The key slid into the lock of the neighboring cage with a soft click that seemed to echo in the underground chamber. Deacon turned it with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine as the mechanism released and the door swung open.

  He stepped inside the cage, not bothering to close the door behind him. There was no need. The other demons knew their place. They weren't foolish enough to attempt escape, even with freedom seemingly within reach. Their spirits had been broken long before my arrival.

  The female demon pressed herself against the far wall of her cage, trying to disappear into the shadows. Her eyes were wide with terror, her breathing quick and shallow.

  Deacon moved toward her with casual confidence, no hint of hesitation in his stride. In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the throat and hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands as he hauled her roughly to her feet. She didn't resist, didn't fight back. Her body was tense with fear, but she made no move to defend herself.

  "Look at you." He gave her a little shake, tightening his grip on her throat. "Joy here thinks you should stand up for yourself. Fight back. Show some spirit."

  His fingers twisted in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. "She gave you permission, didn't she? So go ahead. Hit me."

  The demon's gaze flicked to me, then back to Deacon. Her lips trembled, but she remained silent, passive in his grip. The sight made my heart ache. I could see bruises on her arms, old injuries that told a story of previous "lessons."

  "Nothing to say?" He released her suddenly, shoving her back against the wall.

  Her body hit the stone with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs, but she made no sound. She kept her eyes lowered, her shoulders hunched in a posture of complete submission. How long had it taken to break her so thoroughly? How much suffering had she endured before she learned that resistance only brought more pain?

  Deacon gestured toward the cage entrance with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

  "The door's open. You're free to leave if you want. Joy told you to leave, didn't she? So go."

  The demon didn't move, didn't even look at the open door. She knew it was a trap.

  Deacon turned to me, his lips curved in mock disappointment.

  "She doesn't seem very eager to follow your advice, Joy. Perhaps she needs more encouragement from you directly."

  His voice hardened, the pretense of civility falling away completely.

  "Tell her to leave. Tell her what she should do."

  I gripped the bars of my cage, frustration and guilt warring within me. I had put this demon in danger with my reckless talk of resistance. Now Deacon was using my words as a weapon against her, crafting a no-win situation for us both.

  "This is between you and me. Leave her out of it."

  "Wrong answer!” Deacon's roared. His face darkened, a storm gathering in his eyes. He flexed his fingers, a deliberate threat.

  "I told you to tell her to leave. Do it now."

  In that moment, I understood with perfect clarity the cruel game he was playing. If I refused, he would hurt her for my defiance. If I encouraged her to leave as he demanded, and she obeyed, he would hurt her for attempting escape. If she refused to move, he would hurt her for disobeying. It was a perfect trap, designed to make me complicit in her suffering no matter what choice I made.

  The realization must have shown on my face, because Deacon smiled. A cold, hungry expression that revealed the true depths of his cruelty. He enjoyed this, the power, the manipulation, the suffering he could inflict with just words and the threat of violence.

  I looked at the female demon, her eyes now fixed on mine, silently pleading for guidance. What could I tell her that wouldn't lead to pain? My throat felt tight, words trapped behind the knowledge that anything I said would only cause harm.

  "I'm sorry. I was wrong to put you in this position."

  Deacon clicked his tongue in disapproval.

  "Still not following instructions, Joy. Let me be clearer."

  He moved back to the demon, seizing her arm in a bruising grip that made her wince.

  "Tell her to leave, or I'll break her arm. Your choice."

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  "Stop! Just stop this!" The words tore from my throat, useless as I knew they were.

  Deacon only tightened his grip, twisting the demon's arm until she whimpered, a small sound like a wounded animal.

  "Tell her to leave."

  His tone was flat now, his patience clearly wearing thin. I could see his knuckles whitening as he increased the pressure on the demon's arm, bending it at an unnatural angle. Another few seconds and the bone would snap.

  "Leave." The word was bitter on my tongue. "If you can, just... leave."

  The female demon's eyes widened at my words. For a heartbeat, no one moved. The chamber was silent except for the distant drip of water and the sound of her rapid breathing. Then, hesitantly, she took a single step forward, toward the open cage door.

  Deacon's fist connected with her stomach in a vicious blow that drove the air from her lungs. She doubled over, gasping, and Deacon followed with a savage kick that sent her sprawling to the floor. Her body hit the stone with a sickening thud, straw scattering around her as she tried to curl into a protective ball.

  "She tried to escape!" His face contorted with a rage that seemed both genuine and performative at once. Another kick landed on her ribs, drawing a sharp cry of pain.

  "Look what you made me do!"

  The other demons in their cages turned away, unable to watch what was happening yet unwilling or unable to intervene. Some covered their ears, as if that could block out the sounds of violence. Others stared with haunted eyes, perhaps remembering when they had been the focus of such "lessons."

  "I don't want to do this!"

  Another kick, another cry of pain. Deacon's boot came down on her outstretched hand, grinding against her fingers.

  "This is your fault, Joy! You put these ideas in her head!"

  I rattled the bars of my cage, helpless fury building inside me.

  "Stop it! She didn't do anything wrong!"

  But Deacon didn't stop. His boot connected with the demon's body again and again, each impact punctuated by her increasingly feeble attempts to protect herself. Blood trickled from her nose, staining the straw beneath her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one seeming more difficult than the last.

  With my enhanced hearing, I caught the whispered prayer that escaped her lips between blows.

  "Tesharen, stop him."

  The name of the goddess, invoked in her moment of greatest suffering, resonated within me like a struck bell. A surge of power I hadn't felt since my capture rushed through my body, hot and insistent. Energy crackled along my skin, prickling the air around me. My vision sharpened, colors becoming more vivid, sounds more distinct.

  The metal of my cage groaned, then gave way as I pushed against it with strength born of desperation and fury. The door twisted on its hinges, the lock snapping under pressure I hadn't known I could exert. The sound of breaking metal echoed through the chamber, causing several of the caged demons to look up in shock.

  I was across the space and into the other cage before Deacon could register what was happening. My body positioned itself between him and the fallen demon, creating a shield against further harm. My claws extended fully, no longer held in check by caution or restraint. They gleamed in the torchlight, sharp as daggers and just as deadly.

  Deacon's eyes widened in shock, his hand frozen mid-air where he'd been preparing another blow. For an instant, genuine fear flickered across his face. Not the calculated expressions he'd shown earlier, but true, primal fear.

  "What the... How did you..."

  He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to put distance between us. His confidence had evaporated, replaced by naked fear that I could smell..

  I continued forward, my focus narrowing to a single purpose: remove the threat, protect the vulnerable. Each step I took, Deacon retreated further, his back eventually hitting the open cage door. The hinges creaked under his weight, a sound that seemed to snap him back to awareness of his surroundings.

  Then he turned and fled, backing rapidly up the funnel from which we had come. I followed, herding him away from the cages, away from the vulnerable demons he had so casually abused. My claws remained extended, my body tense and ready for any attempt he might make to regain control of the situation.

  "Escaped demon!"

  His shout echoed off the stone walls, bouncing back at us from the narrow confines of the passage.

  "Rampaging demon! Help!"

  The other demons watched in silence as I pursued Deacon up the sloping passage. All that mattered was getting him away from them, removing the threat he posed to them.

  Deacon stumbled as the passage narrowed, his shoulder scraping against the rough stone wall. He glanced back at me, his face pale and sweating in the dim light.

  "Guards! Sedatives! Escaped demon!"

  His earlier swagger had evaporated completely, replaced by the desperate panic of prey fleeing a predator. The roles had been reversed, the hunter now hunted. He scrambled backward, his expensive boots slipping on the damp stone.

  The tunnel grew tighter as we ascended, forcing us closer together. I could smell Deacon's fear, sour and pungent, mingling with the scent of his cologne in a nauseating combination. His back hit the wall where the passage curved, momentarily halting his retreat. I seized the opportunity to move closer, my claws still extended, ready to strike if necessary.

  "Don't come any closer."

  His voice was high and tight, barely controlled. A vein pulsed in his temple, his heart racing so fast I could almost hear it.

  "The guards will be here any second."

  The funnel narrowed further, the walls pressing in on either side, channeling us upward toward the main level of the compound. Ahead, I could hear the sound of running feet, shouts of alarm, the metallic clatter of weapons being readied. The guards were coming, just as Deacon had promised. But I didn't care. I had accomplished what I needed to. I had separated Deacon from his victims, had given them at least a brief respite from his cruelty.

  Deacon's breathing grew labored as we climbed higher, the steep incline taxing his pampered body. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip, his perfectly styled hair now disheveled. The transformation from confident overseer to frightened quarry was complete.