At night, I am the only one left at the police headquarters aside from Jason who is giving me another brief before I enter the vault and before he heads home for the night.

Leaving me to die – in his mind, no doubt.

"The only reason I'm allowing you to do this, are the three options I'm presented with. One, handing you over to an asylum – which benefits no one. Two, allowing you to extract information, which may be beneficial to all parties involved. Three... some say you'd be better off dead, but I won't compromise my own professional standing by stooping to murder, I am no demon, although you are a demon's whore... so this kind of end may suit you," Jason is proud of his mortal logic, "These doors are one way, you open them, you keep walking through, you'll meet Phire at the end. His binds are heavy, he moves slowly, but he can move... so be weary, stupid whore," Jason whispers that in my ear, like deep down it turns him on to insult my reputation.

I turn to him so our eyes meet, as I ask Jason, "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me, beside expressing your disdain for me, sir?" I can't help adding in my frustration, regular mortals could never understand the way I fit with Onyx... as a Lycan Queen. I was no hostage. If anything, their desire for me was always a superpower to me. To everyone else it was just a weakness or a super-shameful thing. And to Jason I wasn't a favoured whore, I was just a whore. A female exclusive adjective, but I chose not to see the negatives within it, only the power in the reverse side of the reflection. Desirous. Fertile. Bewitching to the male specimen.

"Sir?" Jason really likes that, straightening his back, keeping in a smile. I smile slow, just for him, "If you make it out of there alive, I sometimes have a need for a whore... and I pay handsomely," he takes a step back, tapping his pocket, where his wallet lies, "Good luck."

"Thank you," I face the door and wait for him to put in the sequence to open the first-set of vault doors.

Solid silver.

"...we even blessed each door before it was fitted, hopefully it doesn't burn you," Jason murmurs under his breath, laughing quietly.

"What kind of priest does that?" I ask, pretending to be oblivious.

"We have tight connections to the priests at St Michael's Cathedral," Jason explains, very smug.

"Oh," I feign stupidity.

"You should pray for your soul there, the priests there are very accommodating for burning and wicked souls such as yourself," Jason finishes putting in the sequence.

I just stare at the vault, smug he never realised that Onyx is Priest Oswald –

Well.

My heart sinks into my stomach.

No.

I refuse to grieve or acknowledge my loss.

Onyx still was Priest Oswald.

He was devoted to God, just as much as he was to the Devil.

I –

Jason is talking but I'm not hearing him, as my mind swims in denial and beautiful thoughts of a reality I lived in 48 hours ago.

The door finally opens and in front of me I see corridor and yet another door.

I take a step forward but I'm stopped when Jason puts his hand on my shoulder.

I pause and look back at him, but he's already reaching for my chin slowly.

"Give me a kiss goodbye," Jason asks.

I start to pull away, but when I see his mouth I see one more opportunity to perhaps use later.

So I do the opposite.

I feel too dead inside to care.

I kiss him just as he wants but with my own kick.

I'm hardcore.

I drag my fingers down his front into his belt, and pull him closer, as I lean up on my tip toes and bite his lip so hard he almost panics.

I taste his blood and Jason pushes me off him, shoving me through the first open door. He wipes off the blood from his mouth. His eyes are glaring as I just smile and he slams the door shut.

My heart was calm.

I had no doubt his was fucking racing.

Whatever.

I turn to face the next door.

All one way.

I open the next, spinning the locking mechanism.

I don't know how many doors there will be.

But the corridor starts to slant, and I realise as I walk to each door, leaving the last behind, I am going deeper and deeper underground.

Eight doors in total.

I've been through seven but I wait at the last, because I can see moss growing under this one. I stand on silver flooring, with silver walls, a final silver vault door and a silver ceiling.

I can also smell the demon on the other side.

The silver door has a small slit to look into the chamber, to put my eyes up to, to view if I dare.

There are warnings not to put your face too close, and a line to keep back 12 inches... the length his claws can poke out.

It suggests using a torch.

I don't have a torch. Nor was I given one.

And even as I stand here, in this last gateway – the lights around me buzz and switch off.

Nothing demonic at all. Just Jason turning the power off as he leaves to go home.

A final fuck you.

I'm in the pitch black.

Jason knows I'm not even in the last room yet.

The warnings on the wall, which I read briefly before the lights flickered out were saying not to enter until the gas had been released to make the beast sleep. To only speak to him from this final gateway and not to cross into his tomb unless it was feeding time or explicitly approved.

I know, the fact I can smell the Lycan now, means he smelt me doors away.

He was expecting me... and he would know I was a slut-pup.

The lights turning off was against protocol.

Females were restricted.

The Lycan would know that too, and hence, would know something is strange about this night.

That was to my advantage.

I think.

I knew trying to evoke sympathy or empathy would be pointless. Well, I guess I shouldn't judge right? I haven't even met him yet.

I haven't moved but I can hear a noise in the room through the door. Chains sliding against the floor. Far away though.

I move my hands over myself, but I decide to keep my pants, shirt and shoes on.

I didn't want to walk in like a basic offering.

Then I would just be devoured.

But hell, if I was killed, I'd see Onyx on the other side... so.... either way I win.

But for now, I'd keep my clothes on.

My eyes haven't adjusted to the dark.

I hold out my hands and I hold my breath as I move closer to the door, feeling for the slit.

I bring up my head and my eyes, level to the door, and I look into the room against protocol. I just don't care about my own safety.

In the far back corner, I see two orbs of light.

Sapphire, super-bright eyes.

Somehow the vibrant poison blue looks more demonic than hell-red. It represents pure black magic, the devil's direct potency. But in a masculine form... it wasn't the same as the Luna Witches, just opposite and still satanic as hell. A sorcerer's eyes. That's how I see it.

I hold the Lycan's glare as he watches me, and I watch him.

He doesn't blink.

I don't either.

I don't even breathe.

Because now I'm ready to open the door.

And he knows I'm going to be fool enough to do it.

I don't doubt he smells my desperation. I grab a hold of the last locking mechanism, and I spin it.

I have to spin it over and over, hearing the clicking noises constantly configuring into place, until the sides fall out, and the door is so heavy it swings inward.

One way vault doors. Once I'm in, I can't come out unless assisted.

I suck in a deep breath, and I move.

Either Phire helped me, or I died horrifically. And either way, I'd get what I wanted. Revenge or reunification with my mate in an afterlife.

Inside the vault, now on the other side of the door, I put my hands to the metal and I heave to shut it.

It's so heavy it requires all my strength. I push hard until it locks back into place, then I hear the wheel spin the other way, extremely fast, on a mechanism to reverse the process instantly.

At the end I hear a definite snap of metal within metal.

It's locked.

There's no way out.

I turn toward Zarphire.

He hasn't moved, but he's still looking at me.

I can hear his breathing and feel the hot-hell-fire air wafting over to me... but he's breathing slow.

Perhaps he hadn't seen another thing alive... forever.

Either he was asleep when they came in here to do their study. Or they spoke to him through the door, far away from the slit. Or they occasionally passed through fresh corpses of flesh to sustain him.

No wonder he hadn't reacted. Perhaps he thought this was a delusion or dream.

His eyes provide a light source, and help my eyes adjust to the room.

I see the outline of a temple, and the outline of him.

I don't want to guess too much so soon since he is sitting in a corner with his back against a temple wall, but he may be 10 ft.

Or I'm just imagining things because of the darkness.

I walk toward the Lycan and as I get closer, I notice he has chains wrapped around him, and they seep a constant heavy counter-magic, keeping him heavy, weighed down, slow and weak.

I can see the air shift around the binds, sucking in some kind of ethereal power to keep him quiet.

When I'm within a few metres of his claws at his feet, I sit down and cross my legs, looking him right in the eye.

The sapphire sorcerer eyes burn a little brighter.

But he watches me and says nothing and he doesn't even move despite my proximity.

He just breathes.

To be fair he had no idea who I was and what I wanted. So I decide to introduce myself.

"Zarphire. My name is Silvia," I speak into the dank air, "...and you smell delicious..." I whisper that part, breathing him in. He did smell good. And Cleo had taught me to stroke a Lycan's ego – it was always a good way to begin a conversation, especially when you meant it. His smell was purist sin and temptation. Now all I had to do was gift him with honest, innocent truth, "So, I'm here, b...b-because," my voice wobbles uncontrollable and I choke on my sadness in front of him, but I refuse to look away from his eyes, as I admit with tears dripping down my face, "My Lycan King is dead. I'm alone," the tears run like a river. So many flow out of my eyes, I didn't know it was possible to cry this fast, but I just keep my eyes open, however, my throat has closed right off. He says nothing. Although he keeps staring. I know he's acknowledged everything I said. I feel it in his stare. And whether he cared or not wasn't the point, I just had to tell him the absolute truth or he wouldn't believe me and he wouldn't co-operate, I needed to gain his trust somehow; and vulnerability is all a demon wanted. I suck in a deep breath through my nose and I continue, forcing the words out by touching into the rage inside my gut, "...if you know what Angel Killers are... they killed my soulmate..." I whisper this, "Please. Zarphire. Tell. Me. How to kill them. And I will do anything you wish."

Finished.

Fuck.

I said everything I wanted to say.

I've also instinctively brought my knees up to my chest, to hold them with my arms, needing to hug something. I rest my chin on my knees, still, in the face of a burning inferno of his pure demonic magic, I hold his eyes through it. It burns. It hurts to stare this long at him.

Zarphire finally moves, responding to my stare more than my words, I think.

I hug my knees tight.

Despite my bravery in coming here, and my lost desperation – in this very second, I am terrified. My eyes shift left to right and eventually downward, uncontrollably as he moves closer, his movements so slow... I hear the chains scrape against the temple stones, as his large Lycan head hovers above me, then moves down toward me.

Closer.

Within biting distance.

Lift your eyes, I tell myself.

Lift them.

But no matter how much I will myself to stare back at him, to show courage like no other could, at this moment the fear overpowers everything else, even my experience as a Queen to these beasts.

In fact my eyes have travelled so far down I'm now staring at the floor, and then I'm shutting my eyes.

Hellish heat charged with magic, washes over me, as he inches evercloser.

His breath is so hot, even that almost burns just like his blue eyes.

"Call me Phire," he speaks over me, a brunt, sharp and deep command – then his hot, wet tongue, licks over my face.

Oh, thank fuck, he didn't bite my head off.

He cleans me of all my tears and his tongue lifts my face, it's so commanding in it's own right, just as it's comforting.

With my chin up and eyes closed, but cheeks now wiped clean, I squint through my eyes to look up at his huge Lycan head.

The demon's breath is intoxicating and scrambling my thoughts.

I feel equal parts terrified straight down to my bone marrow, but also excited deep in my gut.

My womb is fucking flipping.

Phire leans down one more time to lick over my face, and I know I shouldn't believe it but it almost feels like a cheer-up gesture.

"What do you want from me, Phire?" I ask him, ready for his request, in return for his help.

Zarphire doesn't exactly hold back.

EVERYTHING.

Boom.

His demonic voice fills my head like pure, total possession. It blasts through and wipes out all other thoughts.

I forget who I am, as my eyes roll back in my head and I fall backward, my head smacking into the titles.

I lie on the temple floor, seizing.

My body is fighting off his demonic hold over me, I didn't let him in, he opened the door himself.

A door no one can and should open, but he had the pure satanic power to do so.

Let me in, he snarls through my head, SUBMIT, pup.

If I don't.

I'm going to fucking die.

But if I let go of that door he's pushing against... he'll never leave.

He'll own me. Even after death.

Every part of me.

Every fibre of my being.

I fight with all my strength, until I realise something; what the hell am I even fighting for?

I have nothing left.

Nothing.

Only rage.

And a wish born out of deepest female fury and wrath.

He was going to grant it.

I had to return his own wish.

My hands on the proverbial door, come up, and I let it go.

It swings open, he gets in, and I stop seizing.

Although now I'm trembling on the floor, with a so-hot-it's-almost-cold weight, within my head.

Zarphire is looking around inside my soul.

Inspecting everything.

I finally wake up, opening my eyes in the dark, I roll onto my front and I cough out foam and spit from my mouth.

I have an awful headache.

"Do you want to fuck?" Phire asks me, right behind me – he's leaned down, over my ass, smelling me through my pants. I feel his heat wash over me.

Here we go.

"Fuck," I growl into the ground, "Why not? Sure," I also groan, holding my head, "I mean, yes."

"You'll have to fuck me, I can't fuck you," Phire leans away from me.

"Okay, fine," I agree while I'm just trying to compose myself when he sounds so composed. Of course he's the one that's fine.

I crawl away from him, trying to stand, but after a little attempt at movement away – his claws slowly wrap around my ankle, stopping me from standing at all.

He slowly pulls me back.

I slide along the temple floors, until I'm at his side and his heat warms up my whole body like an iron. Funny thought but he is that damn hot.

I turn into Phire's side, now at his hip, where his torso is upright, as he sits back against the wall, smiling at me.

His teeth are precise, so white, so clean – and extremely sharp.

The fangs are double the length of what I'm used to.

His whole body smells like a beautiful poison.

Pure sin.

The kind you want to lean toward and taste.

I'm looking over his abs, like a bit of a drooling idiot, before I dare look at his erect cock.

When I see it... I gulp.

Um.

Holy shit.

...I had a lot of work to please... that...

I lean forward and I put my hand on his abdominals, and it's dwarfed by the giant demon in chains – uncaring he is stuck.

"Are you sure... you're okay...?" I ask Zarphire, speaking to his rock hard abs, only to now impulsively look up, straight up, all the way up to his burning gaze, so he can see my puppy eyes are begging for a true answer.

But he is not required to tell me any truth.

Not one fibre in his body will be lenient or merciful or sweet.

This was what he wanted.

It had nothing to do with me.

"I've never been better, slut pup," Phire speaks quite pleasantly, "It is nice to meet you... Silvia..." he rolls my name like it's his – another limb.

I gulp again, asking rather strangely since I know the answer, "...will I regret this?" I whisper.

A maleficent look fills his eye, and I almost regret asking it.

But the purely hell-born Lycan tells me, just moving slowly once again to put his teeth near my face.

"Of course you will, bitch," Zarphire's grin is pure evil, and pure truth, a classic Lycan smile.

Sharp. Terrifying. Promising.

It is now, of all moments, that I breathe out a sigh of relief. I understand that. I understand him better than I thought I would. I can still speak 'Lycan'. I understand the double meanings and the weight of his promises.

I now put my hand on his cock, "...so might you... vicious beast..." I dare to be cheeky, and Phire – thank whoever – seems to love my loose slut-puppy tongue.

The kind you can punish, and find excuses to punish, easily.

As the Lycan smiles sadistically at me, I smile back up at him.

Meanwhile, my throat had dried up – and an overpowering thirst, consumes me.

My senses flood with desire and lust.

Also. I wasn't dead.

Yet.

We seem to have an agreement.