Page 60 of Devil's Doom

He’s right. Iamcapable and strong. I will have his people’s respect if I try hard enough.

“You wanted to fight,” Woland says with a shrug. “You said you hate what Perun is doing. We both know there is a way for you to bring him down this very second, but since you won’t let me claim you, you’ll have to contribute in other ways.”

My stomach churns when I realize he’s right. Everything I saw out there, the deadly tolls, the rapes, the rule of terror, will end—if I let Woland claim me, giving him the power to win against Perun.

But will Woland be any better? Just today, he crushed his loyal follower without hesitation or mercy, and for what? Because she said the wrong thing. How is that different from Perun’s daily heretic trials?

“How would your rule be different from Perun’s if you won?” I ask, swirling the wine in my goblet to fool him into thinking I’m not that eager to know.

“I’d bring the fence down,” Woland says easily. “I’d let the people of Slawa speak freely, too. The daily heresy trials would end, as would the weather tantrums. Do you know every time Perun is furious, a storm rolls over the land, killing at least a dozen people? Sometimes, it happens once every two months or so. At other times, there’s a storm every week, especially when Mokosz gets frisky with other gods. I will bring an end to that.”

“Hm.” I take another small sip, marveling at the tart, fresh taste. It’sexactlylike my wine, as if I made it myself. “You speak of things that would end, but what would you start? Surely you have ideas—what to add, how to make things better.”

“Let’s wait and see,” he says, his eyes glittering. “Any chance you might suck my cock before I leave?”

Desire coils in my lower belly. I shake my head.

“Pity.” Woland gets up, stretching with a deep groan of pleasure. “Knock on the bath three times, and it will fill with water. If you’re hungry, knock on the dining table. And for fuck’s sake, stay here for now. That was enough trouble for one day. Draga will come to get you tomorrow morning.”

“When will you be back?” I ask, standing, too.

He gives me a cunning smile. “What, are you going to miss me? That’s adorable.”

“No. I want to know how much peace I’ll have before you come back.”

His smile grows wolfish. He comes over in two long strides and takes my chin between finger and thumb, leaning in. His lips stop just shy of mine.

“Then I won’t tell you. Stay sharp, love. I could be back any minute.”

His shadows surge up, hiding him from view. As the last trace of his breath caresses my unkissed lips, he’s already gone.

Chapter twenty-one

Draga

Woland’s bath is a separate room, the door opposite the bed. Inside stands an enormous, oblong vessel made from copper that glimmers just like my hair in the light from the fireplace. I imagine it might fit Woland and at least two other people—and it probably has at some point.

When I knock on it three times, it fills at once.

The bath is the most decadent I’ve ever taken in my life. There is so much room to stretch, the water stays hot, and I have a few soaps to choose from, one smelling of roses, another of rosemary, and the last one, as if to mock me—of lovage.

Woland made fun of my lovage soap once. I wonder if he started using it back then, or if it’s a staple in his bath. Just like my wine, the soap is a strange reminder of home and an unexpected piece of me in his life.

As I soak, I consider what to do. He’s gone, and if I want to leave, I should do it now. Yet, I linger, slowly moving my hands and legs under water until my entire body relaxes, the pain and confusion of the day coming off my skin like dirt.

Because where would I go? Slawa is a hopeless prison, and even if I leave the tunnels, I cannot leave the city. The forest is a trap, and the fence is said to kill anyone trying to climb it or crawl underneath. The only way through is to fly above it, and even if I could, what then?

Wyraj is off limits. The gods would never let the likes of me stay among them. And Nawie isn’t just beyond a fence, but a deep, deadly river that devours those who try to pass.

There used to be bridges, according to Lech. Long, long ago, when Perun and Weles didn’t fight every time they met.

It seems I have nowhere to go, but if I stay here, Woland will try to claim me one way or another. I press my fingers to my scar that starts right above my pubic bone. My skin is sensitive there, but the scar is barely visible. I wonder if Woland knows of a way to cure my infertility, but as soon as that thought blooms in my mind, I dig my nails into my thighs and try to chase it away.

It’s pointless to think about it. I must stay infertile to evade his control. Even if the yearning in my chest feels like it might suffocate me.

For now, I am as I was, my body scarred in all the familiar ways. But he tried to fuck me almost as soon as he caught me. I should be careful. If he can heal me, that means I can’t afford to have sex with him.

I play with the rune on my wrist, wondering if it’s enough to stop conception if I am healed. With anyone else, probably. With Woland? He’s too powerful for me to have any illusions that my flimsy rune will hold him back.

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