Page 160 of Devil's Doom

The next breath, I take without help. And then it’s like I never stopped. I breathe, one after another, and it feels like too many after the absence of air, but then, it’s just enough.

I shake with another orgasm, a glittering world of gold bursting behind my closed eyelids. Everywhere there was pain, euphoria lives, and I’m grateful he made me immortal, after all.

The pain was worth it. Because life is so precious.

“Open your eyes, love,” the voice murmurs, and I make a sound, my first.

It’s scratchy and probably doesn’t mean much. What I want to say is,Who are you?

I don’t know that voice. It’s vaguely familiar, as if I heard a distorted echo of it in the past. A beastlier, darker echo, with edges and claws. This voice is smooth. Masculine, deep. But polished. Like a stone at the bottom of the river, instead of a jagged rock.

“Come on, sweetheart. You are well now. I just need to check your eyes.”

I scrunch up my nose, the echoes of my last orgasm still humming through my vertebrae, pleasant and soft. Why would he speak to me this way, like he knows me? He’s a stranger. I don’t know his voice.

And so my eyes stay closed, refusing to see a strange face after everything. I deserve someone familiar.Woland.It’s him I called, shattering my only protection, revealing where I was. Why isn’t it him? The blood tasted like his, but the voice, the voice!

I whimper, pitiful and broken. He never loved me. He only used me, wrapped me up in his lies, and in the end, when I ripped my bones and heart to call him, he didn’t come. He sent a stranger.

“What is it, sweetest?” the voice asks, a lilt at the end that I don’t recognize, too musical, a bit like Chors, yet not. “Where does it hurt? I will fix it all. Just show me where.”

My arms feel heavy when I raise them. I am cradled in his lap, his arms holding me securely, but they are wrong arms. Strong, yes, but smaller. Woland is so big. The stranger isn’t.

He hums, a bit troubled, a bit pitying, as I press my hands to my heart.There.This is where it hurts. This is what’s broken.

A palm lays on top of mine, a warm, big palm that has no claws. A sound rips out of my throat, sad and yearning.

“Shh. I’ll fix it. Let me see.”

Currents of magic swirl around our hands and gently descend into me. He hums under his breath in thought, a clawless thumb gently smoothing the top of my palm.

“Nothing there, sweetheart,” he says after a moment, voice gentle. “It’s your heart. It’s perfectly well.”

I shake my head with a whine. Am I an animal? Did I forget how to speak? I press my lips together, moving my tongue in my mouth. Clumsy and unwieldy. But how will he know what’s wrong?

“Wol—Wol…” I can’t say more, but he grunts in response, and I think he understands what I’m trying to say.

“I’m here, love. I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head, frustrated. A lie, alie!This is a stranger. His blood might taste right, but his body is all wrong, and his voice is low and gentle. Woland would have cursed. He would have raged.

“No,” I manage, my tongue heavy and resistant. “Wol—and. Where… Woland.”

He makes another sound, softer. I think he understands me.

“I see.”

Magic pours out, tickling my skin, but it doesn’t touch me. It’s dark, made of shadows, and it smells like the earth after rain and smoke. I breathe it in, keening, because it’s so familiar. I want to breathe it all the time. This is my air now.

“Better, love?”

I open my eyes with a gasp. Here he is, the familiar dark face bowed over me, glittering gold eyes vigilant and soft. I cry for good this time. I cry all the sobs I wasn’t able to release when I was buried, and he holds me, a rough, sorrowful sound tearing from his throat. He pulls me up, pressing me to his chest.

“It’s all right, my sweetest. I’m here. I’m so sorry. I’m here.”

For a time, it’s enough. I let him hold me. I breathe. My body gets used to air and warmth, and I begin to shiver, as if in response to everything that happened. My teeth chatter, and he wraps me in a blanket, then another, and finally picks me up and sits with me by the hearth where hot fire roars.

The chattering abates somewhat, but I still shiver from time to time. He makes a sound of impatience, so very like him, and magic plays around us. When he turns away from the fireplace, a large bathtub stands in the middle of the room—a room I don’t recognize.

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