But this one . . . he’d brought her here specifically for his own purposes. She wasn’t cooperating, however.

And, more disturbing, she was completely insane!

“What kind of rulers do these humans have?” he asked one of his guards.

“Do you want us to kill her now, my lord?”

“No. We need her. But”—he gestured vaguely in the woman’s direction—“I don’t know what to do with her.”

“We can break her,” his guard suggested. “If you’d allow us to deal with her . . . as a group.”

Phalet had wanted to avoid that. It seemed so . . . human. But, sighing, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice. They didn’t have a lot of time and he needed her . . . flexible.

With a nod, he gave his permission, but added, “Break her, Cursain. Do not kill her.”

“Of course not, my lord.”

“Then good luck.”

* * *

With orders given, plans neatly mapped out, and Lord Phalet back in his hall to meet his guests for dinner, Cursain and his fellow guards walked to the prisoner’s cell. The door was unlocked and opened and they all silently entered.

As one, they stood and gazed down at her. When they were done . . . she’d beg to do anything for Lord Phalet if it meant the torture would stop.

The woman, hair falling in her face, lifted her head and Cursain had only a moment to see crazed green-gray eyes angrily glaring at him from underneath all that hair before her scream echoed around the walls and she was on him. . . .

* * *

Sitting at the head of the dining table, enjoying the screams of the dismembering happening at the other end of his hall while enjoying the casual conversation of the guests enjoying his feast, Lord Phalet was surprised when someone stroked his hair from behind.

He was about to turn when the stroking hand gripped his white strands tightly and yanked his head back. An arm reached over him and a blade slammed into his chest again and again.

His guests screamed and stumbled away from his table, no one bothering to assist him.

Worthless scum!

With the blade buried to the hilt in his chest, his attacker’s lips pressed against his ear and whispered, “Come for me, demon, and you’d best bring an entire army.”

Then Phalet was flipped out of his chair and dragged across the floor, his neck stomped on, his nose crushed....

Then she was gone.

“Lord Phalet?” one of his worthless guests asked, coming into his blood-smeared view. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m not all right, idiot!” He raised his arms. “Get me up!”

He was brought to his feet so he could pull the blade from his chest. He recognized it as Cursain’s dagger.