Page 68 of Forging Darkness

“They have their uses,” Thorne responds.

Taking a step back from the cage and the rabid creature inside it, I turn to Thorne. “Yeah, like for entertainment value. It’s always fun to watch one living creature rip into another.”

Gesturing forward, he walks me around the room. He stops now and then to inspect one of the barghest, getting far closer to the cages—and their snapping jaws and sharply clawed feet—than I feel comfortable with.

“Angels aren’t the downy-winged lute-playing messengers of peace humans portray them as,” he says conversationally when we reach the other end of the room. “Fallen or full angel, they are warriors first and foremost. Made to keep creation in line and defend a higher power. Violence is part of our nature. It’s pointless to pretend otherwise.”

“We’re also part human,” I argue.

He chuckles, as if I’ve said something amusing. “There’s plenty of evidence to suggest their race is capable of even greater malevolence than angels.”

Fair point. I’ve seen glimpses of the darkness that lurks in the human soul. I haven’t even been exposed to the worst of it, but it makes my skin crawl to think of. I brush my hands up and down my arms to rid the goose bumps.

“We’re all responsible for our own actions. We can choose to be better than our natures if we really want.”

“We have a choice?” His eyebrows make perfect arches as he cants his head. “Is that what you think?”

I’m about to answer that yes, I do believe we have the capability to overcome our baser instincts, when Thorne lifts a hand to his mouth and releases a long, shrill whistle. The room falls silent as the barghest drop to their bellies. Pointed ears flatten in submission, and they don’t release so much as a yip or whimper.

I turn wide eyes on Thorne. “You have them whistle-trained?”

He chuckles. “They’re no use to me if they can’t be controlled.”

His words bounce around the walls of my brain as he moves back down the row of cages. Does that philosophy extend to everything in his life?

Coming to a stop, Thorne issues a sharp command in a language I don’t understand—most likely Enochian. The barghest get off their bellies and stand rigid at the front of their cages. All twenty heads turn in his direction like a pack of robot dogs, waiting to receive their next command. The pack is completely different from the uncontrollable beasts they were moments before. The transformation is chilling.

Thorne strides to the closest cage and utters another Enochian command. The barghest inside curls its upper lip to show a row of razor teeth, then drops to its butt.

Going down the line, Thorne issues different commands to each beast. One lies on its side, another releases a single bark, and so on until he’s lapped the room. I do my best to commit the strange words to memory.

“Are you trying to show off?”

“Maybe a bit,” he concedes with a smirk. “They have dedicated handlers, but I like to come down here at least once a week to work with them myself. They’re magnificent creatures. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Perfect. I know just what to show you next.”

Thorne extends an arm, inviting me to walk in front of him. The moment he steps over the threshold behind me, the barghest go ballistic again.

“Control is a precarious thing,” he says as we walk back the way we came. I try to pay attention to the twists and turns we make to get back to the surface, but I’m not sure I’ve memorized the route correctly.

I still think I can hear the phantom howls of the hellhounds when we step back into the light of day.

* * *

I worry my bottom lip as I stare at the dress laid out on my bed. I don’t know what I was expecting when I agreed to have dinner with Thorne, but it wasn’t formal attire. After having lunch in the mess hall, ignoring the hostile stares from both Fallen and Forsaken, Thorne took me on a tour of the walls connecting each structure in the compound. I was disappointed but not surprised to learn that sentries are posted along the entire perimeter of the stronghold, just like Silver said. And if Silver is also correct about the infrared cameras, escaping—or breaking into—Whitehold will be nearly impossible.

My mind was filled with strategy, memorizing the exact layout of the compound and the distance between watches when Thorne casually brought up dinner. I agreed before even processing his words.

On the other hand, could I have refused? For as hard as Thorne tries to treat me like a guest, I’m acutely aware of my prisoner status.

My gaze drifts over the offending garment. The gold and white dress is floor length, but the slit up one side and the V on the front and back won’t cover much. I’ll probably feel about as exposed as I did in the blue bandage dress Ash and Nova had talked me into wearing to the club. Considering how well that worked out for me, it’s no wonder I feel squeamish about wearing another one so soon.

Thorne’s words from the kennel echo in my head.

“They’re no use to me if they can’t be controlled.”

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