*Chiara

The Dark Flame. Also known as the Wing Cutter.

Stupid little angel. What a naïve, stupid angel you are. All this time, thinking you were superior to them, when they tricked you easier than if you were born yesterday.

Chiara couldn't believe her own idiocy. She was a fool. Gullible, dumb, brainless, twat, all that and more. She had listened for his voice when she woke from the nightmares. She had asked to take his pain for herself when his screams became unbearable. She had wanted to curl up in his arms and feel his lips on hers. To let his hands plunder her every secret. Thoughts of him touching her had warmed her in the freezing darkness. Softened her while she lay on the stone floor.

She had ached for this demon. Somehow, she had convinced herself that he was a nobody, a trickster, a peon in the hierarchy whose worst crime was to bed countless human women who found their way down here.

The Dark Flame had murdered countless of her kind. During training, Daviid had described him to the recruits, warning them that unless they wanted their wings cut from their backs before being gutted, they should never face the Dark Flame alone. Wing-cutting was his specialty.

Her heart constricted in her chest. It coiled on itself—she could sense it turning and changing inside her.

Hands slammed her to the wall. Lucius pressed against her. "Almost there, my darling. When your despair is complete, you will be mine."

She tried to shove him away, but the chains cuffing her wrists were pulled tight, stretching her arms taut. She spat at his face instead, relishing the tiny satisfaction it gave her. Smirking, he wiped the spittle off. Nausea roiled in her gut—this was not going to end well for her. Lucius had run out of patience.

An unnoticed servant had entered behind him, carrying the food she could smell. He was the one who had yanked her chains in place and now he served Logan an elegant, meat-laden plate, complete with snowy white napkin and a gravy boat.

A fucking gravy boat.

He would feast. The thought made a scream swell in her throat, but she bit it back. The Dark Flame would feast in celebration of joining the other murderers soon to defile her most beloved garden.

Logan appraised his meal, not touching it, yet.

"I hope you choke," was all she could say.

He narrowed calculating eyes at her, and then raised a chicken leg to mouth and tore off a huge, dripping bite, never dropping his gaze. Rage slipped like acid through her veins as he chewed with obvious relish.

"Tasty, isn't it? Eat up. I can't guarantee anything yet, but hopefully you will need your strength soon," Lucius said. "And you, Chiara, you should eat too. I know you don't need it, but giving into these little pleasures will make your stay more enjoyable, make you more amiable to the greater joys. Perhaps, tonight?"

She strained against her chains as anger surged through her, giving her strength.

No. Power. Anger was giving her power, and she loved it. She wanted to wallow in her hatred, let it consume her.

Lucius held up finger. "Not yet, my lovely. Not yet."

Zeigfel's boots rang on the stone path outside the door and his voice barked commands to Dirk. He entered the room and pulled up short. "What is this?"

"You said you were wrapping things up in here. I've come to see your progress, and I have to say I'm impressed. So impressed that I think it is time for me to claim what is mine."

Zeigfel snorted. "Take her. She's yours."

"I've come for both."

"No. That one—" Zeigfel pointed at Logan."—belongs to me."

"Surely we can reach some kind of arrangement?"

Zeigfel tilted his head, thinking, but Logan continued eating as if the conversation of his fate didn't concern him in the least.

Rage rattled in Chiara's heart. The hatred she felt for the demons and their petty machinations would flatten the midlands if she could release it.

Zeigfel finally nodded. "I would consider a fair trade, if you have something I want in exchange for this fine specimen."

"For Logan, I would give you the Sword of Fortune." Lucius motioned to the sword he had strapped at his side.

The hilt—how had she not noticed? Her lower lip trembled as her eyes traced the ornate silver filigree over the black wood and the three green gems encrusted in the handguard.

Daviid's sword. To be traded up like cheap goods in a back-alley deal.

Zeigfel inhaled sharply. "Tempting. Such a lovely piece. But no. The medallion."

Lucius sighed. "The medallion."

Daviid's medallion. Traded for scum.

"Plus proof that the punishment had the desired effect on Logan's attitude," Zeigfel said. "Respect is all I ask for, or the next time, I will crush him so utterly he will beg to be tossed to the Pestilences."

"Agreed." Lucius removed the gold and silver medallion from under his tunic and tossed it to Zeigen. For a brief moment the sparkle of fire on the metal disc danced in the air, out of reach and more beautiful than the sun rising over fresh snow. Zeigfel's hand smothered its beauty.

"Before you go," Lucius said. "I might be willing to accept a trade if you want first use of this angel. She's a rare treat." He stroked a lock of her hair between her fingers, and sniffed her neck. She refused to acknowledge him. "If there was something very precious you could offer me."

Zeigfel stood rooted to the stones, expression flat as the rocks. "I can think of nothing."

"Really? Not even your daughter? I would trade you the angel for her, sight unseen. I have heard she is a marvelous creature. Bewitching, in fact."

The temperature dropped in the room. Chiara's breath plumed from her mouth and she shivered. Lines of frost crept over the stones at her back. Zeigfel's fury leached the heat from fire and stone.

"Unfortunately, I have no daughter to trade. The angel is mine when you have tired of her, in payment of my work here. Good luck tomorrow. Rumors are spreading that the angelic guard have prepared a massive force to win back their fountain."

The Fountain. They were going to fight there again. Images of the slaughter flashed through her mind. Blood washing the precious, life-giving waters red. Broken bodies and white wings trampled by demons where they fell. All that was green and blooming and beautiful burnt black.

Could the angels win it in second battle? When the demons held the temple? She was going to be sick.

"One mustn't listen to rumors," Lucius said, cutting through the memories. Zeigfel was already storming from the room, though, leaving Dirk at the door, hesitating. The heat returned, the fire's flames almost baking Chiara's skin.

"You may go, and take the hounds," Lucius ordered the servant.

A plate clattered on the floor. The Dark Flame had finished his meal, gravy and all. "He would never trade his non-existent daughter."

"I know, but I had to ask to see him hesitate," Lucius said, a calculating twist on his bow shaped lips. "Ah, Zeigfel's Schrodinger's Daughter. The one who both exists for the time it takes for him to be tempted to trade her for an angel and doesn't exist when he remembers the punishment for creating such an abomination."

Chiara only half-heard their conversation. Her mind was on the door, the ledge outside the spot of light at the top of the cavern that led to another level of hell. She was not going to escape.

Perhaps tonight echoed in her mind. This was the end. Either she died, or she turned, because she would never submit to Lucius's will. And Logan would be there to watch, waiting to go free. She felt more alone than standing by herself in the Fountain's garden, facing a thousand demons.

She was lost. There was no path forward.

"Now, my sweet," Lucius said. "Since it's just the three of us, I want to play a game. You see, I made a promise to Zeigfel I would give him proof that Logan understands his place, and I need you to be ready for tonight. Therefore, we will play, the three of us, at who gets to the feel the pain, and who gets to inflict it."

Logan chuckled. "Too easy."

"Fuck you," she hissed between clenched teeth.

"Is it too easy?" Lucius asked. "Then let's raise the stakes. Chiara, if you want your freedom you will do what I tell you to do—to Logan. And Logan, if you want to join my ranks again at my side as my greatest warrior, you will do what I tell you to do—to Chiara."

"Too easy," Logan repeated.

"Is it? Chiara, what do you think?" Lucius dangled a pair of pincers in front of her.

"You won't give me my freedom," she said. Her throat was tight and her mouth dry. Although she didn't need water, she wished for a drink. A glass of clear water. A bucket. A pool to drink. To drown in. "I'm not that naïve, no matter what you think."

"I swear to you, Chiara, angel warrior, that if you do what I ask, I will grant you your freedom. I will escort you personally, safe and sound to the world above and release you. You will be free."

It would be so, so easy.

*** Thanks for reading! Will she do it? Torture Logan for a chance to win her freedom now that she knows who he really is? ***