Through Flame and Blade

Ch. 11 Naïve Little Angel

*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."