosebumps from his hot breath falling on the spot dampened with his kisses.

“What else would you like?” he asks, his voice strained but polite.

“Immortal life and youth,” I say at once, my heartbeat quickening with excitement.

He straightens, his arm shifting so it rests over my collarbones, pressing my back to his front.

“As long as you drink my blood, mortality doesn’t affect you.”

I hum in thought. That’s useful to know, but the arrangement is not ideal. “And I want my freedom,” I add, curious what he’ll say. “For example, I want to make sure I can disobey if you order me around.”

He snorts, his fingers flexing with suppressed anger. “That defeats the purpose of the claiming, doesn’t it, little witch? But don’t worry. I won’t order you around much. Just when you get in my way.”

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