Page 94 of Devil's Doom

When he finishes inside me, he sits back against the headboard, sitting me in his lap. We’re joined, his thorns pulling and stinging with every move, but his venom courses in my blood, dulling the pain and bringing out the pleasure. I feel raw and well used, and finally—finally—his atrocious lies lose their power. I can’t imagine a man using a woman he loves the way Woland used me, and that thought fills me with peace.

“Bring breakfast for me and my consort,” he speaks into his palm, where a little ball of shadow glitters indigo.

The ball floats away, and I know someone will come soon.

“Drink,” he orders me, pushing his bleeding thumb into my mouth while his other hand dives between my legs, fingers moving easily in the slick mess. “I want to make sure everything heals properly.”

His blood amplifies my pleasure as he brings me to a quick, easy orgasm. When I open my eyes, I realize we’re not alone. A bieda arranges food on a small table by the bed, her eyes averted.

Woland huffs into my hair. His fingers strum me again, and I catch his wrist with both hands, embarrassed. He doesn’t stop, murmuring softly, “They need to know my consort is doing her job, pet. Close your eyes. It feels so good when you squeeze me tight.”

I clench my teeth and shut my eyes, perfectly aware the bieda hears his every word. Woland chuckles, pinching my clit as he sends a current of magic directly into it. I yelp with shock, a strong, painful orgasm tearing through me. I can’t bite back the loud scream despite how embarrassing it is.

“Good consort,” he says with a laugh. “She left. We can eat.”

Later, when I am dressed and bathed, he sits me down and combs my hair with a glittering comb that looks like it’s made of bone encrusted with green and yellow jewels. I sit passively and let him do whatever he wants, my body sore and well-used despite the blood he fed me. When he braids my hair around my head with quick, sure movements, I’m not even that surprised. I’m too tired for shock.

“I taught myself how to braid hair after I fell in love with yours,” he says softly, running his fingers over the finished braids. “I wanted an excuse to touch it, I suppose.”

My heart wrenches, but it received so much abuse last night, I can’t even suffer much. Gods, how I’d love to believe him. I’d love to trust that my hair is loveable, thatIam loveable, but no amount of Woland’s sweet words will convince me.

“So, does my month as your consort officially start now?” I ask with a wan smile.

He snorts, pressing his face to my crown of braids. He runs his lips along it, and I swallow thickly, unbalanced by all the odd ways he shows me affection. It feels like he’s trying too hard. It’s too much, all at once.

“I already told you, pet. I’m not letting you go. In fact—here. I made it one night, thinking of you.”

His hand disappears in a cloud of shadows. When they disperse, a small, glittering thing lies in the middle of his palm.

A ring.

Chapter thirty-two

Duel

“Take it. It won’t bite,” he says with a low chuckle.

I don’t dare touch the tiny, intricate band. It’s made of a gleaming, black metal and inset with three red gems that glitter like wine in moonlight. The metal is twisted, looking a bit like black, naked tree boughs. The ring is menacing and stunning at the same time, but I can’t appreciate its beauty.

Back home, the richest people in the village sometimes bought rings from the traveling tradesmen to give to their girls as a sign of betrothal.

Wera’s mocking voice floats to the surface of my memory like a dead fish.As if he’d ever marry the likes of you.

“I don’t want a ring.” My voice sounds hollow and far away as my head spins. So much has changed in the span of one night. I don’t understand how Woland can go from avoiding me for weeks to this.

Is it truly all because of his jealousy? Or is it all a part of his plot—to baffle me so much, I’ll lose myself and become easier to control?

“Just put it on,” he coaxes, kneeling on the floor in front of me. “It’s just a pretty little thing to remind you of me.”

I shake my head. “And what else does it do? Not that I expect you to be honest.”

He rolls his eyes in mock indignation. An orb floats closer and bathes the ring in light, revealing incandescent prisms flickering within the gemstones.

“It doesn’t do anything. The gems are made from three drops of my blood, but they are stripped of magic. You can’t use it against me, and I can’t use it to control you in any way. Come on, poppy girl. Let yourself have something nice.”

“Will you force it on my finger if I keep refusing?” I ask, so tired from the sleepless night and everything he put me through.

Woland’s smile is smug and crafty. “No, but I’ll keep pestering you until I wear you down. I really want you to have it. If not for me, wear it for yourself, pet. My people will respect you more if they see my token on your finger.”

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