Mokosz schools her face into a look of arch superiority, but I see another face in my mind’s eye. Jaga wide-eyed and crazy, Jaga hurt, Jaga raging.
“Is a mad fucktoy not good enough for you?”
I blink that image away, my open chest flooding with hopeless pain. She’s gone. I’ll never get her back.
Mokosz laughs under her breath, and it sounds giddy, a little mad, like a cackle. This is not her pretty laugh at all.
“She gave herself to Perun.”
I study the goddess’ triumphant face, and she studies me back. Her entire body vibrates with anticipation. I frown. This is wrong, too. Our eyes lock, and I realize Mokosz has never looked at me like this, not once. Not even when I was deep inside her, whether as Woland or Weles.
Her eyes pierce me now. It’s like she wants to wrap her gaze around my soul and drag it out of me to examine. Like she wants to knowme.
The only thing real Mokosz observes with such scrutiny is her own reflection.
“Oh, she did?”
My voice is colorless as the tension and agony seep out of my body. I slump in the ropes, battling the shadows encroaching on my mind. I want to sleep.
“Yes,” she gloats viciously. “She went straight to us after she left here. She let Perun claim her. Now he rules. You’ve lost, and you’ll never win again.”
I try to take a deep breath, but my broken ribs protest. I grunt, my weariness too enormous to resist. Would it be so bad to sleep? I should give her time to come up with another scheme. She’s so good at this. Not even Perun tortured me this well, and he’s known me for thousands of years.
“Woland? Haven’t you heard me?”
“Oh, I heard you, love.”
She gasps, offended, and I hum wearily.
“But you gave yourself away,” I whisper. “So forgive me if I don’t react. I’m glad you’re still here.”
Jaga heaves a sigh of disgust. Magic swirls around her in bright, intoxicating currents, and I blink the shadows away to see her appear in place of Mokosz. She folds her arms on her chest.
“What gave me away?”
I want to smile, but my face remains numb and frozen. I don’t think I can move anymore. My voice is barely a whisper.
“Your eyes, love. Your eyes.”
She narrows them, watching me with that sharp attention Mokosz is incapable of, and finally huffs, turning away on her heel. Her shoulders rise in tension as she mutters under her breath.
“Useless, all of it. Lies and tricks like always.”
“Nothing I said was a lie.”
Her laughter is dull and hollow. She shakes her head and snaps her fingers. My ropes slither away, and I land on all fours, squeezing my eyes shut when the change in position makes the pain triple in strength. I breathe shallowly through my nose, fighting to contain nausea. Jaga stomps away, and I crawl after her, sick with longing.
She stayed.It must mean something.
“You have… enough of my blood… to shackle my tongue… make me speak only the truth.”
She freezes, her hands curling into fists at her sides. I wheeze, pressing my hand to my hot, laboring heart when it feels like it will fall out of my chest. With a humiliating amount of effort, I manage to sit up, my legs folded under me, my heart no longer threatening to splat onto the floor.
Sick, twisted torture. Oh, how I adore her. My evil witch.
“Is this another trick?” Jaga asks, turning sharply.
“Try… and find out.”
