Page 71 of Devil's Deal

His eyes burn, so bright, they are almost white. He bares his teeth at me in a snarl that almost looks like a grin. I’ve never seen him so angry, and a tremor of new fear slices through my gut.

And yet, I don’t change my answer. “I’d rather die than be yours.”

The devil straightens and roars, throwing his head back. His throat cords with the effort of holding the weight of his antlers. I try to turn away, but his shadows don’t let me.

The air around me vibrates with the force of his roar, the sound penetrating into my bones, making my entire body tingle. More pain and fear shoot up my spine until I’m ready to beg for this to be over.

When the sound ends and Woland pants violently, each breath ending on a small snarl, I want to ask him why he cares. But that would prolong this ordeal, and I just wish for it to be over, one way or another.

“You obstinate witch,” he growls, bringing his face so close to mine, I feel his hot breath on my lips. “You have no fucking idea what’s riding on this, do you? So typically mortal. Selfish and short-sighted.”

I’d feel offended if I had any space for things other than horror and pain, but as it is, I can only bite my tongue and brace myself for when the spell ends.

Surely, he’ll do it now. He’s so angry, I can’t believe he’ll let me live another second.

And yet, Woland takes his time. He straightens, huffing with fury. His eyes glitter when he looks at me, his shadows moving over my skin like he needs to keep touching me. My body is on the verge of giving out. I swallow with difficulty, my head splitting with pain, my limbs shaking with uncontrollable tremors.

“Just… end… it,” I choke out, my teeth chattering. “I won’t… change… my mind.”

He snarls in response, his tongue flicking out, black and long. My eyes tire from looking up at his face as he sits on his heels, so I lower them, unmoved by his nakedness. His long, elegant claws tap out a compulsive rhythm on his bare thigh. The movement draws my eyes to his cock, lying long and flaccid across his lap, thorns pricking around the base.

I test his hold on my head, but his shadows only tighten, putting pressure on my windpipe. I freeze and focus on my breathing.

Because it’s almost over. Either he releases the spell or I’ll pass out. I’m dead either way.

“Fuck.” Woland sighs deeply, his claws digging into the muscular flesh of his thigh. They draw blood, and he growls.

Next thing I know, his bloody claw rams into my mouth, a hot, coppery taste on my tongue. I try to protest and move away, but his shadows flood my nose, forcing me to swallow. Only when I do does he withdraw his finger.

“What…” I wheeze out, but my throat fails me, my voice breaking. I swallow again, trying to soothe the burn, realizing too late that I should have spat out the remains of his blood instead.

My heart gives a powerful thump, rattling my ribs. I cry out.

Suddenly, brightness floods my vision, the darkness of Woland’s shadows around me becoming textured and nuanced. I groan in pain, something slithering in my veins, powerful and hot. Something alien.

My skin burns, my throat throbs, and my mind is on fire. I thrash from the pain, and my body feels inexplicably stronger, moving more easily under the werewolf’s bulk. I’m still trapped, but there is a sense of power thrumming inside me.

Clarity fills my mind, my thoughts sharpening. As soon as it began, it’s over, my heart beating in its normal, strong rhythm, my senses keen, muscles tight and ready.

I have no time to wonder what happened. Woland’s shadows wrap around my right leg and yank it out from under the werewolf. My dress tears open from hip to hem. I cry out, but the pain seems to be dulled, my protesting joint instantly soothed. The stinging gash on my chest stops hurting. I don’t understand what’s happening.

“You’ll need this,” he growls in a low, angry voice.

Then, his palm is on my thigh, stroking up and up, almost to the junction of my legs. I try to jerk away from his touch, but his shadows hold me in place. He doesn’t touch me between the legs, his claws running back down until they meet my makeshift strap for my knife.

I blink, staring up into the werewolf’s maw, a clump of dirt in my free left hand. Something cold touches my skin. He slides it slowly beneath the strap, and I recognize my knife, its silver blade settling into my flesh with sharp familiarity.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sounding so much stronger now.

My body hums with energy, sparks of power going off along my spine. I realize it must be because of the drop of his blood he forced inside me. Somehow, it wiped away all my pain and exhaustion.

“Balancing the stakes.” There is gravel in his voice, betraying fury and tension. When he laughs sharply, it comes out forced. “It will be more fun to watch this way.”

I want to reply, but his claws trace the shape of the knife on my thigh, sharp and ticklish. My skin pebbles with gooseflesh, and Woland heaves a weary sigh.

“We could be fucking right now if you didn’t insist on being so difficult,” he mutters under his breath, as if talking to himself. “Foolish witch.”

“I’ll never lay with you,” I bite out through clenched teeth, even as my body warms from his touch. The pads of his fingers stroke my inner thigh, and I can’t help it. My core tightens with anticipation.

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