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“Because my wards were supposed to be impassable. We got them from—”

Cyrus burst out laughing, and Cassius and Sorin exchanged a look of confusion.

“Are you saying you trusted wards that came from Gehenna?” Cyrus asked when he got himself under control.

“Alaric made a deal with her,” Mikale gritted out, slamming his fists on his desk as the flames burned into his skin more.

“Oh, I know all about herdeals,” Cyrus said. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I have a deal of my own to fulfill with her.”

Cyrus crossed the room, tilting his head to study Mikale’s bound hands. “Scarlett was right. You do have Talwyn’s ring.”

“How could she possibly have known that?” Mikale spat, trying to lurch backwards when Cyrus reached for the ring.

Cyrus set the chair behind him on fire, and Sorin’s smile grew as Mikale swore, twisting around to protect his wings. In the mayhem, Cyrus managed to rip the ring off his finger with a vicious yank that had Mikale howling.

Cyrus held it up to the window where the growing sunlight glistened off of it. “She saw it in the last dream you appeared in,” he finally answered. Then he turned to Sorin and Cassius. “You are sure, Sorin?”

“I will meet you in Solembra,” Sorin replied.

Cyrus and Cassius were gone in the next second, leaving him alone with Mikale.

Sorin put out the flaming chair and the manacles, leaving Mikale heaving with his hands braced on the desk.

“She sends you to exact her revenge?” Mikale spat.

“She does not need to waste another second on you,” Sorin replied, pushing off the doorway and striding into the room. “But that aside, she is mine to defend. Mine to consume. Mine to avenge. And you touched what is mine.”

“You cannot kill me,” Mikale snarled, straightening as Sorin drew nearer. “We are not killed as easily as seraphs.”

“I am aware,” Sorin said. “That is why I have these.” He pulled two bands of deathstone from his pocket and held them up.

Mikale’s face paled. “How did you get those?”

“That is not important,” Sorin replied, clinking the two bands together. “What is important is that they will accomplish two things. They will drain your magic, keeping you from healing and replenishing, but they will also keep you from dying, which keeps King Callan alive.”

“How do you know about that?” Mikale spluttered while Sorin slipped a band around his wrist.

“Again, not important,” Sorin answered, slipping on the other band. Before Mikale could speak, Sorin Traveled them to the Fiera Palace, specifically to the rooms beneath it. He hadn’t needed to come down here in decades. When he did, the others were usually with him. It was why Cyrus had cursed when he’d told him where they were going. He knew what these rooms were used for. This time, though, it needed to be just him.

Mikale blinked, looking around the obsidian room. “You cannot Travel,” he sneered, confusion on his sharp features.

But finally being here, in this place, with this male in his grip?

Sorin’s control shattered.

Mikale was flying into a wall as Sorin hurled him back. He didn’t know if the sound of bone crunching came from Mikale’s body or his wings. He also didn’t give a fuck.

“You took from her. Again and again,” Sorin snarled, setting fire to one wing. But he didn’t let it simply go up in flames. Oh no. He controlled the burn. Dragging it out. Making it slowly creep along, feather by excruciating feather.

Mikale screamed, fingers clawing at the stone floor where he still lay on the ground.

Until a gag of fire formed between his lips.

“Scream again and I will burn away your vocal chords,” Sorin said simply.

Mikale nodded, hatred shining in his black eyes while Sorin burned the wing slowly to ash.

“The idea that you could ever have her?” Sorin growled, starting on the other wing. Mikale let out a strangled cry, and Sorin let the fire in his mouth singe his lips. Mikale slapped a hand against the stone in agony.