Page 58 of Devil's Doom

Chapter twenty

Power

There’s no stopping the cackle. Through tears of laughter, I watch as Woland yanks the upir woman’s hair, making her fall on her ass. When she sees him, her face turns into a mask of terror, her eyes huge, lips shaking as they stutter over words she’s unable to say.

The other woman falls to her knees, prostrating herself on the ground in front of him. Woland pays her no mind. He watches the terror-stricken upir at his hooves for a moment, then raises his arm slowly. His shadows rush to wrap around her until she disappears in the slithering mass of dark magic. He clenches his fist, and the woman bellows an ear-splitting scream of pure agony.

When his palm opens and his shadows retreat, I gasp in shock. The woman iscrushed. Her ribs are broken in many places, some of them poking out. She’s very clearly dead, her body a gruesome sight of bloody pulp and jagged bones.

“Clean this up,” Woland says in a low, beastly tone, directing the order at the other upir, who shakes on the floor, sobbing.

I’m no longer laughing. My voice is trapped in my throat, Woland’s easy cruelty shocking when directed at one of his followers. And for what? Because she threatened me? His reaction is so excessive, and yet, so in character.

When he looks at me again, something flashes in his eyes, his face tight and angry.

“Come.”

It doesn’t even cross my mind to disobey. As he turns and walks down the corridor, I follow, my hands numb, my heart racing. We walk through the crowded areas, people stopping to bow when he passes, their eyes flickering curiously to me. I keep my gaze down, feeling hollow and defeated. No longer burning with anger and hurt, I am nauseous, a seed of terror burrowing in the pit of my stomach.

Gods, I just want to get through this and be alone. Just like back home, when I was hated and feared. There, at least, I had my cottage to lock myself in when the hate became too much.

Foolishly, I thought it would be different here, but it seems wherever I go, I can’t escape this fate. I thought my magic was the problem back in the mortal world, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe the problem is simply—me.

Woland’s quarters, the rock bottom, are far from the crowded common areas. It takes us over ten minutes to get there, and in that time, the devil doesn’t look at me once. His tail swings with tension, and whatever is going to happen, I know it won’t be good.

When the door shuts behind us, he walks to a low table surrounded by large, padded benches. A fireplace bursts to life, golden light orbs turning on. At the snap of his fingers, his throne floats over, and Woland sits down.

That’s when he finally looks at me.

“I took the long way to give you time. Have you calmed down?” he asks in a voice so cold, it sends chills down my back.

“Haveyou?” I counter, folding my arms.

My legs shake, but my long dress hides it. It takes an effort to keep my spine straight. I arrest a longing glance toward the depths of the cavern where I know his bed is, since I know looking forward to a nap is likely a grave mistake. He’ll have me sleeping on the floor like a dog, or worse.

Woland’s nostrils flare as he leans back, his head falling onto the backrest while he watches me with hooded eyes.

“No. I’m all kinds of pissed. Today has been challenging, to say the least, and it’s not even evening. Sit down.”

I’m surprised by his candor. Remembering what he did at the meal earlier, I gingerly approach a bench, my eyes on him. Woland waves a hand, huffing wearily.

“Sit. We’re alone and I don’t have the energy to fight you on trivialities. Want some wine?”

“Yes.”

Another hand wave has a crystal pitcher and two goblets flying toward us. They hover in the air by his side, the wine pouring itself. One goblet flies into my hand, and I take a sip. My brow furrows.

“It tastes like my dewberry wine,” I say in confusion.

“I developed a preference for it,” the devil says, drinking deeply. “Now. Let’s start with the most important thing. I’m going to forgive you once, because I know you have no experience with true power. You spent your short life in a backward village on the fringes of the civilized world, and it would be beastly of me to expect you not to show it.”

I bristle, clenching my fingers around my goblet. Woland watches me, eyebrow raised. An insult sits on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it with difficulty, taking another sip. When I say nothing, he nods once in tacit approval.

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what you say about me. Reputation, remember? Mine has been carefully cultivated throughout centuries, while yours is a joke. My people regard you as a hotheaded traitor and my whore of the month. That’s why no one will believe I let you drink my blood. They think they know better.”

I regard him with a frown as he takes another deep drink, his shoulders relaxing with a weary exhale.

This isn’t what I thought would happen. I expected him to rage and humiliate me further, but this seems more like a lesson. His insults aren’t meant to offend me, and as I shove my hurt out of the way, I realize he’s right.

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