Page 109 of Devil's Deal

“I’ll figure it out, just like I did the werewolf,” I say with confidence.

Woland doesn’t reply, walking slowly around the room and studying my furniture. He seems to be deep in thought, so I leave him to it, but then it occurs to me that maybe it’s him I should guard Jacek from.

“Excuse me,” I ask, gripping my knife. A load of good it will do me. “Do you dabble in soul-stealing?”

“Hm?”

He turns away from a cupboard, where he was looking through my rows of ointment pots, picking some up with interest. Now, he blinks a few times, confused, and finally shakes his head when his eyes fall on Jacek.

“I’m not a mamuna or another bies that snatches ancestral souls for power. And I am not Rod, to take souls back to Wyraj. Why should I do his job for him?” he asks with mild contempt and turns away, but then looks at me over his shoulder, his neck muscles cording with effort. “Would you consider giving in if I threatened to steal his soul?”

I lift my knife. “I would consider stabbing you.”

He smiles faintly and nods, turning back to smell a calendula ointment. “Rod will get him.”

And now we’re silent as I watch him examining my supplies. It shouldn’t be like this, but his presence brings me comfort. Now that Wiosna’s gone, it feels like he’s the only person who truly knows me. I find myself hoping he’ll stay for long hours, keeping me company through my watch. But it’s so wrong of me to want that. I shake my head, berating myself in my thoughts.

Woland catches the movement and turns to me, leaning back against my cupboard with his arms folded.

“I really wish you were more scared,” he says with a displeased frown. “A poludnica is the hardest bies to kill. You can’t shoot or wound her. Silver will do nothing, nor iron. She will keep killing until I stop her, because I’m the one who brought her here.”

I knew this, and yet, it jolts me out of my comfortable haze as I look at Jacek and realize he could be alive right now. But he’s dead—because of Woland.

He must see the change in me, because he smiles grimly. “That’s right. See how your priorities changed? With the werewolf, you tried to prevent any death from happening. Now, one is already dead, and more will be soon, yet you’re unbothered. Just three words from you, Jaga. Three words, and all these people will be safe. No bies will ever come to hurt them again.”

I clench my jaw, breathing steadily as I give him a look filled with hate—except, I can’t hate him anymore, not like I used to. I know him better now. I understand some things about him. And my zmora, all that’s evil, dark, and impulsive within me, is drawn to him with a shocking force.

This has become a game, and he’s right. My priorities changed. Because my freedom means more to me than the lives of the mortals in this village. And yet, I will still do anything in my power to protect them. Anything—but this.

“Here are your three words,” I snap, glaring at him. “I’ll. Solve. This.”

He sighs, rolls his eyes, and then falls to his knees. Right in front of me.

Chapter thirty-six

Soul

I stare, stunned, as he takes the cup out of my hand and puts it on the floor, then grabs my free palm in both of his. I keep staring, shocked by how large and yet graceful his hands are. The contrast between my human skin, licked by the golden light of the candle, and the dark gray of his, is stark. And shockingly pleasing.

I can’t help but imagine what we must have looked like by the river, our naked bodies entwined.

Even on his knees, his head is almost level with mine. I startle, seeing his face so close, his yellow eyes focused intently on me. I still hold the knife in my right hand, and I have to clench it harder to stop myself from shaking.

“I am not above begging,” he says, but his quiet voice is not imploring. It’s low and seductive, his eyes devouring me with the hunger I know so well and crave. “Please, Jaga. Let’s just end this, here and now. Come with me tonight. I’ll show you everything, all the worlds, the magic and power. There is so much more for you out there. Please.”

I blink hard and bite my tongue, because the word “yes” lingers on its tip, eager to leap out.

“You… You shouldn’t change your tactics like this,” I say through a dry, scratchy throat. I’m suddenly parched, but water will not quench this thirst. “It makes you look deceptive.”

He laughs at that, turning my hand in his hold until his clawed thumb caresses my wrist, another claw tracing the lines on the inside of my palm. I shiver from how gentle, how intoxicating his touch is.

“But I am deceptive. Riddle me this, poppy girl: if I show you my innate deception, doesn’t it make me honest? Wouldn’t it be a lie if I pretended to be a stalwart, candid man?”

I shake my head, a hazy mist clouding my mind and reason. “I don’t know.”

He grins, dazzling and beautiful, and pricks the middle of my palm with his sharp claw until blood wells. I don’t even flinch. There is no pain.

“Then trust me on this.”

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