Burning Dawn

It would be better to take a lover now, while she had some sort of control...and could make herself hate it.

Yeah.

She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it, the guilt winding cold, clammy arms around her, embracing her like an old friend...or the lover she was soon to take. Whom should she pick?

Someone like Bay? Gentle. Happy. Fun. But then, she would be giving this nameless, faceless guy what she was unable to give her dead husband. Affection and attention.

No. That wouldn’t do.

She would have to pick someone hard and harsh.

Like...Thane?

No! He wasn’t an option. He was the reason she was in this bind, yes, but he wasn’t an option. She would have to pick someone like Thane. A patron of the bar, maybe.

Like Merrick, the heartbreaker, maybe.

Yes. Him.

He would do.

He would be perfect, actually.

So...the next time his band came to the bar...

She closed her eyes to ward off the oncoming flood of remorse. She was really going to do this. She was really going to climb in bed with another man.

I’m sorry, Bay. I love you, and I miss you so much. Once I’ve done it, once it’s over, I’ll never want to do it again. I can go back to the way things were.

* * *

THANE PEERED AT ZACHAREL, incredulous. “Let’s make sure I understand you correctly. You aren’t going to kick me from the heavens, and you aren’t going to force me to free the Phoenix clan under my...care?”

“That’s right.”

Again, astonishment roared through him.

His leader stood at the edge of his home in the sky—a large cloud—his piercing green eyes scrutinizing the human world below. Wind whipped black locks of hair against his cheeks and around his shoulders. Gloriously golden wings arched proudly, a testament to his exalted place in their world.

In the heavens, there was a very clear hierarchy. The Most High. Clerici. The Elite Seven, Zacharel among them. Then everyone else.

To disobey Zacharel’s edicts was to court ruin. Thane had known that. But he’d done it anyway. And he was to be...forgiven?

Now, he looked to Bjorn and Xerxes. Both were as baffled as he was.

“I know Clerici allows for vengeance,” Zacharel said stiffly. “I also know it violates the Most High’s code of ethics, and will have spiritual consequences for us all.”

Yes. But the Most High wouldn’t stop Clerici from doing what Clerici wanted to do—they all had free will. Even still, every act against his rules edged a Sent One out from under his umbrella of protection.

“The Phoenix enslaved you,” Zacharel continued, “and so you are now allowed to mete out death.”

“I am.” And he would. Over and over again.

His leader wasn’t done. “And I am allowed to punish you.”

Forgiven, yes, but not forgotten. “What will you do?”

Zacharel sighed. “Koldo was whipped when he enslaved his mother. What kind of leader would I be if I allowed another of my warriors—even if he is my second-in-command—to forgo the same?” He met Thane’s gaze dead-on. “Therefore, you will receive a lash of the whip for every warrior being tortured on your front lawn.”

That was to be a punishment? “Very well.” He wouldn’t let Zacharel know how much he enjoyed it. He would control his body’s reaction. Somehow.

“You won’t release them of your own volition?”

“No.”

“Even though you rush headlong into disaster?”

Even though. One day, the king of the Firebirds would return to camp, find it deserted, hear of Thane’s macabre courtyard, and come gunning for him. There would be a gruesome battle, for Ardeo’s decree that Thane be spared from a deathblow would give way to vengeance. But Thane would not relinquish his captives, even then.

And everyone around you will be placed in the line of fire.

He didn’t want to care. Wanted to glory in the same casual disregard he’d harbored before.

But...what if Bjorn or Xerxes were hurt? It would be his fault.

They are strong. They can protect themselves.

And what of Elin? The fragile human was now his responsibility. Unlike his friends, she would not recover if the Phoenix burned her alive. Their preferred method for eliminating someone of another race.

He worked two fingers over his jaw, the action so fierce he left welts behind. She is nothing. Means nothing.

A foul taste coated his tongue, and this time he knew what it was. An indication of a lie. Despite the fact that he hadn’t spoken a word. Irritated, confused, he ground his molars. She. Means. Nothing.

The foul taste intensified.

“I will take the lash,” he announced.

Zacharel’s nod was grave. “Very well.”

Leave us, he projected to Bjorn and Xerxes. He didn’t want the two to see this. They’d witnessed enough of each other’s torture.

Both shook their heads no. They would stay. They would watch. And they would support him.

“I played a part in this,” Xerxes said. “I will take the lash, as well.”

“As will I,” Bjorn said.

“No.”