Yet again, my gut reaction was to refuse, and adamantly, vehemently, to scream no and end the discussion before he could worm in any reasons. But, yet again, I paused, trying to think of why he would want me to take his soul, to own him like that. I may have just been getting to know my brother, but from our very first hours together, even before the Vault, I knew he wasn't stupid. He was calculating, manipulative and devious, often ruthless and dangerous, insidious, sometimes even rash and impetuous, but never stupid. And he wouldn't ask anything unless it gave him an advantage, gave us an advantage now. But I still felt fear and confusion and anger turning over in me. My Shift strained against whatever held it back, and further, lurking deeper within me, I felt that blackness, that fire, trying to rise along with my nature.

I closed my eyes, finally recognizing the early signs, and focused on pulling in my breaths before pushing them out. In and out, in and out. Two slow counts in, two counts out.

One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.

Soon, I found my rhythm again, a smooth cadence of inhales and exhales, and I felt that uncontrollable power settle back into me and the heat sink away as a cold blanket covered me instead. I shivered and opened my eyes to Malachi watching curiously, deciphering something in his quick mind.

"That's twice you've controlled it," he said plainly, the low rumble of his voice sounding lightly impressed.

I shrugged, sitting on my hands to stop their cold shaking.

"You seem to be controlling yourself more too lately," I replied casually.

He returned my shrug.

"Self-control, discipline, and strategy, three of my most formidable skills, trust me. More of my training focused on those than you might think. And though not killing my allies is harder than it looks, I quite think I'm improving. But, back to the subject of my pesky little soul..." he arched an eyebrow in question.

"If you always seek a master, then you will always be a slave. You've already made me your leader, why do you want to be owned so badly?"

His eyes flashed, and I knew I had gone too far, but he couldn't just throw his life to another. Even if he didn't know how to be his own man, he had to learn. He couldn't keep giving control to new masters and allowing them to dictate his life. He had to be the one to make his own choices. I had thought he wanted that, now I wasn't so sure.

"I won't be your slave, and I'm not asking it because I want a master. I'm asking because I don't want him to be my master. I can still feel him, hear him, I fucking see him when I close my eyes and it's tearing me apart worse than any of these surface injuries. So, if you meant what you said, if you really want to help me and take away the worst of what I feel, then take me as yours. I know you won't abuse the power like he does. And even if you would, if I have to choose between him or you owning me, there's no question who I trust more with my allegiance, with my soul."

I sat speechless, both because I couldn't believe his honesty, and because I was ashamed I hadn't remembered that the Collector was still trying to pull Malachi's strings, trying to regain control over his prized pet. It had been days, days of him hardly noticing the burns because something worse was at play. Days of him dealing with whatever James' father made him feel, with still being connected to him. And nights filled with visions of him. I hadn't felt him in any danger when we slept or heard him wake from any nightmares, but that's only because he wasn't sleeping much at all, and certainly not well. Neither of us were.

I had thought his restless nights were like mine, caused by visions of James and his death - or waking to the inferno he roomed with. But now, I doubted those were the worst things in the dark for him. Malachi's low voice rolled on at my pause, trying to convince me.

"It will make you stronger too, maybe make some of your powers wake. Every soul Baraqiel owns adds to his strength. And because I won't be dead, it won't take any more out of Abby like it did to bring Ailech back. But if I do die...I can come back to you. There is no downside."

"Except that I'm doing exactly what the Collector does - taking people, owning them, collecting them like they're objects or weapons."

He scoffed, harsher than last time.

"Still scared of the dark? Even though that is where all of your power comes from. How about you worry a little less about what you're losing, and a little more about winning? So what if you have to sacrifice your morals if it means you save others, every other. Isn't the light thing to do the one that helps others, that beats the other side? You and Abby are both so worried about your own souls, you forget that those aren't the ones we're trying to save."

I hated that he was right. What did it matter if I was dark if it made us win? What did it really matter if I destroyed myself and lost my soul along the way? I wasn't getting out of this alive anyway, and I didn't even want to anymore, not without James here with me, not this empty life, this half-life. But Malachi did make one miscalculation - I wasn't doing this to save the world, to save everyone else, just a select few. I still wanted the world to pay for what it had done to me, to my Pair, for Heaven to pay.

"Better to rule your dark than serve their light," Malachi muttered in closing.

"But you chose light anyway, or at least, you've chosen the light side, even if you get there in dark ways. Why pick the side that hates you?"

"What I was doing for the other side was hardly ruling, sis. So now, I'm ruling my own dark, and the results may be in light's best interests, sure, but don't get it twisted, I'm serving my best interests, and yours. But I'll never serve the light itself."

"So, are you doing this to make Heaven win or Baraqiel lose?"

"If it's the same end, I don't see much of a difference."

He smirked like sin and winked.

I nodded, looking out across the room, finding the weight of his unnatural eyes heavy on me, even with his attempted humor.

"Now there, we agree."

» ✦ «

Those first days with Ambriel seemed endless as I learned the extent of the control my new collar and chains gave her. She could manipulate my movements, pull my body like a puppet on strings, stop me from speaking or fighting, make me compliant, make her demands and orders somehow compulsive, inexorable. But she couldn't control my mind, my emotions, at least not yet.

She said her power linking us would grow stronger as we bonded more, as whatever link the runed metal gave her dug its roots into me, connected us more. I feared that somehow my father had found a way to truly take me over, to finally gain the loyal son and soldier he had always wanted. Malachi had mentioned being collared before by my father, but not to this extent. This was more like Compulsion, though Malachi had warned me of that as well. But Compulsion had to go through a dark mage - a strong one. Which meant Ambriel shouldn't be able to control me like she was.

Whatever this magic was, it was something new, an evolution of whatever my father had been practicing and honing for years, decades, maybe even centuries. Which meant there was little chance of me beating it. But little chance wasn't no chance.

With my Shift out of reach, I could only pull from my Human strength and emotions. But whether Human or Darkling, I always had one emotion in abundance: hatred.

I hated Ambriel to her cold, twisted core. I hated my father, his power, his plans. And I hated my own helplessness. So I used it, used my rage and hatred to fight back against my tormentor whenever she gave me the opportunity. Whether I was spewing words filled with venom and contempt or actually spitting at her before she would order my mouth sealed, I refused to show anything but anger and defiance in whatever small ways I could. And it worked.

Ambriel was easily angered, she had always had a short temper, and once she lost it, once I got under her skin, then she would tear into mine. But that was a blessing, the physical pain kept me grounded, and pushing her kept me in control.

Whenever she lost it, it only reminded me that I could bait her, beat her, manipulate her, and that she wouldn't kill me, that she wasn't allowed to. And that meant I had time, time I needed to plan my escape. The pain was only temporary, but my anger was eternal, it kept me sharp and looking to the future, to revenge, to when I could repay her tenfold.

When she lost her temper, she stepped back from her psychological torture and carefully orchestrated manipulations, reverting to only broad strokes of physical pain. And I would rather have that than her body touching mine, her lips tearing mine, her hands at my throat or lower, and her words slinking into my mind, painting pictures that haunted me. I would rather feel any pain over her ordering my own hands to betray me and listen to her desires like they were my own.

Unfortunately, more and more often Ambriel managed to remain calm, not allowing me to goad her into rash actions. After all, she knew me just as well as I knew her, and she knew I liked control, that controlling the world around me, myself and others, was when I was most comfortable. I had been a leader for a long time, and it was now my default. But when she was calm, she was able to take my small amount of control away, taking away my ability to influence the situation through her hot temper along with my ability to control my own body and its movements.

When she was calm she was smarter, more calculating, and far crueler. She had learned from the best, whether that had been Malachi or my father, and she took joy in her work. She knew what brought pain and what brought panic, and exactly how to marry those two feelings in an artful balance. Even with my anger as my shield, nothing could protect me from the ministrations of her sick mind.

At the worst of it, when she was truly in her element of extracting sensations, I would focus on the door. Wherever it was, behind her, to either side, that was where I would look, where I put my mind when I needed to get away. Counting those four edges, those four corners, over and over again numbed my mind into a rhythm that could take the pain, that could take anything.

Of course, she noticed, a foolish misstep on my part, but her attention to details was one of the reasons she was so good at her job. She began to order me to watch her instead, to keep my eyes on hers, her face, her body, her hands, to see what she was doing to me. But I adapted, keeping my defense hidden from her keen eyes. I watched the gray door in my mind instead, keeping my face calm, bored, seeming present, but really I was counting corners, lines, and edges.

It gave me a rhythm that soothed me in a small way. Knowing that that door would ultimately save me gave me peace. Knowing it would protect the deepest parts of me when the time came. So I counted, over and over again, focusing on the door, waiting for the day I would open it and lock myself inside.

One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.