Page 150 of Devil's Doom

And still, she speaks with pride, eyes narrowed as she stabs me with her reply. “Yes.”

Something crumbles inside me, something precious and fragile I didn’t even know was there. I roar until my shadows tremble. The fury pours out through my throat, scratching and horrible, and still there’s more, louder and more painful. It’s like it sticks inside me, coating my very being with tar. I’ll never be rid of it.

I walk toward her, my hands itching with the need tosee, once and for all. Maybe I want to be broken. When she whimpers with fear, pressing her back into the shadows, I pause. So she’s scared. Good. She shouldsuffer.

With my teeth bared, I snarl, tearing the front of her shirt in a violent tug. She cries out, and I shred the fabric, revealing that beloved, soft body, tainted now. She gleams silver, marks on her breasts and stomach, marks on her sides, everywhere.

“What are you doing?” she asks, tears swelling in her throat.

Good. Let her cry. Let her weep for everything she’s done to me.

With my muttered curse, her trousers fall to her ankles. She shakes her head, crying, face wet and blotched, and I stumble away.

Yes. She didn’t lie. There it is.

As rage swallows my will and reason, a distant voice in my head wonders idly how I let myself come to this. I’ve never cared about a woman with such a debasing need. It was always about pride and ownership. It never used tohurt.

“Whyhim?” I ask, my voice hoarse from roaring.

I can’t bear this pain, because it has no end, no solution. Any other man, I would rip to shreds and forget, but not Chors.

She laughs hysterically, more tears falling, turning silver as they roll down her cheeks.

“Because I wanted him, and he wanted me back,” she says through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible over the buzzing in my ears. “Because he just wantedme.”

I shake my head, her reason so very trite. It’s impossible that all this suffering and hurt is caused by… by this. By two people wanting each other. It cannot be, and I stalk closer, until the traces of her defiance vanish, and all she feels is terror.

But I don’t touch her. I won’t. She’s poison, and not the kind I can shake off.

For the first time since I met her, I am truly afraid. Not for her. Not for the fate of my victory. But for myself.

If she makes me feel likethis, as if the very substance of my being is tearing apart in agony, what else can she do to me?

“How could you?” I ask, my hands shaking. We stand close, and she looks up into my face with wide, fearful eyes, and I could touch her, I could kill her, but I won’t, Ican’t.

“The same way you could,” she says, voice quiet. She weeps, her sobs soft, her tears big and hot. “Just do it, whatever it is you want to punish me with. I’m tired, Woland. So tired. Just get it over with and let’s be done.”

Done? No, I will not be done. I will hate her, I will trap her, I’ll make her suffer the same way she hurt me, but I won’t let her go.

Her passive surrender enrages me further, and I want to shake her, but still, my hands tremble with resistance. No, I will not touch her, because then I’ll sense it, too, his magic on her skin like fungus, the proof of my most beloved god taking what’s mine.

I cannot hate him, which is why I must hate her twice, once for her, and once for him.

She must suffer.

The buzzing in my head grows stronger, tremors running down my back and legs. The scent of their coupling makes me suffocate, odious and foul in my nose, and all I want is to roar again, but I know it won’t make it stop.

I press my knuckles to my temples, but the pain only gets worse. My heart is split in three, part for me, part for her, part for him. It feels like it will never be whole again.

I must fix it. I must—she must suffer.

“Fine,” I grit out, a grin I know is mad pressing onto my lips. I am beyond reason. Everything falls away until I am hate incarnate, the god of vengeance, and the instrument of torment for my beloved.

“Let me pay you back, love.”

She looks up with fresh alarm, and I grin wider, relishing her fear. Keeping her close is more important than my disgust, so I grab her hand, hissing when Chors’ moon magic brushes against my fingers with the familiar cool sensation.

I hate her so much for choosinghim.Any other man, I would bury in the ground and keep alive for the sheer pleasure of listening to his screams. Him, I can’t touch. It’s like she wanted my fury to have no outlet.

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