"And," he went on as if she’d never spoken, "while we’re in the process of giving concessions so nicely, how would you like to be freed from those manacles?" His hand traced the wounds on her wrists as he stepped closer still, his chest and thighs brushing hers. He held her right wrist outside the circle of his wings and let the candlelight dance across their flesh: his so clean, hers marred and torn. 