*Chiara

The pressing weight of the net drove Chiara to her knees at the same time as her pulse spiked, her heart a racing animal in her chest.

She dropped lower, trying to maneuver her sword to cut herself free. Her blade sawed at the ropes, but didn't cut.

A demon tisked in disapproval, stepping out from his hiding place. He called to others to come down and see what a strange fish they had caught.

Strange fish?

She hissed in response, wrath seething in her gut. She welcomed the wrath, though, that kept her so much stronger than the panic and despair that had seized her when she was taken captive long ago at the Fountain by Lucius. The black bag going over her head...

Her jaw clenched as she banished the memory. She was no longer that angel, and this was not the same battle. Daviid would tell her to take stock of the situation—the layout of the battle field, number of enemies, weapons, her advantages and disadvantages, their weaknesses.

The heavy net pinning her to the ground that couldn't be cut by her sword was definitely a disadvantage. As was being outnumbered by at least three demons.

This first room in the Halls of Lust was all shadowed, anthracite marble walls and floor, lit only by the arched entrance and the red fire of a lit sconces. Columns lined the walls, but the room was a sort of antechamber, leading to another, larger one. A balcony overlooked her, that was where the net came down from. It was a reverse mirror image of an antechamber to the angelic council rooms, gleaming greys, blacks and reds instead of cream and white.

She almost laughed out loud, despite being a prisoner. Damn, those fallen angels had been homesick toddlers when they designed their new dwelling.

Screams of death came from the arena where the Dark Flame's slaughter continued. She had to get out of this mess on her own, and fast—she didn't know who or what would be coming for her when Logan was done in Wrath.

Metallic boots scuffed on the stone floor. The demons approached cautiously.

"We will have to clip those wings of yours, my beauty," one said, bending his head to study her. "Can't have you flying off on us before we take you in for the reward."

Another scoffed. "I heard she was a fighter. I had my hopes up."

"That's not what I had up," muttered the third.

She would kill that one first. She opened her mouth to curse him—

Daviid's voice whispered in her mind. Weaknesses. Strengths. What can you use to your advantage?

Weakness...

She faked a sob, letting her sword go slack in her hand and face drop so they couldn't see her. "I don't want to go back to Zeigfel, please. Please, I'll do anything. Don't take me back to him."

"If it's a deal you want to make, my lovely creature, all you have to do is say so," one of the demons said. He reached for the end of the net as if to free her. She braced.

A bellowing cry reached the antechamber, stopping the demons for a moment. Chiara froze, fear piercing her heart.

"Chiara!" The Dark Flame bellowed her name from the arena. But if Logan came to find her while controlled by his daemonium, what would he do if found her?

Would he cut her wings?

The daemonium, opposite to the angelii, had no pity, no thoughts but to fight and kill. Logan would never hurt her, she was certain. His daemonium would rip her to pieces.

Come on, she silently urged the demons. Hurry up!

They glanced among one another, handsome faces contorted in base greed and lust.

"Take her. We'll go through the hall to the new portal. Zeigfel should be readying the legions there," one said.

So much for making a deal and playing on weakness. She'd have to do this the regular way—through strength.

Still, she acted terrified and small as they pulled the net free and roughly grabbed at her. She resisted, like a petulant child, not raising her sword until one made the mistake of reaching for it.

She stuck it through his gut, and whirled, yanking it free. Another lost his head. Damn it. She'd left the one who joked about getting it up for her for last instead of taking him first. She sighed as they circled one another. He wasn't joking now. He tossed his heavy sword from hand to hand, lust thick in his gaze as he raked his eyes over her scantily covered figure.

She knew that look—it was the same that both Lucius and Zeigfel gave her while chained to the wall. She wanted to be sick, but couldn't afford the distraction.

Another roar from outside gave her the advantage she needed. His eyes flicked to the arched entrance and her sword darkened them. He slid from the blade to the floor, throat gurgling his last breath.

She wiped her eyes clear with the back of her blood splattered hand. Blood, dark red, nearly black demon blood, was drying on her, itching and flaking. She was going to be sick. It was the same as the Fountain battle, and she was covered in the gore of her enemies, who wouldn't stop coming for her. She staggered away from the entrance, barely daring to look back into Wrath.

The dark flames were dying, only flickering on charred corpses. In the middle of all that death, towered a demon in full daemonium, screaming his rage to the sky.

He turned.

There was nothing of Logan in that face.

Fuck.

She ran.

If the Halls of Lust were the same as the angelic council chambers, then there would be a series of three great halls, one after the next and a huge balcony at the end overlooking the world. That would be her exit. She sprinted into the next room that glowed red with fire pits.

It was not the same layout as the angelic council chambers. It was not the same at all. She rushed through it, choosing a new arched opening at random from the several she saw. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to hide.

A maze of three doors opened at uneven spaces in the new room. Beyond those, she caught glimpses of more shadowed, arched openings in ways that made no sense. As in the antechamber, the walls, ceiling, floors and columns were dark grey marble, smooth and hard, mottled with lighter and darker swirls, and gleaming with the red flames of the fire pits and torches that every room seemed to hold. Heat from the fires and glowing white and red coals scraped at her skin, burning her even from the distance of the edge of the room.

Moans and cries of pleasure from dark corners mixed with those of pain coming from the burning pits. She edged closer to one.

No, no, no.

Her stomach turned. There were the souls of the damned in those pits. From the side, the fires seemed to be normal, concave depressions in the floor filled with coal, but from above...

From above they were vertiginous holes, all scorching heat and wisps of screaming souls that writhed in an endless dance with the flames.

Passionate grunts and moans grew louder. She blinked. She hadn't noticed the couple entwined in their lust on the other side of the pit. A third, a human male, joined them as she watched.

She backed away. For the first time, the hall's sin was not affecting her. This was the Hell of the humans, what they described in their books and stories. This was the vision they had of damnation, but the living came here, finding cracks in the Midlands world to slip inside and enjoy the pleasures Hell had to offer before joining the damned when they finally died.

Footsteps rang out behind her, and she ducked behind the nearest row of columns to hide. The Dark Flame strode into the room. Ignoring the threesome and other couples and groups tangled like serpents along the floor, he scanned the room. He was looking for her.

This was the Wing Cutter, the Dark Flame that Daviid had warned her of so many times during training. The right hand to the fallen angel, Lucius, destined to become a lord of Hell, one day, if no angel managed to bring him down. His skin was a shining, lightly scaled obsidian and sapphire blue. His face, a horned horror of teeth and malice. He carried only one sword, that seemed too slim for his clawed hand, and that dripped with blood.

A forked tongue flicked out, snake-like, as if he was testing the air.

Heart pounding, Chiara crept to the next pillar, a whisper of noise betraying her. Would he shift if he saw her, if she called his name? Could she make him come back to her as Logan?

The stench of brimstone filled the hall, overpowering the incense in the pits.

He narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring. He'd caught her scent, she was sure. As the same time as the thought came to her, he swiveling and lunged in her direction.

She dashed from her hiding place, beat her wings once, and lifted in the air. The heat from the pits carried her up, to the towering ceiling, lost in the miasma of smoke, incense, musk of sex, and shadows.

He clicked his tongue at her in disapproval.

She surveyed the room—two openings, that surely led to more room and more openings. But sooner or later they had to lead somewhere. "I will fucking fly from here if I can't run."

Below her, the Dark Flame shuddered and bent in half, as if in pain. He shifted, but only slightly, giving her a glimpse of smooth, brown skin.

"Chiara," his voice, Logan's voice, rasped.

She froze, wings wide, sword half-lifted for an attack.

Then he convulsed and the Dark Flame was back.

"Come back to me, my love," he growled, mouth twisting.

"I could say the same to you," she said. She lowered her head, evaluating her possibilities for escape. The angle was bad to get through the arches. She would have to swoop low, draw in her wings and let momentum carry her. Plus, the rooms were small and the Dark Flame was swift. He could catch her if she wasn't quick enough.

The faintest breath of cool air caressed her feathers. Which room? She circled the ceiling slowly, the Dark Flame practically salivating as he watched.

The tears that had caused her to be caught in a net earlier were dry now. There was no weakness in her as she planned her escape. Logan was in there, somewhere, but this was his fight against the daemonium.

She circled faster, then with a hard clap of her wings, aimed for a side arch, only to twist at the last instant and fly back out of the way she'd come in.

Towards the cool, fresh air.

The next room was too narrow for her wings, though. Still in flight, she drew them together and dropped head first into a roll on the marble floor, came up to her feet and ran.

*** Logan in lost in his own daemonium when Chiara needs him the most! Thank you for reading!!! ***