Not just because she is the key to defeating Perun and taking back what’s mine—the mortal world, my creation.
Jaga gave me hope for the first time in centuries that mortals can be powerful, brilliant, creative, and strong. She reminds me of the first people. She gave me back my dream.
Now she walks away, that menacing shadow I can’t name curling around her, and true terror rips through me as I consider the worst.
Maybe she is irreparably broken.
Chapter six
Well of Souls
Jaga’s steps echo in the distance, farther and farther away, when I finally rise from the bench. I twist into shadows and reappear by her side, wordlessly falling into step. She doesn’t acknowledge me, and I’m glad for once.
Better be silent than fight again.
When we reach the enormous doors at the other end of the Hall of Fires, Jaga puts her hand on the wood and commands it like she did the door downstairs. “Open.”
This time, it doesn’t work. She glares at me as if it’s my fault, and I suppose it is. I created the wards down here.
“I just need a drop of your blood to prime it, and the door will open for you after that.”
Everything inside me rebels against giving her more freedom to come and go as she pleases. I haven’t forgotten her pointed questions about the topography of Nawie. But I can’t keep her locked up forever.
Even if she tries to run, there are hundreds of levels between us and the surface. I’ll catch her.
“All right.”
She comes over, pulling away a side of her coat. My eyebrows rise when I see three small, thin daggers at her belt. Jaga gets one and sticks it right in the middle of her palm without a wince or a hiss of pain.
I watch, mesmerized, as blood bubbles out of the wound, filling her cupped palm. The scent of it fills my nose and shoots straight to my brain, scattering my thoughts.
My heart launches into a frenzied rhythm, and my mouth is parched, throat thick with thirst. The world sways, darkening at the edges, and all I can think is,her blood.
I haven’t had any in months. Jaga’s fed off me, but I didn’t drink from her, and instead of lessening my addiction, it only made it worse. I forget what I was supposed to do, my face growing numb, eyes playing tricks.
Her palm looks enormous, filling my vision. I think I moan in longing.
“Oh,” Jaga’s voice is smug and knowing. “I suppose you want a taste.”
I think I say yes, or maybe moan again. My tongue is numb. I stop breathing, because if I smell any more of her gorgeous blood, I’ll fall on her like a rabid beast and feed.
Jaga laughs, the sound distorted, coming from afar.
She turns her hand. Blood splashes onto the marble.
“You can have it off the floor like a dog.”
I don’t wait for my dignity to catch up. I’m on my knees at her feet before she stops speaking, my tongue lapping at the sweet drug.I am a dog, a faithful servant, and my mistress just gave me a treat.
The floor is clean and shiny with my saliva way too soon, not a drop left. I pant, shivers running down my spine. How Imissed her, missed that sweetness, and it doesn’t matter that only Woland drinks blood—I do now, too. When it’s hers.
When I look up, tortured, my thirst not even half-quenched, I catch her off guard. Her eyes are filled with wonder, and she shifts from foot to foot, her hips making a tiny yet obvious movement.
She likes seeing me on my knees like this. She likes being in power.
“Here.”
Jaga slowly lowers her bloodied hand to my face, watching me with dark, curious eyes. I nuzzle my cheek against the side of her palm, then grab her wrist and tug. She gasps when I pull her lower, but it’s too late. She won’t shake me off now.
