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[Xoriah]

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"I don't understand, Mikhaeil. Have I not tried to give you some part of your will? Have I not encouraged you to find your own interests?" Xoriah watched him for a moment, but he did not stir. She turned her gaze back on the stalemate duel that had droned on for twenty minutes. The images of torture still burned in her mind. The sight and sound of the angel's flesh torn brutishly by flail and talon. How could he begin to compare her brand of slavery to the one from whom she'd liberated the sword?

"Yes," Mikhaeil spoke flatly, if a bit too loud. "You're a kind and generous slave master, Daemon."

Xoriah's cheeks burned with rage. "Indeed, Fallen," she hissed more quietly. "Well, it's better than the whip." She gave a conscious pat to the last word.

Instantly, the angel's expression fell. He lowered his head submissively, his vibrant green eyes softening to his usual gentle gaze. A rush like adrenaline hastened Xoriah's heart, and she closed her eyes to revel in the sensation.

Mikhaeil sighed resignedly, nearly whispering. "Yes, daemon. Better than the whip."

Xoriah prickled with irritation. "I. Have. A. Name." She paused and shot him a hateful glare. "Perhaps I should never have taken you from that place."

Lower still, his head bowed as he surrendered to her will. "As you wish, Xoriah."

The euphoria that coursed through her veins could scarcely be described. She had experienced the rush of taking the life force from humans as they submitted to her will. But she never could have believed that a feeling so pure and powerful as this could exist in the wide world.

Certainly, she thought, natural order places dominion over him in my hands. I cannot allow myself to make him my prey. Xoriah lifted a hand subconsciously to touch his soft, white feathered wing as she wrestled her instincts, then abruptly she rose and stalked out of the arena gallery. She knew that he would follow her shortly. The best she could hope was that the euphoria would fade enough to allow her sleep. She didn't trust herself anymore tonight.
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Come with me where chains will never bind you...all your grief at last, at last behind you. ~Les Miserables

[Mikhaeil]

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Exquisite.

He stood over Xoriah as she slept, taking great care not to awaken her by the proximity of his presence. Such pains of avoidance would hardly be necessary were he not a being no longer breathing the warmth of life's breath, but the glacial air he exchanged for death's conveyance made it almost impossible to sustain subtelty. Such beauty he'd never seen in his lifetime and certainly not since his passing. Nary the most glorious of heaven's seraph's nor the most wretched of perdition's fiends came close in comparison to the striking seduction of the succubus he now called Mistress. Hatred and desire writhed one upon the other in primitive competition whenever he set eyes upon her.

Yes, exquisite.

She spoke of her taking him from the archdaemon as rescue from torture? Better than the whip? He shook his head turning away. This was the deepest cut with the harshest lash, the perfect epitome of his persecution. What better punishment for having fallen prey to temptation than spending eternity enslaved to it?