"Sun." N'Arahn repeated the word tonelessly. That was all? The whole secret? The angel faded away because she needed the sun. Like a pathetic flower.

He felt like laughing, but it was just too ridiculous. Angels had been captured before, some were in the caves of the Red Depths to this day. They were still alive, but nothing more than shells. No one had ever bothered to find out why they had stopped fighting, or moving.

Sunlight. It would take him a while to realize what advantages this secret could bring him.

He looked down at Veidja, who had opened her eyes in search, but was apparently blind. Her empty gaze, the weak movements, it stung him. He was so angry, still. Her helplessness fueled his hatred.

He had been weak earlier, that wouldn't happen to him again. He would drive the angel into the abyss. Would make Veidja fall on her own. That was better than just letting her fight. To let her bleed. Speaking of blood... He could start right now.

"All right. I'll bring you into the sunlight, you're in my debt for that."

There was time to think of something. She was in his control anyway and he could use this guilt for something special. The uncertainty would be all the more painful for the angel.

"According to ancient custom, you must seal the pact with your blood. Your voluntarily given blood."

Ah, she was still capable of disgust. The hideous, ugly demon demands your blood, you poor, innocent angel. He now grimaced as well. What a cliché. He had never thought it would come to this. But he was a demonlord and she was an angel. He had kept her to take advantage of her, and that was what he would do.

When she hesitated, he put her own hand to her mouth, indignantly. "You have sharp teeth. If you want my help, then do something about it. I'm not wasting my time with you anymore, weakling." He put all his hatred into his voice. "Such a shame calling yourself a warrior."

N'Arahn turned away and stood up from the bed. He could no longer remain inactive, he had to move. He didn't want to look at her anymore either. If she continued to tease him, he might kill her after all, and he didn't want that to happen. But everything about her was wearing him out, tugging at his nerves as if someone were sticking ice needles into his brain.

He stopped with a jolt, his whole body stiffening. The smell of fresh angel blood filled his thoughts. He had smelled that particular scent, not just angel blood, but her blood, many times now. In the arena, after fights, when they dined together in silence, and even during the hunt. It was always intoxicating, made his own blood sing.

But this time the scent was irresistible. He had forgotten how good blood voluntarily given for a pact smelled. Promising pleasure, lust, incredible fulfillment.

He was over her in a single leap, snatching the hand offered to him. The angel made a strangled sound and tried to pull her hand away from N'Arahn. But he held her tightly, bending her fingers back to look at the fresh bloody punctures on the outside of her hand. Then, infinitely slowly, he licked over her palm. Tracing every groove, immersing himself in the frenzy that was spreading through him. The angel's hand trembled in his grip. He knew Veidja would share his sensations. The tingling all over his body. The surge of desire. The pure pleasure of one's own existence.

That was why humans could become addicted to it. The pact with a demonlord was always terrifying. But equally overwhelming and intense in a way that nothing else he knew could compare.

N'Arahn let out a low groan as he found one last drop of blood. Blood that tasted not of blood, but of possibility, of pure promise. Once again, he let the tip of his tongue circle over this stain. A shudder passed over his skin and continued on the angel's body. He could feel it where they touched and deep in his soul, for they were still bound by the sealing of the pact.

But he was not allowed to take any more, otherwise the agreement would be null and void. There weren't many unbreakable rules, but that was one of them. She would only incur guilt if he limited himself to what he had given freely.

Satisfied, he expelled the air he had been holding involuntarily and let her hand fall back onto the bed. He was filled with deep satisfaction, a lightness that would last for a while. Veidja, on the other hand, would now feel the full weight of the guilt she had brought upon herself. It would be much worse for her than for a human.

Hm, he would probably have to hurry up with the fulfillment of his side of the pact. Who knew how long she would last otherwise.

The iron clasp of anger and hatred that had been around his heart earlier seemed to loosen again. Almost cheerfully, he lifted the silently weeping angel from the bed to bring her into the sunlight as agreed.

***

N'Arahn was carrying her, she could feel it. And she still tasted his bitter triumph. Her blood, willingly given to a demonlord. Her weakness and blindness had been joined by an icy grip on her soul. The shame of the pact, as consuming as a serious illness. And yet, she quickly became indifferent to it.

Again and again she sank into unconsciousness, darkness eating away the edges of her consciousness. Not much longer and she would fade away completely.

Where were the noises coming from? A steady tap-tap, like paws on stone. Where was she? Her thoughts could no longer find focus. She had no will, Am I sleeping?, no sense of time, Am I dreaming?, hardly any connection to the outside.

Let go.

Something jolted her body, it barely got through to her. She couldn't see, she could no longer hear. The darkness enveloped her like a soft, heavy pillow into which she sank endlessly.

Suddenly, sharp, almost painful, a sensation. A clear thought, just one. I want to live! A deep breath, as if she had been drowning.

Back, she was back. All at once, overwhelmingly, all her sensory impressions came back to life. Her will to survive took over, made her breathe and turn her face towards the sun, stretch out towards it.

While she was still nearly blind, she felt the light flowing life-giving into her open eyes, saw green at the edges of her perception.
She was being held gently and safely, someone from the warrior caste apparently, judging by the effortlessness. She felt battered, as if after an almost lost battle. Add to that the faint smell of metal and smoke, everything fell into place.

She was safe. She would live.

Now she had to sleep.

Veidja let herself sink back, gratefully accepting the support she was offered. Then she let go, surrendering to the soft black of sleep.

***

The strong branch of the tree held the weight of the demonlord and his angel easily.

N'Arahn had thought about it for a moment, but he would have flown Veidja to the light if necessary.

As much as his victory over the angel had pleased him, he could see her light fading completely on the way to the garden. He had taken the fastest route and yet it had almost been too late.

He had paid no attention to his garden, his only luxury of beauty and lavishness, and had literally run to the tree in the middle. With one leap, supported by a flap of his wings, he had scaled half the height vertically. He had climbed up to the crown, somewhat awkwardly, as he had to carry the angel, who was now little more than a lifeless sack of flesh.

Only up here did he allow the sunlight to illuminate this one spot of his fortress from time to time. Only here was the tree green, was his little wink towards the White Mountain.

He had never imagined that sunlight would become so important.

As soon as he had reached the top of the tree and pressed his back against the thickest branch, he had held Veidja in his arms in the light.

The effect was incredible. The angel's grey skin suddenly regained its color. The warrior reared up in his grip and lifted her head, a movement he had no longer thought her capable of.

The angel took a few deep breaths. Then Veidja sank back into his arms, laid her cheek against his chest and... fell asleep.

N'Arahn could not move. His mind refused to work for a moment. All hatred, all anger, all joy at his victory over an enemy was washed away. All he felt was this woman in his arms, cuddling up to him in complete trust. No protective shield, neither mental nor physical. He could feel her warmth, her calm breaths, could watch as sleep drew her deeper, as she surrendered completely to relaxation.

And he did... nothing. Just kept holding her, drinking from this trust like a man dying of thirst. Except that he hadn't known he was thirsty.

In his soul, something opened up that he could not yet name.

That could not exist. That had to be refused to him as a demon.