Andirrul turned to Wrath, squeezing his armor-plated hand with a ferocity that surprised both him and her. "Help me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I can feel myself slipping, succumbing to Virul's control. It won't be long before he takes over completely. To whom are you truly loyal--him or me?"
She gazed into Wrath's eyes with her glowing orange ones--the pride of the Sith. "If Virul conquers, he will kill you. He'll kill everyone who is a real threat to his power. I'm just his host. A meat shell. You? He considers you a rival."
I do not. Wrath is a minion, a servant. A pawn. He belongs to me.
"Do you?" asked the Dark Lady. "Or will you stand by your mistress now?"