*Chiara

At Logan's order, Chiara dashed forward, running straight for the bright opening. Demons lunged for her. She slashed, not slowing. Logan's roar bounced off the marble walls. It changed to a cry of pain, then deepened into something horrible.

He was shifting...

She sprinted, passing under the arch. This was the balcony hall. Its ceiling and sides were nearly lost in shadows despite the almost blinding white light from the massive, half-circle opening to the world outside. She inhaled. Fresh air, pure and clean, filled her lungs, spurred her feet faster. She spread her wings, ready to fly.

Doubts flooded her, though. Logan hadn't said how he would find her—and there was nowhere they would be safe together in the Midlands...

She closed her eyes for a second. Then, clapped her wings together hard.

She lifted.

A bola—heavy weights connected by a cord—spun from out of the darkness. She tried to veer. It hit the base of her wings, wrapping around them and breaking feathers. She faltered and fell, wings tangled in the cord.

More demons surged from the sides of the balcony hall. There were legions in there. They poured from their hiding places as she rolled to her feet and ran. A line of columns were on the far wall, six on either side of the wide, arched opening. More demons spilled from behind them.

She lowered her head and pumped her legs, sword half-up and ready.

She rounded the huge fire pit in the middle of the room. A demon swung for her legs. She jumped and kept running. She mounted the dais that led to the balcony, still running.

Then her world came crashing to a halt.

Zeigfel rounded the column closest to the opening, striding towards her, silhouetted by the bright sky behind him. As he approached, his black robes flowed from his sides, and the steel of his armor glinted red with fire light of the pit.

She stumbled. Half-feral, she struck out, swinging her sword. He blocked, drove it down, and forced it from her hand. The blade landed with an ear-piercing clatter.

She was turning to run.

He was there. Right in front of her. She fell back, twisted, trying to escape, but no matter where she looked, he was somehow blocking the way to freedom.

She choked on a scream, refusing to let it out, powerless to stop it.

"My angel, take my hand, it is time," he said.

His gloved hand reached out to her.

Her chest constricted, blocking the air to her lungs. Her heart pounded, thundering in her ears.

She was Chiara, Light Bearer, she was the winter's frost, she was—

"My own," he whispered.

She swung her fist—the only weapon she had. He caught her hand and in one smooth pull had her pinned to his chest.

He glanced down at her, taking a moment to brush a lock of hair from her face. She was frozen, unable to fight back, even to bite his fingers.

He had her. He had promised she would never leave.

She would never leave. He opened his mouth to say something, but a heavy step rang out behind them. His eyes lifted.

She twisted out of his grasp. Metal chains clanked. Several demons surged from the side—too many to fight off empty handed, wings bound. Iron cuffs clamped over her wrists and the weight of chains held her down.

Then, the demons paused, drawing back to the walls, but watched her with leering grins. One figure remained.

Logan—half shifted and splattered in blood—stood in a fighter's crouch next to a huge flaming pit that occupied the center of the wide hall. But he didn't lift his sword.

"Dark Flame," Zeigfel said calmly. "Congratulations. You have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. The Duxtori and I all agreed, if you managed this task, you would deserve the highest honor we can bestow on you."

Logan narrowed his eyes. But he didn't attack.

Why doesn't he attack?

"As per your orders," Zeigfel continued, "You have brought the angel here, alive, to be delivered to me personally. Well done."

Thoughts spun out of control in her head. Logan brought her here? Why? He could have delivered her to the demons one hundred times—

The Halls. The Seven Halls of the Seven Deadly Sins.

She had crossed every one of them, sinning again and again, Logan at her side, guiding her, encouraging her, manipulating her, and making her believe he cared for her.

This had been part of the torture. This was Logan's ticket to freedom—giving her to Zeigfel when she was ready to be destroyed.

"My dear," Zeigfel said. She had no choice but to face him.

He snapped his fingers and she fell into the same vision she'd had in the tunnel, the one where she opened her eyes to find Logan chained to the wall and her hands covered in blackening blood.

It was the same vision, but not the same starting point.

This time, she felt herself forced to her knees, facing Zeigfel. She knew Logan was the one behind her, pushing her shoulders down, taking a hold of a wing, raising his blade. The blade whistled on its downward stroke.

The cut through skin and bone at her back tore a scream of pure agony from her lips. Then another whistle, cut, and the scream continued, louder.

Chiara knew she was trapped in a vision, but the agony was all too real. Logan cut her wings from her body.

He did this because Zeigfel promised him power. The vision, like a memory of what might take place, continued.

Zeigfel made her an offer as well: now that she had no wings, she could choose freedom or revenge.

Wrath filled her.

"Revenge," she heard herself whisper.

Lust consumed her. She lay with Zeigfel on the marble floor, the fiery heat of the pits matching the fire of her wounds.

She saw herself, like her own shadow, watching, as she stood in front of Logan chained to the wall. Her heart was a frozen tundra. But no chains held her—she stayed because Zeigfel wanted her to.

What did this make her? Who and what was she with no wings and no will, doing Zeigfel's bidding?

Then a voice, not unlike when Logan had whispered to her inside her visions, spoke. It was her brother, Ythaniel. "They don't tell you who you are. You tell them."

She wrenched her mind free from Zeigfel's imposed vision. Heaving for breath, she swayed, head spinning and legs wobbly.

"You see what's at stake, my lovely creature?" Zeigfel asked. His eyes slid to Logan, still crouched, but not attacking. "She knows what you have done and what you will do. But I see it in her face that she loves you even now."

Logan didn't answer.

Chiara's heart shattered with the truth. She loved him. He was incapable of love, and worse, he had betrayed her. He would mutilate her.

"Tempted to call your angelii to fight, my angel?" Zeigfel asked. "Tempted to see if she can resist wrath if the Dark Flame cuts off your wings?"

Tenebrist. He's trying to break my angelii to make a monster. Chiara spread her wings as wide as she could with the bola cord on them, tips up to the hidden sky. Breeze from the balcony's opening stirred her feathers. Her angelii was close, so close, to the surface. But Chiara kept her down.

She would tell them who and what she was, not the other way around.

"Understand this—I determine who I am, not the Dark Flame or any other demon. No matter what any of you do to me. Only me."

"So what will you do, if he cuts your wings?"

"Listen carefully, you rat's ass, so I don't have to explain again. I will never change into the monster you want me to become. Not through your torture, not through his cruelty. Never. I am the angelic warrior Chiara, Light Bearer. I carry the morning's light in my heart, I am sharp and swift and cold as winter's ice." She paused to inhale and steady her resolve. "I will never submit."

"You have your answer," Logan's voice rang out cruelly.

She suppressed a shudder. She was a warrior. She was sister to Ythaniel, trained by Daviid, and served the Sleeping King of Heaven. Logan did not define her.

These demons did not define her.

She was almost at the starting point of her vision, the moment that Logan would betray her. She would stand tall until he pushed her to her knees.

*** No one tells Chiara who she is! But what is Logan doing here, though? Hit the star and thank you for reading!!! ***