Page 67 of Devil's Deal

So no, Swietko wasn’t worthy of the privilege of being cursed. I suppose Woland doesn’t find him evil enough, and I admit he’s right. If all petty, unpleasant people got cursed, there would be no mortals left.

“I think you can go ba…” I begin, but an alarmed male shout interrupts me. It comes from the other side of the village, loud enough to hear in the distance.

Alina gasps, and I press my hand to my chest. The werewolf had to wait nearby to be in the village so soon after moonrise. I wonder if it’s still wounded, giving the men an advantage, or if it magically healed.

Another shout follows, then another, moving closer. I know I am as safe as can be, with the lamb bones Waclaw gave me guarding my gate. Good thing I buried them, too, because once I started selling my pouches, I didn’t leave any for myself.

A panicked shout, closer yet. It’s like the men have lined the main roads and follow the werewolf’s passage through the village. But now, something’s changed. There is frantic shouting, and I think I make out the words, “Passed the bait!”, but I’m not sure.

I turn to the gate, hoping to get a closer look from just behind my protection, when my heart freezes in confusion that tastes like terror.

Someone dug here. It’s just as Alina said, there is a hole in the ground, obvious and hastily made. Even before I take the first step to look, I know what I’ll find.

The bones protecting my home are gone.

“Get inside!” I snarl, turning to Alina.

Her eyes grow big and she opens her mouth to speak. I shove her toward my cottage.

“In the house! Now!”

She turns and runs inside, and I make to follow, relieved she doesn’t disturb Swietko’s bone when she crosses the threshold. We should be safe inside. Now, I only have to…

“Not so fast.”

There is such delight in Woland’s voice, such infinite triumph, I don’t instantly understand what he says. And then, I see it. His shadows spring from the grass around my feet, wrapping around my ankles like vines, trapping me.

I growl and try to get free, but I can barely lift my feet at first, and then, I can’t move them at all. The shadows hold strong, tying me to the ground. I struggle, pushing and pulling, but the harder I fight, the tighter they get.

Until, suddenly, they vanish. I fall down with a cry of surprise, my hands landing in the grass. I scramble to my feet, but before I take a step toward the safety of the cottage, I freeze.

A menacing growl reverberates behind me. It starts low and cruel and grows louder with every moment, until it explodes into a terrifying snarl.

I whip around, too shocked to make a sound. The blood in my veins turns cold.

The werewolf is here, its eerily human eyes—Przemyslaw’s eyes—staring at me as it takes a slow, deliberate step over the dug up hole in my path. Another growl builds deep in its throat.

There is a scream from inside my cottage, Alina crying out in terror, and then the door slams shut. I swallow thickly, reaching down to unstrap my knife. With slow, deliberate movements, I hike up my skirt and grab the warm, wooden handle while the beast takes another prowling step toward me.

Its long, yellow teeth are bared, saliva dripping down its muzzle. It walks on all fours, as misshapen and badly made as it was last night. I know the slowness of its movements is deceptive. Any moment, it can jump and bite through my neck.

I am as good as dead.

“I’d tell him to sit, but I think he wants to play first,” Woland says behind me, sounding amused and at ease. His voice is normal, without the odd echoing quality it sometimes has, and I can’t shake the feeling he’s here in the flesh. “Good doggy.”

If my eyes weren’t glued by the beast, I would take a look at him just to see what true madness looks like. Because only the devil would be mad enough to call the horrifying mass of raw muscle and rotten fur a doggy. He is completely unconcerned, whereas I am barely holding myself from panic. Woland’s insouciant attitude doesn’t calm me in the least.

I back away slowly, keeping my eyes on the werewolf. I don’t blink, my eyes stinging from the effort, but I fear any sudden movement will set him off. Even something as small as the flutter of an eyelid.

“Did you dig out the bone?” I murmur softly, trying to make my voice as soothing as Darobor’s was last night. I can’t, though. There is a trembling edge to my words, betraying my terror.

The beast’s growl turns harsher, and it shakes itself off, bits of decomposing fur falling away. I swallow, taking another agonizingly slow step back while Woland chuckles.

“No. I actually expected you to be out there again like the reckless witch you are. But this is even better. Never underestimate the power of petty revenge, poppy girl.”

The werewolf throws its head as if trying to chase away a fly. I push Woland out of my mind, knowing any distraction can kill me now. His words fly right over my head, too. He always speaks in riddles, and I have no mental space to untangle his meaning.

My sweaty palm slips on the handle of the knife, and I grip it desperately, stepping back and to the left. The last thing I want is to get trapped against the wall of my cottage, so I move slowly toward my vegetable garden.

---