Page 52 of Devil's Doom

And the deep, piercing pain in my chest is happening to somebody else. It’s notmine.I know better than to feel irrationally hurt by his words. It’s good that he told me. And my stupid heart will realize it, too.

Hopefully soon.

Woland studies me a moment longer, then lets me go. He lifts his hand up to his mouth. A ball of glittering shadows shifting between gray, black, and indigo sits in the middle of his palm.

“Bring me the upir and the wila for an audience. Send in a meal, too.”

When the little ball rises high and passes through the ceiling, I realize the words weren’t meant for me. He sent a magical message to somebody else. I clench my fists.

“You said you won’t hurt them,” I grit out, rallying my magic to protect my friends.

“And I won’t.” Woland turns to me with a gleeful smile. “Your upir brought my estranged lover back to me. I had to punish her, of course, because how dare she run away, but he will be rewarded.”

I snort with disgust. “So I’m supposed to pretend you punished me? Forget it.”

“You don’t have to pretend.”

He waves his hand indolently over my body and turns me until I face my reflection. My eyes grow wide when I see the state of myself. My throat is dark with bruises, eyes red from tears. The wound in my neck that healed thanks to his magic comes back, red and bloody. Yet nothing hurts.

“No. I won’t wear those marks,” I hiss, pressing my hand to my throat in a desperate attempt to heal the bruise.

But my own magic hasn’t replenished yet. My spell fails.

“And why is that?” Woland asks with a wicked smile. “They tell the truth of what I did to you, don’t they? And you are such a champion forhonesty.”

I seethe, trying to understand where my anger comes from. He’s right—he choked me, he drank my blood, he made me suffer. But I wasn’t powerless in that exchange. He did it all because he lost control. He craved my blood and was enraged by my rejection. It wasn’t a punishment.

What he did to me was a sign ofmypower overhim, as twisted as it sounds. Yet he means the bruises to tell a different story—of his mastery and my subjugation.

“It’s humiliating,” I say. “And I don’t spread my legs for those who humiliate me. Remove the marks.”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “You’ll come around. For now, settle down, my darling, because your friends are here.”

He grips my elbow and leads me away from the bed just as a door clangs somewhere ahead in the cavernous room. At the snap of Woland’s fingers, golden light floods the space, innumerable light orbs floating under the ceiling. The light makes the cavern cozier, revealing sumptuous furniture.

We reach a dining area with a long table bracketed by two benches. At the head sits Woland’s throne, the polished, black skulls on the armrests gleaming in the light.

I want to make a cutting remark about his grim dining setup, but a tall, willowy woman with bottomless black eyes comes in, pushing Lech and Rada into the room. She bows so low, her waist-long, black hair brushes the floor. Behind her comes a kobold, three trays of steaming food hovering in the air in front of him.

The kobold bows in clear deference, and my nostrils flare with irritation. Woland barely acknowledges his servants, as if the nauseating subservience is expected and completely natural.

“Leave,” he says when the food is on the table.

The woman and the kobold bow again, making me grit my teeth, and walk away, keeping their eyes low. Their shoulders are tense, and I can tell they fear him.

“Is that how you treat your followers?” I mutter under my breath.

Woland ignores me, turning to Lech and Rada. She watches us both with wide, fearful eyes, and Lech has his arm around her, his mouth set in a grim line, eyes cast down. When the doors clang shut, he steps forward, falling to his knees.

“Please, punish only me, master,” he says, his voice tight and guttural. “The woman and child had nothing to do with it. It was my decision to bring them. It’s my mistake.”

For a moment, everyone is silent. I gape at Lech, shocked by his behavior. I can’t believe it’s him—the sardonic creature with a smart mouth and quick reflexes. Lech never bowed to any authority. But then, he was a rebel all along. The devil is his true master.

Woland turns to me, his eyes aglitter. “See, Jaga? Reputation is everything.”

Rada blinks, giving me a quick, penetrating look. Lech remains on the floor, his hands clasped so tightly, his knuckles are white.

“Rise, upir,” Woland says finally as he takes his seat at the head of the table. He pulls a large platter of meat closer and grabs a knife. “Come and sit. Not you, Jaga. You’ll sit in my lap or not at all.”

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