Page 79 of Devil's Doom

“He is very jealous of your symmetrical body,” Chors says gravely.

I look up, finding his amused gaze studying my face. I release a heavy breath and try to smile.

“Thank you for coming to see me. I hope we can finish our conversation another time.”

He traces my eyebrow with his thumb, his head tilted to the side. “Yes. I haven’t really pinpointed the source of your appeal yet. I’d like to examine you in more detail.”

“So it’s not the symmetry?” I ask with a small huff of laughter. “Pity. That would be so easy to fix. I could get a scar on one side of my face, or lose the tip of one finger. My symmetry would be gone.”

Chors runs his fingers down my cheek, as if imagining my face with a scar. “I don’t think that will mar your appeal,” he says finally. “Goodbye.”

And just like that, he disappears. I blink, the night so much darker with his silver light gone. At the bank, water splashes. Woland wades in to where I stand.

I fold my arms on my chest to cover myself. I was generous with Chors, letting him see me, but Woland doesn’t deserve it. He discarded me so easily every day for the past month, and my resentment and fury have festered far too long to be brushed aside.

“You said I was free to leave,” I hiss when he stops in front of me, so tall, I have to crane my neck to see him. Chors was much more comfortable to look at.

“I also said I would kill the next man you lay with,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

I shrug. I have too much scorn for him to treat his words as more than petulant threats. Besides, he can’t really kill Chors. All gods are immortal.

“A woman has needs, and you weren’t there to meet mine,” I say archly.

I could explain that nothing happened between me and Chors, but I’d rather just poke the devil and see what happens. When Woland releases a low, threatening sound, reaching for my throat, I send a current of magic to my palm and slap his hand away with force.

“No. I’m done with your games.”

I circle around him, just out of his arms’ reach. Woland’s shadows shoot out to stop me, but they don’t touch my skin. The pendant hiding under my collarbones pulses with a reddish light. He moves with impatience, his long legs carrying him too close for comfort.

“We aren’t done talking.”

He grabs my wrist, tugging me back. I smirk and grow spikes. Woland lets go with a grunt, and I make it to the bank unobstructed. He follows, water splashing with his angry steps.

“Jaga. We aren’t done.”

I snort with a harsh laughter. “No, dear.Youaren’t done, but I’m going. If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to wait a month. I’ll see you on winter solstice if I have time.”

I don’t bother with drying myself, just shrug on my shirt to cover my nakedness. Woland comes closer, watching me with belligerent eyes, but he doesn’t try to touch me. I dress fast, my movements jerky with fury.

When I’m ready, I grab my bag and turn away. Not toward Slawa, but the forest.

“Goodbye.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He appears in my path in a whirlwind of shadows, barring my way.

“So that’s how much your word is worth?” I mock him. “And you want to rule Slawa? Wake up! You can’t even keep your own promises. You will be just as bad as Perun if not worse.”

His lips purse, his tail twitching with tension. I snort out a humorless laugh, seeing his mulish expression. He is so obstinate, yet he doesn’t even know his own mind. Gods, how I hate him.

Woland looks away, his jaw working. Finally, he takes one step to the side, his brows pulled low over his eyes. “I can keep my word.”

“Splendid.”

I set out for the forest, giving him a wide berth. As I leave him behind, triumphant that I got my way, a tiny ache blooms in my heart when I realize he will truly let me go. It was just like he said. When he got me, and I sat tightly in his room just as he commanded, he lost interest at once. So that’s what my appeal was—the thrill of the chase.

It wasn’t about me in the end. It was about my ability to tell him no.

When my heart wrenches with a horrible, tearing pain, I trap a sob in my throat and quicken my steps. Gods, how I hate myself, even more than him. I’d like nothing more than to take my heart out of my chest and slap some sense into it.

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