Page 78 of Devil's Doom

I don’t know what he means to do. There is nothing seductive in the way he undresses, treating each piece of clothing with deliberate attention. Soon, his clothes form an even stack next to my haphazardly thrown cloak, his pale body glinting silver under moonlight.

He is very lean. I can count his ribs, and yet, his stomach is tight, waist and hips narrower than his shoulders. He looks too young to be older than time. When he turns to me, I do everything in my might not to stare at his flaccid member nestled among dark hair.

Seemingly unbothered by the cold, he wades into the river. I stand still. Chors stops just a step away from me, looking down from his slight height advantage.

“I don’t know yet,” he says softly, watching my face with intense curiosity. “You aren’t beautiful like Mokosz, but your face is charming. The eyes draw one in. They are magical.”

I let out a slow, controlled breath. The pit of my stomach tightens, and when the god of moon traces my cheek with his cold knuckle, I swallow convulsively, my throat clicking. I don’t know why his perusal of me is so overwhelming. There is nothing sexual about it, and yet, a thrilling current caresses my spine from the inside, strangely close to arousal.

“Thank you,” I say when my voice is under control. “But there are many creatures with strange eyes. Yours are beautiful. Dark at one moment, silver the next. Do the colors mean anything?”

He shrugs, his fingertips trailing gently to my temple, where they stroke my hair.

“I don’t think so. What would they mean, anyway? Silver for happiness, black for thrill? I don’t think I’m happy often, or thrilled. Could you turn around, please?”

The water splashes gently around my hips when I do. I know the top curve of my ass protrudes just above the surface, and I feel wary and elated as Chors hums, gentle fingers trailing down my spine, as if he’s counting my vertebrae. When they reach my tailbone, he pauses, and then backs up toward the dimples in my lower back. He nestles his thumbs in them, as if trying to find the best fit for himself in the hollows of my body.

“You are very symmetrical,” he says.

It’s so unexpected a verdict, I snort with laughter, turning to see his face. He gasps softly, and we’re suddenly too close, my lips a breath away from his, skin brushing skin underwater.

I take a step back, but an unexpected current slips between my ankles, making me trip. I fall into him. Chors catches me with a sound of bemusement, his hold hesitant. I try to pull away when I right myself, but the wet sand under my feet slips away until I stumble.

“The river keeps pushing me toward you,” I murmur, remembering his strong affinity for water.

“Oh.” He seems puzzled as he looks down at me, his beautifully shaped eyebrows furrowed. “It seems like I want to keep you close. Maybe it’s because you’re so warm. Would you like to see me, too?”

His palms cup my elbows, and as another current pushes at the backs of my thighs, I wobble, my thigh brushing his underwater.

“I do see you,” I say. “You are very symmetrical, as well.”

A ghost of a smile curves his lips. “Thank you, but I meant something different. See what happens if you make my skin wet.”

I reach for the cold water, trapping some in my palm. I let it trickle down his forearm, and as his hairless skin grows wet, it glimmers silver. Intrigued, I run my palm up his arm, his muscles tensing under my touch. Chors swallows audibly but says nothing as I moisten his entire arm until a beautiful artwork of silver whorls and spirals is revealed.

It’s like a tattoo and jewelry in one. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

“Are you like this all over?” I ask, touching the side of his ribcage with wet fingers. His skin there remains unchanged.

“Here and there,” he says. When I look up, the silver highlights dusting his cheeks are brighter, his breath faster.

I think it’s time to tell him why I called him. But as I open my mouth to speak, the entire area around us floods with magical, silver light. I gasp, looking around with wonder. The river glitters like precious stones, the grasses at the shore discolored and gleaming like polished metal. Chors’ face is all silver, his eyes closed, sensuous lips pursed.

“You… You stopped time,” I whisper when I realize the movement of water around me stills. Nothing moves but us.

“Just to give me a moment to say goodbye,” he says, smiling ruefully as his eyes flash open. “Look at the bank. He’s doing everything in his might to dismantle my spell. I thought it would be rude if I left you to face him alone without a warning.”

I look over his shoulder, the pit of my stomach filling with dread when I see what he means. A dark silhouette stands in the grass, antlers black against the starry sky, burning yellow eyes turned on us.

He is surrounded by a cloud of smoke, but it cannot hide the fury in his gaze.

Chapter twenty-seven

Please

My fear only lasts a moment, replaced by hot anger.

“This is a joke,” I growl, staring at the frozen figure of Woland. Even though he doesn’t move, the cloud of shadows around him grows with every moment. “I can’t believe it.”

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