I am so hard, and she must feel it straddling me like that, yet she doesn’t make a move to kiss me again. I force myself to wait, remembering how I wanted her to take me, not the other way round. Oh, and I screwed it up again by kissing her first. Maybe she would have kissed me this time.
“I can’t. Woland, Weles, whatever else you are. I can’t do it. I won’t.”
I want to make a stupid, ill-advised joke that I could make her forget it after she fucks me, but I hold my tongue. Instead, I drink her in before she inevitably bolts. I am resigned to treasure this moment, the heat of her body against me, the warmth of her breath, for months to come when she avoids me again.
Jaga looks away, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and she makes frustrated, huffing noises that I find endearing. My abdomen pulses with the worst cramp yet, and I grit my teeth hard.
I swear, I survived having my eyes gouged out and my balls crushed in Perun’s captivity, but this pain is a special kind of torture. I don’t understand how she can survive this every month. I wish she’d let me heal her—or healed herself. She can.
And it makes me hurt even worse to understand exactly why she won’t.
“I should leave you,” Jaga says, sighing with frustration. “It’s the only way. But you made it so I can’t go anywhere, or I’ll end up right back in my grave. Clever Woland.”
I incline my head. “Yes. That was clever of me, even though I wasn’t thinking at all when I revealed your significance to the world. You made me hurt so much. I was mindless because of you.”
She looks back into my eyes, a sort of resolve tightening her face. My heart beats faster. Oh no. What has she decided? Will she leave me, after all?
“You have to win,” Jaga says with conviction. “It’s the only way. Once you win, you’ll have what you’ve always wanted, and I’ll be free to go. It’s decided then. I’ll help you.”
I want to shake my head, because no, nothing is decided, and what does she mean, she will leave me after I win, that’s not what I want, and…
I exhale shakily as my gut tightens in crushing agony. Jaga pushes up to her feet, offering me her hand, and I stare at it, cross-eyed from pain. When she grunts with impatience, I finally grip her palm and let her pull me up, barely catching my balance.
“Come on,” she says, shooting me an impatient look. “We have to figure out how to win. Gather the others. And souls. Don’t you have some fearsome warriors in here? Leaders who won battles and wars? Ask their opinion.”
“Mortal wars are nothing like ours,” I enunciate clearly, forcing my jaw to loosen when all it wants is to clench in misery.
“Yes, you’ve said,” Jaga mutters dismissively, snapping her fingers to make a fiery portal. “But they might offer a perspective you haven’t considered. Honestly, you lot marinate in the same old for centuries. No wonder you can’t come up with ideas. Are you coming?”
She grabs my hand and pulls me through her portal. There is a moment of crushing heat and the scent of burnt herbs, and we’re through, the Hall of Fires glittering around us. Nyja is here with Strzybog, both speaking in hushed voices, and they lift their heads when we enter.
“Have you reconciled at last?” Nyja asks, watching our joined hands with narrowed eyes.
“Somewhat,” Jaga says, dropping my palm like it’s a hot coal. “Have you come up with anything? Oh, it’s been a month! What were you even doing in here?”
I sit down heavily at the head of the table, gripping the edge. No one pays me any attention, and I dry my perspiring brow with a spell. No, I don’t want to be here. I want to curl up somewhere dark with Jaga in my arms. Wasn’t this the tradeoff? That I got to hold her for taking her pain?
And now I don’t even have that, yet I refuse to give Jaga back her suffering. This is beyond pathetic, and I will bury myself in the ground never to come out if anyone finds out I did this.
“Where is everyone?” Jaga asks, clapping her hands. “Can we bring Wiosna? She might have good advice. And some warrior souls, please. Or old zercas, people who know the tales? Just bring anyone who might help.”
Nyja folds her arms. “It will be chaos. War council is a serious affair, not a party.”
“Maybe it should be a party,” Jaga says with a shrug, coming over to the table to knock on it with force. “Maybe doing this differently will give you different results? Unless you want more of the same.”
“I’ll get the others,” Strzybog says with a grin, eager for entertainment.
A cool wind blows past, and he’s gone. Jaga walks away, muttering under her breath as she rearranges the refreshments on the table, and Nyja comes over, watching me sharply.
“What’s going on?”
“She figures she can leave me and be free if I win,” I say with a sad smile.
Nyja huffs with impatience, folding her arms. “But I’ve explained about the prophecy! It’s unavoidable. Is she dim-witted, Weles? Have you fallen for an obtuse woman who doesn’t understand what people tell her?”
I shake my head, pulling a cup of wine closer. “No. Just a mortal one, who still has hope and refuses to settle.”
“So now she’s mortal again?”
