Page 140 of Devil's Deal

I snort, turning my head sharply so his hand falls away. “No. Tell me what the mark does.”

“All in good time.”

Gods, I want to spit on him and stomp my feet, but that would be so undignified. I’ve already lost control of my rage today, and got a good scare for that. I suppose I am grateful he reacted differently to what I expected. I truly thought he would wring her neck for daring to attack him.

But instead, he was delighted. The kiss he gave her still buzzes on my tongue. A sudden image pops into my mind, me and my zmora, both riding him. One on his cock, the other on his tongue, all the sensations combining.

Then I bite the inside of my cheek to the point of sharp pain, because I am furious with him, and I should control myself better.

But oh, now I want to try it, and he’s the only person I could ever do it with. A mortal man would obviously think it witchcraft and impale me on a spear rather than his cock. And even if I could seduce a god, I suspect everyone but Woland would find my zmora hideous.

And she is. She is a creature made of darkness, hate, and anger, containing all the petty, unpleasant, vengeful parts of me. She is what I’ve been taught to keep hidden, because her ugliness would repulse people even more than my nicer parts do. I thought no one but me could even look at her without wincing.

Yet Woland kissed her, and he did it eagerly, without the slightest hint of hesitation.

I feel her in my chest now, radiating warmth and satisfaction. She wants to come out again and frolic with him.

“I have to go soon,” he says with a sigh of regret, interrupting my thoughts. “But don’t worry, poppy witch. One way or another, you will soon be mine. We’ll make up for all the lost time.”

“Stop this,” I growl, facing him. “Stop pretending you’re… I don’t know… infatuated with me. I’d never fall for it.”

He smiles, but it looks forced. “Good. Never fall for my charms.”

I open my mouth to say that’s not what I meant, but he dissolves into nothing, taking the chair and the lights with him. I am alone on the river bank, the moon high in the cloudless sky, the cool air giving me goosebumps. The fall is still weeks away, but the nights are getting chilly, even if the days are mercilessly hot. Now that I’m alone, I feel that chill all the way to the bone.

Feeling grumpy and defeated, I trudge back home.

My sleep is too short, and I spend it trapped in a nightmare. A large, black bear tries to eat me and fuck me in turns. I run as fast as I can, but he’s always a breath behind me, smelling like smoke and animal musk.

When I wake with a gasp right before dawn, I don’t even have to think about what the dream represents. The bear is Woland, and it’s clear my mind finds him incredibly threatening. I scoff to myself, shaking my head. Why didn’t I have any nightmares when I still hardly knew him and he threatened to rape me if I married a mortal?

I remember the way I puked all over Waclaw’s nettles. And yet, now that I know Woland, now that I’ve been so close to him physically, after he saved my life—now I get nightmares.

I wonder if it’s because I’ve let him too close. He can hurt me in ways no one else can, and that’s terrifying, because he absolutely will if it gets him his goal. I keep giving him parts of me, yet he cannot be trusted with any of them.

I should never forget it.

The day starts slow, and I feel under the weather. The prospect of walking through the fields again makes me nauseous. I could probably deal with it just fine if I had a good night’s sleep, but Woland and my nightmares took that away.

Dressed and with my hair pinned, I go out for water. On the way to the well, I stop by my herb garden, staring at it with shock and anger.

All my herbs and the plants surrounding the garden are completely withered, some blackened to dust. I stare at my lovage that was so robust. It’s now a shrunken husk of itself. My mint and chamomile are the same. A quick look around tells me no herbs survived.

It’s obvious someone did it on purpose. It’s too neat. If it were a natural occurrence, wouldn’t more plants in my garden be affected? Yet, this blight only touched my herbs. I look up sharply, peering at the path over the hedge. Was it a prank? If so, the prankster isn’t anywhere around, which is a pity. I’d love to beat them with a broom for destroying a huge part of my livelihood.

I’ll probably have to use Czeslawa’s trick and strew thorns around the cottage. If anyone steps on them, that will give my zmora a blood trail to follow.

After having a quick breakfast, I spend my morning digging around my herb garden to find the cause of the blight. If somebody cursed my plants, they would have left a little token here, the vehicle for the curse. Yet, hours pass, and I find nothing.

When I’m busy washing the dirt from under my fingernails, Jarota knocks on my door. I invite him to sit in my patient room.

“What can I do for you, zerca?”

He sits down with a grunt, bracing on the table. “My joints hurt. Czeslawa made me an ointment, but I’ve run out.”

I nod, wiping my hands on my apron. “Do you mind if I take a look at the joints that hurt the most?”

He lifts his robe to show me his knees, which look swollen. His fingers are affected, too. He’s unable to straighten them completely. I nod, recognizing the signs.

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