Page 63 of Devil's Deal

“I admit I’m offended,” he says, his voice mild as he stands right in front of me, too close for comfort.

I’m sitting on a low stool, and my face is almost level with his crotch. I don’t have the energy to get ashamed or aroused, so I merely lean my head back against the wall of my cottage, not even trying to look at his face.

Woland huffs a low laugh and drops into a crouch in front of me. He’s still taller, but I see his face now. As the light of the candle slides over his features, I think he looks exasperated and a little fond.

I wonder if he’s really here or if I fell asleep. Maybe it’s a dream.

“Why are you offended?” I whisper, and the strain in my throat, the utter effort it takes me to speak, convinces me it’s not a dream. He’s here, and I’m too weak to move. I should be afraid but can’t muster even a flicker of emotion.

“Because you’d rather face a werewolf than be mine,” he says, his eyes glittering.

He doesn’t seem angry, though, merely amused. I blink, forcing my eyes to focus on his face. He’s beautiful when he’s calm like this, his golden eyes soft.

“Go away,” I say weakly, a spark of unease flaring up when I realize what I just thought.

He’s not beautiful. He’s a cruel beast and I hate him. He got Bogna killed. He threatened me with rape.

Woland raises his arm and snaps his fingers.

“I, too, can be stubborn.”

My treacherous eyes linger on the lines of his palm, his fingers graceful and strong, made longer by the claws. I stare with stupid appreciation until suddenly, something glimmers in his hold.

His hand wraps around a bejeweled silver goblet that appears out of thin air. He brings it to my lips.

I have enough strength to turn my head away so the rim of the cup presses to my cheek and not my mouth. Woland huffs with impatience.

“It’s just water. You haven’t drunk anything for hours.”

Ah, that explains why it’s so hard to speak and my head swims so badly. Somehow, in all the chaos around the werewolf’s attack, Swietko’s amputation, and my desperate drive to offer protection to the village, I forgot to sustain my body.

I wonder why Wiosna didn’t say anything, but then, she’s been quiet for hours. Which is good. I shouldn’t get used to relying on her. A whisperer should be self-sufficient, and I failed miserably at that. I know very well that if not for her instruction, I’d have botched Swietko’s surgery and treatment. He’d be dead because of my weakness.

And now, I’m painfully vulnerable because I didn’t take care of myself. Stupid, stupid.

“Let me go and I’ll get water from the well,” I say, my throat parched now that I’m aware of my thirst.

His shadows tighten around me, wrapping higher up until they press to my throat. They feel like a physical touch and yet not. There is something cool yet alive to their grip, something strong but fragile. In all their otherworldly wickedness, they feel somehow right. My muscles loosen, my chest expanding against the dark restraints.

They press into my breasts, and I sigh, relaxing. My eyelids drop. I just want to sleep.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Woland growls, his mild demeanor gone. “If I wanted to slip something in your drink, I’d put it in your cup just as you took a sip. Even then, I have no need for such a mortal subterfuge as poison. I can kill you with a look. This is just water. Drink up, poppy girl.”

I turn my head back to him, and the rim of the cup presses to my lower lip. I smell the water now, clear and cool. My tongue tingles with the need to gulp it down. And yet, I don’t trust him. Why should I?

Woland sighs in exasperation, and his breath skirts over my skin, warm and pleasant. It smells like firewood smoke in the evening air. Something cracks inside me, a shield giving way to longing. I breathe in deeply and part my lips, closing my eyes.

So be it.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters.

His clawed hand slithers onto my nape, gently tipping my head back. A liquid pours into my mouth, the clearest, sweetest water I’ve ever had. I drink greedily, not caring that his shadows slide over me in a caress, teasing my nipples. His tail wraps around my leg, hiking my dress up. This water tastes like nectar of the gods. It soothes my parched throat, pouring strength into my weary body while Woland’s intimate touch wakes me up, each pass of his shadows and tail chasing my numbness away.

Too soon, it’s over. The cup is taken from my lips, his hand gone from my nape, shadows slithering away. When I open my eyes, he stands on the path, watching me as his tail swings behind his legs.

His cock is hard, jutting away from his body. His shadows wrap around his face and I can’t discern his expression.

I smack my lips. My vision is suddenly clear, my mind sharp. Revulsion squeezes my gut, the realization of what I just did, how I let him touch me, crushing through the hum of wellbeing in my bones.

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