Page 10 of Devil's Doom

“Look, I’m well enough to get hard! It means playtime, girly. Stay where you are.”

Like hell.I tip the bottle to my lips and take a big sip. The blood is rich and smooth, flowing down my throat with a sensation of bone-deep wellbeing. I moan from how good it feels, the empty cavity in my chest filling with the vibrant, thrumming potency of Woland’s magic.

“Can’t wait for me, eh?” The utopek is right behind me, sounding much too pleased with himself.

I just manage to put the stopper back in, the pendant shrinking in my hand, when he grabs my ankles and drags me back, toward the pond. My short dress rolls under my belly, and I know my ass is bare. No matter.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I prefer to fuck underwater. No worries, though. I’ll help you breathe. Come now.”

Cut,I think viciously, focusing on those webs between his fingers.

He shrieks, dropping my legs, and I sit up, twisting to see him. He stands right behind me, tall, muscular, and slimy, his feet ending in three toes connected by webs. As I watch, dark green blood drips onto those feet. He’s frozen, staring without comprehension at his bleeding palms.

I roll to my feet, and his head jerks toward me. Fear flashes in his eyes. Then—anger.

“You…”

I imagine an invisible pitchfork in my hand and command it to strike true. I throw, and the utopek lands hard on his back, wheezing. He scratches at his throat, which I know is pinned to the ground by the invisible spikes of the magical pitchfork.

My chest gives a pulse of exertion, and I know I should stop now, or the sip of Woland’s blood will run out. But I don’t need to do more magic. I have this worm right where I want him.

His body flails from side to side as he tries to lift the restraint, his webbed feet skidding in the grass. Green blood slithers down his wrists and splatters his chest. I give him a long look.

And he dared to complain about my body? His cock is a tiny thing, flopping comically as he thrashes. I bet I’d never even feel it if he raped me.

He whimpers from effort, and I wait, idly looking around. We’re alone, the only people working the fields staying close to the city border, little specks of movement in the distance. Yet, it won’t do any good to stay here too long. When he finally falls silent, his strength flagging, I give him a cold smile.

“You will answer all my questions truthfully and I’ll let you go. If you lie or fail to tell me what I want, I’ll leave you like this. Maybe someone will find you and know how to free you. Maybe not. So, how will it be?”

“It’s too tight!” he wheezes in a hoarse voice. “I can’t breathe!”

Bullshit. I definitely see his slimy chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Utopeks can breathe both on the surface and underwater, and the force I hold him with is not too tight. He’s lying, and after Woland, I have a deep hate for liars.

I grit my teeth and grab my knife. Fast and agile, I crouch by his side and press the tip of the blade to the corner of his eye.

“Did I stutter? I told you not to lie.”

“Fine! Please, please, don’t hurt me! I’ll tell you everything! I’ll give you what you want!”

I pull the knife away, giving him a sweet smile. Gods, how good it feels to be in power. I hate it’s Woland’s power, not mine, but at least I get to use it for my own means.

“What’s the toll?”

The utopek whimpers, bloodied fingers clutching his throat.

“A magic tax! It’s a payment Perun takes from everyone in Slawa. It goes through the land once a day, at different times. It takes magic from you. Nothing can stop it. No one can hide.”

That makes sense. I nod, remembering how Woland said there is a fence surrounding Slawa that sucks magic from the land, though he made it sound like it was a continuous thing, not a once-in-a-day occurrence.

“I was told there’s a fence. Where is it?”

He blinks at me, a thick, gray tear oozing out of his eye. “It surrounds the forest and the city. You can’t see it because hills are in the way. And on that side,” he rasps, pointing to the north, “there is no fence, because the Struzina River is an uncrossable border.”

“Struzina? A small stream? Why do you say it’s uncrossable?” I ask, confused.

He takes a wheezing breath, closing his eyes in pain. “D-don’t you know? Big names give power, so if something has too much power already, better give it a small name. Struzina is a border between Slawa and Nawie, and it’s the biggest river, with cunning currents and horrible water beasts even I’m afraid of!”

“So no one can cross from here to Nawie?” I ask, tapping my chin.

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