He had been waiting for this. N'Arahn's hand shot forward and he closed it tightly around her wrist. He was certainly causing his angel pain, but there was no other way. Besides, he was enjoying the little fight. In one fluid motion, he pushed himself off the ground with his other hand enough to turn onto his back and pulled Veidja on top of him. She slammed down hard on his armor. He immediately wrapped her in an embrace that squeezed the air from her lungs with a tiny gasp. Nevertheless, she squirmed to escape the embrace. Yes, a true warrior. The metal plates had to cut through the thin fabric and into her flesh, something she obviously took no heed of. She struggled one arm free and slid her hand to the side of his head out of his field of vision. As she scored herself on the sharp spikes of his shoulder armor, he smelled her blood.

Immediately, N'Arahn felt the familiar pleasant rush rise within him. Angel's blood had that effect. And hers, since she had given it to him willingly... The otherwise perfectly fitting armor suddenly tightened almost painfully in his crotch. Involuntarily, the demonlord rumbled a throaty groan. Veidja had worked her way a few centimeters further up him, completely focused on the chain. Since he needed both arms to hold her, she didn't need to fear his hands right now. He briefly assessed whether it would be enough. Yes.

At the same time, he pushed his angel a little higher and lowered his head abruptly so that his helmeted forehead slammed against her head. With all his suddenness, he was careful not to crack her skull or break it open with his horns. As Veidja collapsed on top of him, the heavy clanking next to his head told him that it had been a close call. The cuff at the end of the chain was sharp-edged, a dangerous weapon in hands like hers.

N'Arahn rose to a sitting position, keeping her pressed against him with one arm so she wouldn't hit the ground roughly. Her head rested on his upper arm, her white-blonde hair falling over the black metal as a beautiful contrast. A red trickle oozed from a laceration on her eyebrow.

She was already moving again; he didn't have time to look at her any longer. He laughed quietly to himself. Time and again he forgot how tough she was.

- - - - -

Veidja suddenly came to her senses again. She felt her back hit the bed after a short flight. And the demon with her, for he was directly above her, had pulled her with him in a leap. He knelt between her legs, stretching her arms out wide in opposite directions. A cuff clicked around her right wrist as he stared down at her.

She wasn't defeated yet, so she squirmed again. But she found no leverage, N'Arahn's weight pinning her down.

"I don't want to hurt you any more than absolutely necessary," he said sternly. He shifted his weight slightly. She felt his knee against her inner thigh and knew what that meant. His armor had sharp blades there, too. The metal must have slashed the sheets when he had jumped onto the bed with her. Now she felt it cold against her skin through the thin fabric.

He could impale her like a butterfly. She didn't want to end up like this. It didn't matter to her what her duty would have been. Trying would just be defiance without any chance; that just wouldn't be a worthy death. Once again.

Veidja let him straighten up, bringing her arms together. He closed one of his large hands around both of the angel's wrists to reach for the second cuff. With two movements, he also placed a cuff around her left wrist and wrapped the guide chain around his hand. Then the demonlord pinned Veidja's arms above her head on the bed and used his other hand to prop himself up next to her. She heard him draw in his breath against her face. Startled, she turned away as far as she could. Avoided his gaze, his desire. She immediately felt the green-skinned man's touch on her skin again. The way he had run his tongue over her body, tasting her blood. The memories of her helplessness were so vivid that she almost panicked.

N'Arahn above her pulled back, half straightening, letting the chain loosen a little with a thoughtful look. Her arms were mobile again, the panic gone, only anger remaining. She pulled her arms in front of her in a lightning-fast movement and thrust her clenched fists sideways into the free part of his face. It didn't matter that the sharp edges of the clamps and the helmet cut into her wrists. It was more important that she also caught him with them, tearing open his skin.

But nothing more happened. He didn't move, just continued to look at Veidja.

- - - - -

N'Arahn intercepted the second blow with his forearm splint so that Veidja's arms bounced off rather harmlessly. He saw the hatred on her face. But it had been pure horror a moment ago. So strong that the angel's body had frozen beneath him. That she hadn't even been able to look at him.
He should be happy. He should see it as a good sign that she was vulnerable, that her will could be broken. Perhaps even easier than he thought. But it only filled him with pain. And with... shame? What a pointless feeling for a demonlord.

He absolutely had to get away from her, had to go to the battlefield. It was probably an angel enchantment that confused him. Perhaps it was on purpose that he had found her so strangely attractive from the very first moment. Just an extra layer of protection that forced demons to behave in atypical ways. But then why had Tazeel found it so easy to torment her?

Later, he called himself to order. He had been preoccupied with her for too long when he was expected to fight. He could not afford to not fulfill His demands completely in this respect as well.

But he had wanted this fight. He had wanted her to resist. He could have simply bound her will, her ability to move, but he had to go into battle and could not be sure that he would return. This fight was... whatever. You really are nothing but trouble, angel.

Angry at her and at himself, N'Arahn jumped off the bed from his knees. He pulled the guide chain with him, causing the angel to be pulled violently to the side by her arms. Without paying any further attention to her, he attached the chain to a ring at the head of the bed and sealed it with his mark. A dark glow spread across the links of the chain and expanded over the angel's body.

He heard her gasp. "What? Get that off me!" He just looked at her, blocking out all the sensations that arose at the sight of the abrasions on her wrists along the cuffs. At the smell of her blood seeping from her arm wound. And from a shallow cut on her leg, which he had apparently scratched when he jumped out of bed after all. Damn. His breathing quickened. Snorting, he expelled the air, then turned around. As he stood in the doorway, which he had opened with a wave, he looked back. Veidja had sat up, wiping frantically over her arms as if she were trying to remove dirt.

"Get some rest. I'll be gone for a while. Don't bother with the chain; no one will be able to open it but me." He twisted his mouth into what was meant to be a mischievous grin, but was probably more of a grimace. "So you should wish for me to strike down many angels that I can get back to you quickly."

She roared, throwing herself in his direction as far as the chain would allow. Which wasn't much; he had barely given her room to move over half the length of the bed.

He left, letting the door slam shut behind him. Even through the thick metal, he could hear her raging for a while as he strode through the corridors of his fortress towards the battle.

This didn't make it any easier... But when he got back, they would have to talk.

- - - - -

After the demonlord had returned from the closure, he hadn't taken off his soiled and blood-splattered armor until she had drunk mana with him. She had had to retch; the smell of carnage wafted sickeningly thick in the confined space.

Veidja had wished her tormentor the worst injuries, or better yet, death, regardless of what that would have meant for her. But the fact that he demonstratively removed the armor in front of her was a sign that her prayers had not been answered. N'Arahn didn't say a word during the whole procedure. When he was wearing only his leather apron, he turned in front of her, showing a few cuts and bruises as if they were trophies. Then he downed some mana and the wounds closed before her eyes.

The battleangel watched the performance grimly and with a deadpan expression. I'll kill you one time. She had clung to this thought while she had been taken back to her chamber by his servants.

For some time, she estimated two cycles, Veidja heard and saw nothing of the lord of the fortress, then she was called back into the arena and the now familiar routine was resumed.

The room with the ironwood furniture had been cleaned, the smell of battle had faded, so everything seemed normal, as far as "normal" applied to her situation. And yet something was different today.

The demonlord barely looked at her, seemed distant. She should be glad he wasn't mocking or teasing her like he usually did. N'Arahn liked to hear himself talk, and always, always tried to get her to talk as well. But this new change was unsettling. The last time he had been more secretive, Tazeel had appeared shortly afterwards. And that couldn't mean anything good for her.

Not that Veidja found her current everyday life particularly comforting. But change here usually meant deterioration. She still had nightmares from time to time.

The demonlord absently twirled his goblet between his strong fingers. Veidja could see that he was leaving increasingly deep marks in the stem. No, that wasn't good at all.

She sipped her mana. Today it tasted like a sour fruit, not unpleasant, rather refreshing, and that also made her suspicious. Usually, the demon never missed an opportunity to torment her with little things, like an unpleasant taste, sharp-edged furniture or a particularly gloomy room. None of that this time.

With one hard motion, the demonlord downed the rest of his drink and set the goblet down heavily on the table. Veidja winced slightly. By his standards, he was downright temperamental. The uneasy feeling that had settled in her stomach intensified.

N'Arahn leaned back and looked at the angel for the first time that evening. He was now back in his relaxed posture in the heavy ironwood chair, but she wasn't buying it. By now she had been around him long enough to recognize the small signs of tension in him. The way he emphatically kept his hands open so as not to clench them into fists. The way he pulled his tied-up hair tighter around his head, even though it wasn't necessary. How the color of his eyes lightened. Only by nuances, but enough for her to see.

Veidja also tried to relax. She would probably be the last to find out what it was all about anyway. He didn't discuss such things with her. Why should he? And she would have to deal with it one way or another.

The pact that guaranteed her continued life had cast a shadow over her that made her despair again and again. But she carried on, never letting hope die. She had endured it when he had dined with her in his blood-spattered armor after the battle. He had reeked of the death of her companions and she had not made a face. Such was war and he was only testing her willpower; she had practiced equanimity. Every few cycles he sent her back into the arena, from which she was dragged out hours later, battered and bruised. But she used it to learn and never lost her courage.

Whatever came next, she would deal with it too.

The demonlord nodded to her, as if he knew what was going through her mind. Then he spoke, his voice calm, his tone matter-of-fact: "As you might imagine, demonlords are a rather begrudging lot." The hint of a smile crept across his face. "Not all of them like the fact that I have an angel at my sole disposal. Others think that while I have every right to keep an angel, I'm doing it all wrong." He shook his head slightly. His gaze briefly wandered into the distance before he focused on her again. Veidja was transfixed against her will, because it actually seemed like he was giving her some sort of warning this time.

"Well, I'll keep it short. There were complaints that were brought to Him. So I reported back to the Lord. He wasn't entirely satisfied." Veidja felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Her hunch hadn't been wrong, this wasn't good at all. The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of the Lord of Hell.

"Yes, I think you understand quite well." One of the demonlord's hands clenched into a fist and Veidja clutched her goblet tighter. She briefly wondered what N'Arahn could expect if He was unhappy with him. But the ideas she inevitably had about what it could mean for herself immediately pushed this thought aside.

The demon continued to look at her firmly. "Let's move on to the good and bad news. Which is which for you, you must know for yourself." N'Arahn took a deep breath. "The first piece of news is that you have a few more cycles before consequences follow. The second is that you will then have to make a decision. You have the choice between two alternatives that are probably equally unimaginable to you."

He raised a hand and showed her an object he had grabbed from the shadows. He liked to perform this trick, she had noticed. For a moment, he eyed the object, then placed it on the table within Veidja's reach. It was a dancing couple, apparently made of amber, beautiful and skillful in every detail. She could recognize herself. And N'Arahn.

"If you choose this path, you will be at my side. You will become my mistress, share my bed and maybe even my power at some point." Come again? "You will continue to fight, but you will have some privileges. Because you will be bound to me." She wanted to jump up, shout at him, no, better attack him. How could he have thought that she would get involved in something like this? It would be like selling her soul. Basically, that's exactly what she would be doing. Bound to him? Sharing his bed? His mistress? She was so horrified that she could hardly breathe.

The demonlord, on the other hand, was calm now. "Wait and see before you make a rash decision." He raised his hand again and took an object out of nowhere. This one was larger and darker. N'Arahn also placed it within the angel's reach. It was a representation of a black throne. It seemed to swallow the light and radiated something so menacing that Veidja backed away a little.

"Well done, isn't it? You'll have a chance to take a look at the original before you decide." He sounded thoughtful, for once not gloating, although he had to know that pure horror was running through her body right now. "That's the second option: you become His possession." N'Arahn caught her gaze. "I'm not hiding the fact that I have a preference. But you can take my word for it that the second alternative will not be the easier one. There are many demonlords who would love to have you in their grasp. And He will give them the opportunity to let off steam." In her mind, the images became even bloodier and crueler by leaps and bounds. Tazeel played no small part in it.