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C harlotte felt weightless, the odd sensation of floating pulling her back to consciousness. Her whole body screamed in pain as she tried to open her eyes, wincing and realizing her left eye had swollen shut.

As her good eye finally focused, she tried to touch her aching face, panic taking over as she discovered that someone had shackled her wrists above her head. The dull throbbing in her arms and shoulders started to make sense.

She tried yanking her hands free, the jerking movement making her body sway. She looked down and saw that she was suspended in the air, with her feet hanging a foot above the ground. Her vision blurred as her eyes started watering with tears. Terror crept over her.

God help me .

Charlotte jerked her body, trying with everything she had to rip her hands out of the shackles. She began sobbing uncontrollably, the jerking movement only making her sway back and forth more, the throbbing in her arms turning into a painful burn.

Why was she here? She didn’t understand. She was a nobody, and she had nothing to offer anyone, no family or money. It was just her and Ava.

Her head pounded as memories of the night flooded her mind. She couldn’t tell if her headache was from the blow she’d taken to the back of her head or from all the drinking she’d done at the club. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to calm her thoughts. She started to remember the three men from the diner bursting into the apartment, and Ava knocked out on the floor.

“Oh god, Ava,” she whispered, trying to blink the tears away so she could focus on her surroundings.

Was Ava okay? Did these guys have her locked up somewhere as well?

Her eyes began to adjust to the dimly lit room as she slowly looked around her. The only light filtered in from outside the door—a barred door…

Oh god, I’m in a cell, she realized, fear taking hold of her.

Charlotte tried looking around as best she could. From what she could tell, she was in an old brick cell. The floor seemed covered in sand or dust, and the walls looked old, some bricks broken and crumbling on the ground.

Her teeth chattered, and her body shivered uncontrollably from a mixture of terror and how cold it was in the dark cell. Maybe she was underground. It would explain the musty chill in the air.

God, what if they are sex traffickers ?

Charlotte and Ava were obsessed with crime documentaries. They had learned about a lot of girls being kidnapped and trafficked around the world, never to be seen again.

“No.” She shook her head, the action making her wince all over again, her head pounding and her arms screaming in agony. The thought of being a sex slave triggered a wave of nausea.

Screams echoed from somewhere close by. Whatever was happening to that poor person sounded horrific. Her tears returned. She sobbed, panic completely overwhelming her, the trembling uncontrollable.

Charlotte heard muffled laughing and footsteps somewhere off in the distance. With every step closer, her shaking increased. Never had she experienced fear like she was right now. With every echoed footstep, the harder it became to breathe. She could hear her pulse beating frantically in her ears, her breaths becoming faster. It felt like her heart was going to explode as she fought off a panic attack.

There was a loud bang on the bars of her cell, and she jerked, letting out a small scream. Laughter echoed through the space as the familiar voice of the man with the black, oily hair came through the bars.

“Not so pretty anymore, are we, sweetheart?” He chuckled.

“I would still play with her,” came the voice of the red-haired man.

Oh god, no. What were they going to do to me? Her mind raced, a thousand scenarios flashing through her head, none of them good.

They’re here to sex traffic me. Her mind had already made up what they were going to do. She would be shipped to a third-world country, and no one would ever find her.

The sound of keys entering the lock snapped her out of her terrified thoughts, the door slowly creaking open as the two repulsive men stepped into the room. Evil grins spread across their faces.

“You’re lucky our boss doesn’t want you harmed. I owe you a good thrashing for what you did to me back at your apartment,” the red-haired man said, stepping up to her and running his finger down her neck, pulling down the collar of her sweatshirt.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” Charlotte screamed, unable to move away from his nauseating touch.

“Scream all you want. No one will hear you.” He laughed, grabbing her hair and cruelly ripping her head back as he ran his tongue up her neck, his other hand running up her inner thigh over her sweatpants.

“Please, don’t,” she whimpered.

He’s going to rape me. The horrible thought raced through her mind.

Never had she felt so helpless. There was nothing she could do, no way to stop him. The tears streamed down her face as she tried kicking him, ignoring the pain it caused her. The movement sent her swinging backward.

He laughed, catching her around the hips as she swung back toward him. “I think maybe we should have our way with you before the boss gets here.” The black-haired man smirked, walking over to her.

“No,” Charlotte cried, panic gripping her.

She started thrashing violently, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs as the two men laughed, harshly grabbing at her. Warm blood began dripping down from her wrists, the shackles slicing into them as she kicked harder, trying to get the men off her. She got the red-haired man square between the legs, and he cursed her as he hit the ground.

The dark-haired man erupted into a fit of laughter. “She nailed you again,” he mocked, grabbing her roughly. “You and I are going to have some fun.”

Charlotte shook her head. He wasn’t taking her without a fight, she thought, as screaming erupted from somewhere in the building, followed by what sounded like gunfire.

Both men whipped their heads around.

“What the fuck was that?” the red-haired man whispered, scrambling up from the floor.

“Run, they’ve found us!” a man screamed, running past the door.

“Who?” The black-haired man rushed to the door. “Who’s found us?” he yelled at the fleeing man.

“The fallen!”

Slowly, he stepped back into the cell, frightened. “Shit, we’re about to get a one-way ticket back to Hell. What the fuck are we going to do?”

“If we let them take her, we will be up for a worse fate. Azazel will flay the flesh from our bodies, put us in the pit, and torture us for years.”

Who the hell was Azazel? Their boss, maybe? Whoever he was, it was clearly someone Charlotte didn’t want to meet. She didn’t know who the fallen were, either, but if they scared these guys, she’d prefer to take her chances with them and hope they would release her.

Frantic footfalls came rushing from a distance, and more men ran by screaming. Some fell to the ground as a wall of bullets hit them, the bullet holes glowing like fire.

Must have got my head knocked around more than I thought .

The men fell to the ground, dead outside the cell. Shock hit her hard. She’d never seen anyone die before—they could have been playing a practical joke for all she knew. If it wasn’t for the blood and the holes in their bodies, they simply looked like they were sleeping.

In the blink of an eye, a figure flashed past the door. Charlotte could have sworn she’d seen a man with dark black wings. She was officially losing her mind.

Yep, definitely took too many knocks to the head.

As the figure flew by the door, the two men rushed back so fast they bumped into her, shoving her out of the way to use her as a shield. The movement had her swinging from side to side, a painful cry escaping her as the feeling of fire shot through her arms and shoulders. Her shackles painfully sliced deeper into her wrists, the blood running down her arms and dripping onto her face.

“She’s down here,” a deep voice called out from somewhere outside the cell.

“Fuck, we’re dead demons,” the dark-haired man whispered from behind her.

When Charlotte saw how scared the two men were, she panicked as a tall, dark shadow stepped into the light just outside the cell.

Oh god, what the hell is that? She could see two dark shadows stretching out from either side of the figure. Wings? Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. The wings pulled in, folding behind the figure and disappearing out of sight.

I’m losing it. I’m hallucinating, Charlotte thought, wondering if the men had drugged her. The figure slowly stepped into the cell like a predator hunting its prey.

“She’s mine,” he whispered, deep and menacing.

Charlotte couldn’t stop the fear creeping over her as she shook uncontrollably.

I was wrong. Better the devil you know, she thought, looking the giant man up and down.

His presence swallowed up the small cell. He was covered in blood from head to toe, his shirt torn to shreds by what looked like bullet holes and claw marks. But it was his eyes that terrified her. When he looked at her, they were… glowing a bright, unnerving red that reminded her of the yellow-eyed creatures she’d seen in her dreams. He looked like a monster, making her cry out again in horror.

“Shoot him,” the oily-haired man yelled as the two creeps stepped forward, one on either side of her, raising their handguns and shooting at the man.

Charlotte screamed again, her eardrums feeling like they’d burst as the men kept shooting their guns.

The stranger was suddenly gone. The red-haired man made a horrific noise as he fell to the ground, throat slit, blood pouring onto the filthy floor. As the oily-haired man ran for the cell door, Charlotte realized the stranger wasn’t gone—he was moving so fast he was a blur.

The oily-haired man barely made it two steps before he went flying into the brick wall. He slumped to the ground in a limp heap, the large man standing over him. He grabbed him around the throat with one hand, lifting him off the ground as if he were as light as a feather, and slammed him against the wall. The man seemed terrified as he stared into the stranger’s glowing red eyes.

“Roman, please, no!”

Charlotte frowned at the name, remembering the handsome man from the club.

Not possible. She shook her head in confusion. There was no way this creature was the man she’d been sucking face with at the club.

“So, you know who I am, demon?” Roman smirked at the terrified man, blood now pouring down his face from a gash in his temple.

“Your… your eyes. I know who you are because of your glowing eyes. Don’t send me back, please! He will send me to the pit,” the man begged.

“Who? Lucifer?” Roman demanded.

What the hell was he going on about? Demon? Lucifer? Glowing red eyes ? Charlotte thought, her head spinning, and then her mind flashed with hundreds of memories of her nightmares as the realization hit. My dreams… She had seen it all before.

Evil-looking monsters, glowing eyes, men with wings .

It’s all real? It can’t be, she thought, thinking she was going crazy.

The man shook his head. “No, not Lucifer, the Archdemon, Azazel. She is to be sent to him,” he said, looking at Charlotte.

“Wh-wh-what the hell are you talking about?” she stuttered, still trembling in fear. She could see a shocked look creep across Roman’s face as he glanced from the demon to her.

It is him.

She found it hard to wrap her mind around the fact that the blood-spattered, maybe winged man with glowing eyes was the hot, sexy man from the club. Never mind the realization that creatures… demons and the devil, things that were supposed to be made up, things of myths and legends, were real.

“Archdemon?” Roman asked, confused, looking back at the man he held captive. “Tell me about him,” he demanded, shoving the man’s head into the wall.

“Yes, yes… Archdemons, Lucifer’s first creations. They lead us. We answer to them, and they answer to him,” the man whimpered.

“Roman,” came another man’s voice, heavy footsteps making their way to the cell. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” he answered as another large man entered the cell.

The man was a giant. He was shirtless, his dark, tanned, heavily muscled torso was covered in tattoos and splattered with blood. His black hair hung just past his shoulders, blood dripping from the ends.

“Armaros,” Roman said, glancing over to her as if he’d forgotten she’d been hanging there. “Make her sleep.”

The tattooed man gave Roman a quick nod and started walking toward her. Panic rushed through her again.

“Stay away from me,” she snapped as he came closer. “Get away from me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, trying to find the strength to lift her legs and kick at him, but more pain shot up her arms. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”

As he stepped in front of her, Charlotte could finally see his face. She stilled, puzzled by the familiar face staring back at her.

“You,” she murmured, shocked. “You’re… real?”

How is this happening? He was the winged man from her dreams. Her guardian angel, as she liked to call him. What the hell is going on?

He paused, giving her a small frown, his head tilting to the side, seeming just as perplexed to see her.

“Armaros?” Roman snapped from behind them.

Armaros continued to stare at her for a moment before quickly looking over to Roman.

“What is she talking about?” he demanded, his eyes no longer red.

Armaros just shrugged his shoulders, turning back to Charlotte. “I’m not going to hurt you, little one,” he told her, his eyes glowing a spellbinding shade of violet. He slowly lifted his hand, gently touching his fingers to her forehead.

The purple glowing light was the last thing she saw as darkness consumed her.