Page 23 of Devil's Deal

I shake my head, and he laughs, warm and pleasant. He’s clearly enjoying himself while I’m tense and afraid, the blood covering my skin making it itch.

His eyes glint, a cold spark in the midst of the demonic yellow, and he raises his arm. Slowly, he reaches over the bonfire separating us, and I stare mutely at his large, yet graceful hand tipped with those beastly claws. When it almost grazes my breast, I take a convulsive step back.

No. It’s not right. He cannot cross the circle.

My back presses into the soft yet unyielding wall of shadowy fabric. I can’t push past it, no matter how hard I try as my alarm grows. His hand is closer and closer. I’m trapped and at his mercy.

Woland bends his fingers and runs his knuckle up my cheek, gathering my blood. His touch is gentle, his skin warm, and yet, I want to scream from terror as I realize what’s happening.

His hand crosses the boundary without any effort at all. He can leave the circle if he wants.

“You can’t…” I begin, but don’t finish. My throat is dry, my heart pounds feverishly fast, and Woland’s eyes close as he brings the bloodied knuckle to his mouth.

With the yellow glow extinguished, he looks far less demonic.

Until he licks the blood off with a slow, obscene stroke of his tongue. My gorge rises, and I swallow hard, trying not to vomit. When his knuckle is clean, his eyes open. They look softer. Hooded.

“It’s been a long time since I drank mortal blood.”

Before I gather my scattered wits to answer, he twists his fingers, and a beautiful crystal cup shining with a thousand prisms appears in the air. He catches it deftly and raises his other hand, making a beckoning motion to me.

Something tickles my cheek and my stomach where the sticky blood made the dress cling to my skin. I watch with horror as the blood suddenly lifts off me, thousands of crimson drops suspended in midair. All of it comes off completely, and not a droplet stays on my clothes and skin. My dress is clean again.

After a moment of perfect silence, the blood flies through the air and splashes into his crystal cup. Woland raises it to his mouth and drinks.

The horror of it sends me into a panic.

I want to run, but as I turn and press my body into the black barrier, there is no give. It pushes back the more I try to power through. I pound on it with my fists, but it’s like beating into an unending pile of feathers with nothing hard underneath.

I cannot cross, so I slump in defeat. But I refuse to watch the devil drink my blood. I keep my back to him.

When a hand curls around my throat from behind and yanks, I realize my mistake.

Never turn your back on the devil.

I choke, my breath trapped as he squeezes my throat, dragging me back. Heat sizzles over the backs of my legs, and I turn with effort to avoid being burned by the fire between us. Woland’s large hand slides to my nape and rests there as I face him, looking up with more courage than I feel.

His black mouth is tainted with my blood.

“I haven’t dismissed you, mortal,” he says, his face twisted in displeasure. “Do not turn your back to me when we speak.”

I want to massage my hurting throat but force myself to be still even as a slimy chill crawls down my back from his touch. I wish he’d let me go. My palms sweat and my knees tremble, the weight of his hand on my nape making everything worse.

When his thumb strokes up the side of my head behind my ear, I almost jump out of my skin.

“Please,” I say. It comes out as a sob. “What do you want from me?”

“Just a trifling,” he says. “But before I tell you, you must stop lying to me.”

My lips fall open and his grip on my nape tightens. The tips of his claws press into the soft skin on the side of my neck.

He smacks his lips, licking the last traces of my blood off. “I enjoy the blood of liars, but from you, I expect full honesty. Why do you want to step back through time?”

I dig for the last dregs of my willpower and press my lips together. I know enough to be aware how important this information is. If I give away the thing I want the most, he’ll have more power over me, and he already has enough.

I will not be ruled by the devil. Fortified by that thought, I lift my chin and look him squarely in the eyes, my lips pursed.

His forehead lines with a frown and he lets me go, scratching a line down my neck as his hand falls away. I keep my face impassive. This time, when he licks my blood off the tip of his claw, I watch him do it with as much calm as I can muster. Woland gives me a sinister smile and steps back as his shadows unravel from around me and snap back to him.

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