She could smell her flesh burning and her next scream sounded like a wounded animal. When he removed the flame, she drew her arm to her chest. Half moaning, half gasping, she looked up at him with loathing.

“I see I have not broken you yet,” he murmured. “I don’t want to push you too far and kill you, I want to save that for the arena, but perhaps a little more…”

He pulled another blade from his vest, this one curved and cruel looking. It was an instrument of torture. Shaking and sick, she felt tears fill her eyes. She fought them. She would not cry in front of him. She would not give him that satisfaction.

“It’s alright,” he said sweetly. “You don’t have to pretend. We are going to get to know each other very well,...

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