N'Arahn stared blankly into the hall and felt his unease grow. The fight with the battleangel had been short but enjoyable. Her toughness had surprised him somewhat, as well as her willingness to fight with little honor. But that was only spice in this new pleasure. His angel was no fool, after all.

N'Arahn caught himself stroking the spot where Veidja had rammed the bone into his side. The wound had been deep and had bled profusely. But as it had been treated quickly, there would be no scar this time.

It was a different case for the angel. When she bit him, his control had vanished from one moment to the next. The first blow to her head was a sensible reflex, as she had immediately let go of his hand. She had probably not consciously noticed the subsequent blows, as she had not reacted in any way. Only the nascent fear of killing her prematurely had helped him to let go of her.

She had been in her chamber for a while now, recovering. An unfamiliar feeling gnawed at the demonlord. He wanted to know how Veidja was doing; he was curious. Almost a little worried? She hadn't looked well at all when Darr had carried her out of the arena.

Cautiously, he stretched his senses towards her chamber. Not for the first time since the fight; he checked again and again to see if her condition had changed. It would really be a waste if she were to succumb to her injuries now. But no, he could see her glow, she was still alive. Weak, of course, but unmistakably with a burning will. She had woken up.

A tugging that had persisted in N'Arahn's stomach since the fight dissipated. His skin tingled and he slumped slightly in his chair. Frowning, the demonlord let his gaze wander around the hall. If it hadn't been completely incongruous, he would have said that it was relief that had just flooded through him.

Well, he absolutely had to do something, because the restlessness had stayed with him. And he was clearly drawn to the angel. What was wrong with taking a closer look at his work? After all, he had to assess how soon his new toy would be ready for use again. And give it a little help if necessary. That made sense.

When he rose to leave the hall, Darr wanted to follow him. N'Arahn held him back with a gesture. "Not this time. Stay here. And send Cek out to oversee the cleanup of the arena."

Without making sure that his instructions were being followed, he strode through the hall, past massive tables and benches. The high ceiling arched darkly above him. The shadows in the corners defied the many light sources, appearing even deeper in some places due to the overlapping circles of light from the torches, lanterns and lava arches. Since N'Arahn was barefoot, he moved almost silently. The pitter-patter and the sounds of his servants were also very quiet, but even these muffled noises tugged at his nerves.

With a burst of energy, he opened the double doors made of ironwood and gave in to his restlessness by increasing his pace. The fortress was vast and laid out like a labyrinth. But when N'Arahn was in a hurry, the stone followed his lead; down here he was the master of everything, living or dead.

It wasn't long before the demonlord stood at the door to Veidja's chamber. He hesitated briefly. Then, more forcefully than was necessary, he opened the door and stepped into the small room. He knew the angel was awake, but he had not expected what he saw. Veidja had moved into a semi-upright position and wrapped her pierced left hand around her right forearm. At that moment, she straightened the broken bone with a harsh gasp. Sweat was all over her body, the wounds on her hand and shoulder had reopened, N'Arahn could smell the fresh blood. Its aroma mingled with the angel's own scent and a hint of fear to create an almost befuddling fragrance. The demon greedily drew in the air and involuntarily tightened his hands into fists.

He took a step towards the bed and the angel. Veidja looked up at him with an expression that was as strained as it was suspicious.

"If you're so into pain, I'll take that into consideration in the future." N'Arahn grinned wickedly at the angel. Inwardly, however, he had to pay respect to Veidja again. She was in a hopeless situation, but she was clearly making preparations to be able to fight again. Tough thing.

The demonlord settled down on the edge of the bed next to the angel. "Let me see." He reached for her arm and, understandably, she tried to pull it away from him. But she was neither fast nor strong enough to stop him even slightly at the moment.

N'Arahn looked at the arm. He wasn't a healer, of course not, but he had seen enough battle wounds to be able to assess how this one would turn out. It looked good.

"The fracture was straight and you did an excellent job of setting the arm, given the circumstances." He released his gentle grip and carefully placed her arm back on the bed. "It would be good to splint it. And your wounds need to be cleaned; I'm sure sand got into them."

He looked at her, at her torn dress, the black eye he had given her with his fist, the blood crusts and bruises, as far as they were not covered.

The tension that had accompanied N'Arahn the whole time dissipated. His angel had an extremely strong will to live, he had already realized that. But to feel her right next to him now, to have to endure that look, to experience her hatred and reluctance so directly, that was something else. It made it tangible for the demonlord that he would not lose her again so quickly. And that reassured him in a strange way; his thoughts could turn back to his plans.

"You're not in a good state and I don't have time for that. I'm sure it will also be good for you if I speed up your healing a little. There's no room for the sick and infirm in the Red Depths."

Veidja's expression revealed little other than thorough mistrust. She had probably rightly not expected to survive this long at all. The demonlord made a gesture of expressing embarrassment.

"Admittedly, you do have a special position here."

It had only been such a short time since he had beaten her into unconsciousness. Now he was talking about helping her recover. If that didn't earn her mistrust, then he didn't know what would. But weren't angels obliged, indeed made, to hope for the best? To always see the good? But perhaps that didn't apply to battleangels. And certainly not towards their enemies.

"I'll give you mana, just enough to make your arm grow together. Then you can take care of your wounds yourself. And wash up." He sniffed in her direction. "You're polluting my air." N'Arahn had hoped a little to provoke her, but the angel remained stubbornly silent. There were knives in her eyes; that was the only emotion she showed.

Fine, then don't. N'Arahn reached into the shadows and drew mana from them. He poured it into his cupped hand; not much, but it would do for now. The liquid was the color of dewberries, almost black. He had concentrated the mana so that its consistency was more like oil. That way, it didn't flow from his hand so quickly.

He would make the angel drink from his hand. Just another little humiliation, just a barely subtle hint that she was dependent on him. She wouldn't expect anything else from him anyway, so why not allow himself the fun. Whether he wanted to be polite and courteous, or cruel and brutal, he decided according to the situation and his mood. The only rules here were the ones he set himself, and the more inscrutable they were for the angel, the better for him.

N'Arahn held his hand out to her.
"Drink."

She hesitated. Was she considering biting him again? He was happy to take the risk. It kept him alert and stimulated his senses. Every touch became more intense. His hair brushing his shoulders, the leather rubbing against his legs, her breath on his skin, very softly.

Patience was not one of N'Arahn's strong points. He was just about to force Veidja to take the mana when she leaned her head forward slightly and her lips touched the edge of his hand. Instantly, a trace of fire trailed down the demonlord's arm, crawling over his shoulder and trickling down his back from his neck. With strained self-control, N'Arahn prevented his hand from trembling. If the anticipation of her touch had been rich uncertainty, the feel of the angel's mouth against his skin offered unexpected ecstasy.

Veidja carefully sucked the mana out of the bulge, so gently that her teeth did not come close to him. This gentleness shook the demon to the core. Surely her restraint was born of fear? That he would hit her again if she hurt him, even without meaning to? Or was it simply a side to this angel that he didn't know; that she had kept well hidden from him until now? Was it even a tactic, an attempt to ensnare him?

But she had her eyes closed, not watching his reaction, just concentrating. N'Arahn shuddered. Why was he reacting so strongly? He hardly dared to move, lest he change anything. He felt downright powerless, even though it was supposed to be the warrior who submitted to his whims and games.

All too soon the mana was empty and N'Arahn felt tempted to let it re-emerge. No, it was good that the situation was over. What was happening here was wrong in a way the demonlord couldn't quite grasp. He needed to sort it out for himself before he underestimated a looming danger.

N'Arahn wiped the remains of the mana on the sheet. The angel's eyes seemed much more alert than they had a few moments ago. He rose from the bed and looked down at Veidja.

"In a few moments, my servants will pick you up for a bath. You know what you have to do. Once your wounds are cleaned, I'll give you more mana to seal them. I want you back in action quickly." He turned to leave. "Your performance today is certainly to be surpassed."

~~~~~~

Hardly suppressed hatred raged inside Veidja. The demon was a master at twisting the knife in every weakness. And she had no choice but to endure the respective humiliation. Whether it was drinking the mana from his hand, undressing in front of a whole escort of demons or being locked up in a tiny room whose atmosphere suffocated her.

Not to mention that everything still hurt and she was constantly reminded of how dependent she was on a demonlord. The epitome of malice, cruelty and destructiveness. The enemy. In capital letters.

Should she really be grateful to him for giving her mana so she could patch herself up? To her own dismay, she had been, for a brief moment. The relief as new energy flowed through her, soothing the worst of the pain and leaving a pleasant tingle that spoke of healing. His skin had tasted of smoke and metal...

N'Arahn did not take his eyes off her as she sat stiffly on the ironwood chair and drank mana from a new goblet. It was strange to sit together at a table so quietly and silently. Not long ago, he had made her bleed. He had pushed her into the sand and almost caused her to lose her life.

At least this time, he didn't force her to talk to him. Veidja was unsure what the demonlord wanted from her. But if it really was just a fight, he could get it. She would hold out. And one day, if she had her way sooner rather than later, he would regret having captured her.