Page 48 of Devil's Deal

Gods, how I hate him. Even more because I want him, too.

“If you marry a mortal man, I’ll eviscerate him before he has a chance to lie with you,” he says in a low, calm voice, his warm breath tingling over my scalp. “And then I’ll take you in your bloody marital bed whether you’re willing or not. I don’t care what you think, Jaga. You’re mine, and if you want me to prove it, I will.”

My breathing grows fast and ragged, my body shaking in tremors I can’t control. White hot fear burns inside me, swallowing up the hate, the unwelcome desire, and all my courage. Woland presses closer, making me whine in terror, then moves back with a satisfied hum.

His point is made. And I am blind from terror.

I brace both hands on the wall, fighting a dizzy spell so potent, black swirls before my eyes. Behind me, the devil snorts, either amused or annoyed. I don’t know. All I know is that my insides have shriveled into a ball of ice.

This time, I believe him. I believe he will rape me if he wants, and there is nothing I can do to stop him. I’ve never felt so helpless before.

And yet, when my feverish mind conjures the scene of what it might be like, with me screaming and thrashing under his violent weight, a red flame of need heats up the ice within me. My eyes widen when I realize what I feel, and I stumble out of the barn. I make it to a clump of nettle growing by the doors before I vomit all over it.

I pant, bent in half, the taste of acid in my mouth making me retch again. I sense rather than see Woland standing close. When I finally straighten, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, he is in the doorway, watching me with serious, glittering eyes.

“So mortal,” he says, his expression hidden in shadow even as moonlight paints his naked body in a silvery glow.

“Get out,” I hiss, my hands shaking from fury and terror. “Get out and never come back!”

For the longest moment, he doesn’t move. Then, when I’m ready to scream, his antlers lower in a shallow bow.

“I’ll come back once he starts killing people. Maybe then you’ll see reason. Because you can stop it, Jaga. Three words from you and this village and all its people will be safe. All you have to do is let me claim you.”

I shake my head mutely, and he bares his white teeth in a grin.

“Or maybe not so mortal, after all. Maybe all you care about is yourself. Time will tell, and unlike you, I have all the time in the world at my command. Goodbye, poppy girl.”

He vanishes in a cloud of shadow, leaving behind a faint scent of sulfur. I let out a sharp breath, then another, and another. I sob without tears, my body wracked with terror and relief. Grasshoppers play their loud song, and finally, the warm night breeze dries the sweat from my forehead and cools my fever.

I gather the dregs of my strength and go back inside the barn, resuming my work. My mind is empty of thought, my body exhausted, my eyes glazed over. I’m so wiped out, I almost miss it.

When I finally notice the bloody clump of something gray snagged on a rusty nail, I blink and stare at it for long moments before I realize it’s not lamb wool. No, it’s fur, and the color makes me think it belongs to a wolf.

And yet, the nail is at the height of my shoulder, and no wolf is that tall. Also, Woland said “he”.

I’ll come back once he starts killing people.

I let out a long, controlled breath and resume scrubbing with double force. After I finish here, I’ll have a world of work to do. Because I know who killed the lambs.

And I know he will be back.

Chapter seventeen

Whisperer

The next day, I find Jarota in the garden behind his house, scrubbing his face in a bucket of cold water from the well. His gray, wiry hair sticks out in all directions, as if he spent the night pulling on it. He just might have.

“Good morning,” I say from a distance so as not to startle him.

He still jumps with a mild shriek, almost tipping over the bucket. Even though I want to laugh at his expense, I hold it back. He won’t help me if I treat him with anything but respect. And I desperately need the zerca on my side here.

Because I’m not letting anyone die, no matter how selfish Woland thinks I am.

“You must have been in a deep conversation with the gods,” I say, doing my best to sound reverent. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

“Yes, well… That… Yes.” Jarota fumbles with a coarse towel, drying his face and hair nervously.

He’s in a pickle. Being seen in a compromising situation weakened his position here, and now, if he fails as our zerca when a beast kills off our sheep or even people, he’ll become a laughingstock. He might even be driven away. People are cruel if they come to you for help and you let their children die.

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