Page 56 of Devil's Deal

The blade of his scythe flashes gold in the light of a torch, making a lie of his words. And yet, his sure, calm voice seems to work. The werewolf pauses, cocking its horrible, elongated head to the side. Its eyes, shockingly human in that beastly face, blink in confusion.

“That’s right,” Darobor continues, motioning with his hand for the men to fan out wider. “Only friends here. It’s a good night for a feast.”

The half-circle widens and curls, the two men on either end standing the closest to the beast. One of them is Swietko, his white-knuckled grip slipping on his spear. I step slowly to the side, watching through a wide gap between two sweating men. Ida’s Janek is right in front of me, tense and ready. His eyes are clear, his posture alert.

“We have drink and meat,” Darobor continues, his voice gaining a rhythmic, easy cadence. “It’s too late for work now, is it? Too late for effort. Night is the time to relax, old friend. No need to hunt. Here is an easy meal.”

Everyone flinches when the werewolf snarls, throwing its head. It lurches to the side, its clawed fingers grazing the ground. It’s so hunched over, its arms seem to hang uselessly at its sides, hands long past its misshapen knees.

Yet even though the beast seems subdued, I know it’s deceptive. My blood races in my veins, my terrified heart urging it faster.

“Run, you stupid girl,” Wiosna barks in my ear, but I don’t even listen.

The werewolf snarls and sits back on its haunches like a dog, its body trembling with gathering tension. Like it’s preparing to jump.

And I want to run, but I can’t. I have the only silver weapon here, and I know for a fact silver is lethal to werewolves. I have a chance to turn the tide of this fight, even though the thought fills me with dread.

It would be so much easier to hand the knife to someone more experienced, but I can’t risk it. Being accused of witchcraft and banished is what I am afraid of the most.

It’s so ironic. I am the most powerless person here, and I cannot fight. In a one-on-one battle, I’d never stand a chance against the rabid beast. And yet, I stay put, my resolve steeled by sheer stubbornness. I do not stay out of duty, to protect the people who scorned me for years.

I’m here to show the devil he can’t rule me.

“Now,” Darobor says in a calm, easy voice.

The werewolf growls, shuffling its feet to get its mangled body into a better position. Swietko thrusts his spear at the beast with a reckless cry while the man opposite him, Alojzy, takes aim with his scythe.

Tolimir lets an arrow fly with a snap of his bow string. It misses, disappearing in the darkness behind the werewolf.

The beast explodes out of its hunched position, swiping with its claws. It roars, the sound terrible, and rolls out of the way of Swietko’s spear. It’s too fast, too agile. The lurching, halting gait from before was just a deception.

Alojzy catches its side with the tip of his scythe, and the werewolf snarls, twisting. It rises to all fours and bares its teeth at the man. Alojzy drops the scythe, his lips pale, eyes wide.

“Attack! All as one!” Darobor bellows, no longer bothering with his soothing voice.

The werewolf lunges at Alojzy, who screams and runs, the long, sharp claws barely missing his back. The werewolf makes to chase him, but Swietko pokes it with his spear, his face grave, lips pursed. The spear goes into the werewolf’s lean thigh and pulls back, leaving behind a shallow wound oozing rotten blood.

The beast turns with a chuff and swipes at Swietko with its long arms, but Darobor’s scythe is in the way. The other men move closer, forming two tight rings around the monster, and for a moment, I think they might win.

They surround it. Surely, one of them is strong enough to cut off the beast’s head. One clean strike of an ax is all it will take.

A clawed hand settles heavily on my waist, and I jerk, looking up. Woland stands by my side, half-swathed in his shadows, his golden eyes aglitter.

“You mortals are so easy to play,” he says, dark amusement ringing in his voice. “It’s almost disappointing.”

I open my mouth to scream for the men to flee, but it’s too late.

The beast roars and swipes with its long arms, left and right, scattering the men. Some fall to the ground with cries of pain, deep claw gashes in their skin. Others drop out of the sheer power of the werewolf’s hits. Unwounded, they struggle to get up with jerky movements.

Darobor is one of the few left standing. He slices down with his scythe in a wide, powerful arc. The werewolf growls and rolls out of the way.

It lands on top of Swietko, who’s trying to crawl away, blood seeping from his torn arm.

The monster snarls, its muzzle twisting. Its teeth sink into Swietko’s arm. The powerful jaws close with a crunch of bones.

An inhuman, horrible scream tears out of Swietko’s throat. By my side, Woland laughs with glee, and I stand there, numb and petrified. His grip tightens around me for a brief moment and then he’s gone. I stagger, suddenly cold and alone, barely able to stand on my own.

And even though my mind screams for me to close my eyes, I can’t tear them away from the gore. I see every movement of the werewolf’s jaws as they chew Swietko’s flesh and bones. I see the ragged, gaping wound, shattered bone poking out of the red mess.

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