Page 29 of Devil's Deal

He stops entirely, his claws digging into my waist. His eyes blaze with fury, and I brace myself for a hit, knowing this might be the last one. He is so strong, so powerful, he could snap my neck as easily as I snap a branch off a dead tree.

I prepare myself and clench my teeth, swearing I will not cry or beg. I’ll die with dignity. I’m ready.

But Woland doesn’t raise his hand or call on his magic. Instead, he closes his eyes and exhales a long, hot breath. I frown suspiciously, wondering if it’s a ploy to make me drop my guard.

When his eyes flash open, I flinch. There is a world of fury swirling in his yellow irises, and yet, when he moves again, his every step is measured and controlled. His claws stay off my skin, his hands resting lightly on my body.

“You value men who don’t resort to violence?” he asks in a calm, inquiring voice that belies the fire in his eyes.

Oh. I see. He’s trying to prove me wrong.

“No.” I snort, a heady pulse of power making my body tingle with pleasure.

The devil has just changed his behavior because of what I said. I’m sure it won’t last and I don’t trust him, but it still gives me a rush. Suddenly, I feel so powerful, it rises in me like a potent glow. I brim with magic.

His deference to my opinion feels like a tiny seed of respect.

Woland’s gaze sharpens as he studies my face, his eyes flicking down to my chest. “What, then?” he asks when I don’t elaborate.

“I value people who use their violence like a weapon. Only when it’s needed, honed with skill to hit the mark. I don’t value a lamb that lays its head down for slaughter. Nor do I value a rabid dog that bites everything it can reach.”

When I don’t continue, Woland huffs in impatience, his nostrils flaring. Yet, when he speaks, his voice is cool and polite.

“And what do you value?”

I think for a moment, trying to find an analogy that will fit the previous ones.

“A ram that kills the fox to protect its young.”

Suddenly, Woland’s white teeth flash in a blinding grin. He twirls me fast and grabs me smoothly, pressing me closer until my dress tangles between his legs. I glance down and right back up, doing my best to ignore his cock hanging heavy between his thighs.

“What if you’re the fox threatening my herd, poppy girl?” he whispers in my ear, his breath so hot and intimate, it makes me gasp. “Didn’t you think of that?”

It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, because a flustered, hot feeling ties my tongue and makes me stupid. This time, I am positive it’s not his power influencing me. I react to his nakedness and proximity.

And I shouldn’t. Get a grip, Jaga.

“Why do you want me if I am a threat to you, then? And what do you want me for?” I ask, forcing myself to look boldly into his eyes and pretend I’m unaffected.

He moves to the side, taking me with him, and we dance in a circle, feet and hooves moving in a perfect rhythm. Gods, if it wasn’t him, I would enjoy myself so much.

“Why do you want to visit the past?” he asks instead of answering, and I grit my teeth.

It’s a clear reminder of the condition he set earlier. He won’t reveal his reasons until I give him mine, and that’s not going to happen.

When I say nothing, he smirks, the air of smugness surrounding him like a halo.

“I’ll ask you something else,” he says after a pause, in which I focus on the wild rhythm, the music and fast movements making me feel hot and delighted despite my wretched company.

I can’t help but notice I got to dance, after all. And I spoke to the gods. I met Strzybog himself, and Nyja, and a dragon. Despite all the unpleasant parts, this is the best Kupala Night in my life.

“If you won’t talk about the past, what of your future, then? What do you look forward to?” he asks, turning me gracefully until my skirts billow in a whirlwind.

And just like that, my fragile joy shatters into pieces. Future? To be truthful, my future terrifies me more than my past. So much depends on it, and I feel too inept to make it what it needs to be. But I cannot tell him that.

My future is tightly woven with my past.

I shoot him a baleful look and purse my lips. Woland’s smirk turns into a grin of self-satisfaction, which I hate with all my might. At that moment, my fists itch with the need to strike him, and I bite the inside of my cheek to control myself.

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