Mokosz is in my throne room. In my most sacred sanctum.
We fell.
“Did you take Nawie by force?” I ask, begging my heart to quiet, but all it does is beat harder, the valves fluttering wetly.
“A bit of force never hurt anyone.”
“Where is she?”
Mokosz pouts into the mirror, frowning. A moment later, her lips tint red—the red of poppies. When she turns to me with a white-toothed smile, I know she knows who I mean.
“Who, dear Woland? There are many women in your life, aren’t there? I am one of them, and I am here.”
I can’t bear her games, so I hang my head and whisper. “Jaga.”
“Why should I tell you?”
Her laughter is cold and cruel, so at odds with her innocent appearance. Mokosz hums under her breath, walking away to inspect the nearest wall. I turn my head as much as the ropes allow to keep her in my sight.
“You like pretty things,” she muses. “It stands to reason, of course, since you likemeso much. Why did you like her, though? It’s offensive, my dear.”
I take a shaky breath. It’s for nothing. She won’t tell me, but at this moment, I’d give away all my power to know.
“Please,” I force out through gritted teeth. “I beg you. What happened to Jaga?”
She laughs, throwing her head back. “Youbegme? That is so humiliating. Oh, Woland. What has shedoneto you? You have to admit, I was bad sometimes, but I never turned you into such a pathetic mess.”
She comes closer and stops, her smile replaced with a frown. “Now I want to see if Icouldbreak you worse.”
Her gaze lowers to my crotch and I sigh in bitter dejection as she wiggles her fingers tauntingly.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” I ask through gritted teeth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Hm. That’s true. Let’s not waste time.”
Her arm strikes out like a snake leaping out of grass. I hiss when she grabs my cock. Mokosz regards me with a cool, superior smirk as her fingers work me with unfeeling craftsmanship. This is no lover’s touch. She wants to get me hard as fast as she can, her movements crude, even painful. Arousal would numb the pain, but Mokosz is the last woman I want to touch me.
I look away, gritting my teeth. She pulls and squeezes, humming under her breath. When a minute passes, then another, and I fail to respond, she hisses and steps away.
“What, nothing?” she asks tauntingly. “Have you finally given in to old age, then? You’re an impotent.”
I sneer at her. “Not at all. You just don’t do it for me.”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion as she searches my face. I watch her back, breathing shakily through bleeding lips. My magic trickles out of me along with my blood, a puddle of it congealing on the floor. This is hopeless.
“You’ve bled too much,” she finally says with a shrug. “It’s all there is. Had you been well, you’d have jumped on my offer.”
I laugh hoarsely, not caring that each snort of laughter makes my chest bloom with more and more pain.
“Jumped on your offer.How many times do I have to reject you? Mokosz, you mean nothing. You embarrass yourself even worse than me, and I’m the one bound and bleeding. Have some self-respect.”
She sneers, the hate in her eyes sharp and vicious. “What, because you only get hard for yourfucktoy? Spare me your bullshit.”
I grin, my wounds splitting further, more blood gushing down my chin. How ghastly it must look. I don’t care.
“That’s right. I only care about one woman, and she’s not you. Now where the fuck is my poppy girl?”
She flinches away, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. I blink, sensing a discrepancy. This is wrong. Something is wrong.
