Page 51 of Devil's Doom

“And why would I show you?” I ask, pulling up the torn front of my dress to cover myself.

My hair is still wet, dripping water, and I know I’ll catch a chill if I don’t get warm soon. I have enough magic to conjure a dozen new dresses. And yet, here I am, being obstinate, because Woland’s commands annoy me to no end.

He surprises me with a reasonable explanation.

“Because we’re on the same side for a change, and I need to assess your abilities. You said you want to fight. I’ll let you if you’re strong enough. Or you can stay down here and keep my bed warm. Your choice.”

He leans back on his hands, regarding me with a cunning smile. In the end, the cold and my pride win. Woland knows me like no one else, and after long weeks of hiding who I am, I long to show off.

I stride over to the wall by the bed and make a tall, narrow piece of it reflective. When I see myself, I huff an angry breath and whip toward him with a glare.

“You removed my disguise.”

Indeed, my hair is red again, my face freckled, features my own. My eye patch is gone. I didn’t notice in the blood frenzy before, but he must have taken it off.

“You look the best when you’re yourself,” he purrs. “Besides, you don't need it anymore. You were hiding from me, after all.”

With fingers trembling from the cold, I comb through my hair, focusing on making it dry and warm. Water evaporates from my scalp, steam rising, and Woland makes a low sound of approval.

“It’s not that simple,” I say when I’m finished. “My friends know me as someone else.”

“And now they will learn who you truly are.” He waves my protest away like it’s that easy. “You can tell them what you want apart from the prophecy. No one knows about it, only a few of those who came to your Kupala Night. We can’t risk Perun finding out. Do you need me to explain why?”

“Because he’ll take me away and make you lose your rebellion,” I mutter, trying to match the edges of my dress as closely as possible before I seal them closed.

“Well, that ismyreason to keep it secret. You should focus on the fact Perun will torture you, and if that fails, he’ll kill you. It pains me to say it, but he’s more powerful than me. He has all of Slawa’s magic at his disposal. You don’t stand a chance, so don’t talk about the prophecy.”

“Fine.”

I focus on making my dress whole, and the torn edges fuse together. The tear is still visible, but only just. I close my eyes and imagine warm, soft trousers hugging my legs. A moment later, they appear, a bit too loose, the seams imperfect, but at least they are warm. I dry my shoes and dress.

“Conjuring is one of the most advanced spells,” Woland murmurs. “You seem quite efficient. Are you close to running out?”

I shake my head and focus on my upper body, imagining a woolen sweater. On a whim and because I really want to impress him, I add a bit of embroidery—a bunch of poppies against the cream wool over my chest. The sweater appears on top of my dress, snug and warm. My breathing grows faster from exertion, Woland’s magic almost spent, though I’m still good for a spell or two.

“I think you discovered a new way to arouse a man,” he murmurs, coming to stand behind me. “It usually works the other way round, but you got me horny putting clothes on. My powerful witch.”

The hard proof of his desire presses to my back. I watch us in the mirror. I’m tall for a woman, yet still so much shorter than him. He towers over me, and we clash in so many ways. I’m dressed in warm layers, he’s naked; my skin is fair and freckled, his dark gray; I’m slender, he’s muscular, his shoulders broad and manly. And yet, we share something, too. Both of us sport uncanny eyes.

“Woland?” I ask softly.

“Hm?”

“You said Perun will kill me if he can’t have me. But what will you do? When whatever you’re plotting right now inevitably fails?”

His lips curve in a smile, but his eyes remain serious as he pulls some of my hair away from my face, his claw teasing the side of my neck.

“If I have to choose between you and victory, I’ll choose victory. I’ve fought for centuries, and it’s what I want the most,” he says quietly, and I shiver, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“But unlike Perun, I will be sorry to kill you.”

Chapter eighteen

Marks

“No tears? No curses or angry glares?” he asks mockingly after a moment of silence.

I shrug. “It’s good to know where you stand. Makes things easier.”

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