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Malice

My beautiful mate is driving me mad.

I tap my claws one by one along the stone wall, the rhythmic clicking burrowing deep beneath my skull and rattling my core as I watch Dagny’s slumped form from the shadows of her cell. It’s been three days since I’ve put her there—three horrible days when she’s refused to eat, drink, or acknowledge my presence—three days I’ve been driven mad with the desire to touch her. Talk to her. To look into her beautiful, bronze-rimmed eyes and revel in the pleasure of our new bond.

She must know I’m here. She must. Why does she pretend otherwise?

“You can’t ignore me forever, my wildfire.”

At the utterance of her nickname, Dagny’s eyes crack open to reveal hateful, narrowed slits. “ I am not your anything ,” she snarls, her voice cracking heavily from disuse. “Don’t you fucking call me that anymore. You don’t have the right.”

My chest constricts at the venom in her tone, and I have to hold back a whine rising in my throat as a shock of pain travels down the bond. “Wildfire, I?—”

“ DON’T CALL ME THAT! ” A heavily distorted voice explodes from her along with a rush of power, and a blast of heated air smacks against me, forcing long strands of red hair off my face and the ends to billow out in all directions. The ring around her pupil expands as her magic penetrates the air, consuming the warm brown of her iris and casting her skin in a cool, silver light. A demonic light.

I eye the beautiful creature warily, the thing beneath my skin rising to meet her power head-on. It likes it. It wants it.

While each demon's power increases with the bond, Dagny’s has grown exponentially, propelled to new heights every time she bonds with another piece of Abaddon’s soul. The fourth bond— our bond—allowed her powers to fully awaken, that much is clear. But seeing it with my own eyes and having it used against me… I have no doubt that one day she will be the most powerful creature in The Far Place.

If only she lives long enough to see it.

As Dagny continues glaring with those shimmering silver eyes, I take a moment to inspect her. The beautiful dermal armor Kaebl gifted her is in tatters, showcasing her protruding ribs and deep, festering sores across her arms and legs.

I’ve seen the wounds only a handful of times in Abaddon’s memories, but it’s enough to realize exactly what they are—magic pollution. When halflings still walked the land, magic pollution was a real and terrible consequence of those able to harness the wells of power hidden deep in the earth of The Far Place. Unlike demons, halflings are born of both this world and the mortal realm, and have unlimited access to that source. But it comes with a price.

Dagny has no knowledge of how to halt the wave of power coursing into her bloodstream, and if she doesn’t learn, it will consume her soul and cause her to deteriorate, both mentally and physically—of which I am already seeing signs.

“Wild—Dagny,” I correct. “Please… I need to talk to you.” I don’t recognize my desperate tone, but it’s there nonetheless. However, it doesn’t have the effect on Dagny that I want.

“I don’t want to talk. I want to kill you.” For a moment, a flash of pain enters her gaze, but in the next, it’s gone, leaving me to wonder if it was there in the first place.

“Dagny, please ?—”

“I said NO !”

Dagny’s piercing scream cuts me off as blinding silver light explodes from her pores, from her eyes and open mouth, bathing the room in luminescence. The beast under my skin rises to meet her show of power, and my skin shudders with the strength to hold it back.

Not here. Not now. Not yet.

But it seems Dagny has other ideas.

Instead of trying to control the power flooding out of her, she lets it flow freely, filling the air with pure magical energy. It flows into the walls of the small room, imbuing the stone and causing the ground to vibrate. A howling wind whips around me, sucking the air from my lungs and plastering long red strands of hair to my face and neck. And within that wind is a scream—a sound only for my ears—filled with so much rage and pain and despair, it causes that hollow space in my chest to twinge.

As the power consumes her, Dagny mindlessly rails against her restraints, pulling and yanking and clawing at the collar around her neck, ripping deep gouges into the thin flesh.

Part of me is horrified as I watch a river of red pour down to her chest, coating her hands in her precious life force as she continues fighting. But then there’s that other part. The one that’s utterly fascinated with her desire to survive—to be free. The part that wants to watch her struggle and see how far she’s willing to go. To bring her back from the edge just before she slips. To show her what she’s capable of. To show her that she’s mine, just as much as I am hers.

A smirk tugs at my mouth as I stare at her, the thunderous roar in my ears drowning out the sound of my lungs screaming for air.

You’ve never looked more magnificent, wildfire. If you kill me now, I’d be happy knowing this is the last thing I saw.

My voice enters her mind as a gentle caress, and though she doesn’t want it, her gaze softens as the bond between us thrums in ecstasy. Her concentration slips for the briefest moment, but it’s enough. Dagny’s power falters, and the wind whipping around me dies, as does the massive rush of magic pouring from her body. The adrenaline pumping through her veins ceases, and Dagny slumps back against the blood-coated stone as her quivering muscles give out.

I suck in a deep breath and propel myself across the room, landing directly in a pool of Dagny’s blood. I crouch so we’re at eye level and, giving zero thought to my safety, reach for her wounds with the healing magic thrumming in my palms.

Right before I make contact, Dagny’s eyes spring open, the warm brown of her iris brimming with hatred. I’m so shocked by the emotion, I don’t react in time to move my hand out of the way—something I sorely regret when Dagny’s teeth rip into the flesh of my palm.

A wild glint enters her gaze as she tears through muscle and tendon, and while pain flares along the length of my forearm, I’m too mesmerized to pull away. A moment later, she does it for me, reeling back with a chin covered in blue-black blood and a piece of my flesh clenched between her teeth.

She turns her head to the side, spitting the chunk onto the stone ground before an eerie smile overtakes her expression. When she faces me again, I’m shocked to find her canines lengthened, tapering to razor-sharp points—just like a typical demon of The Far Place.

How spectacular.

I pull my hand to my chest, a matching smile tugging at my own mouth as I take in the bloodthirsty look in my beloved’s eyes. Instead of healing the wound, I allow it to ooze, reveling in the sensation of my own blood dripping down my arm, drowning in the ecstasy each throb of pain offers me—all because it reminds me of the creature who put it there.

Thank you, I whisper into her mind. I’ll treasure it for as long as I’m able.

At this, Dagny releases a vicious snarl, the silver ring around her pupil expanding as her power rises once more. But before it gets a chance to explode in a stunning display like earlier, a voice breaks out over my shoulder, causing Dagny to lose focus.

“It’s good to know I’m not the only one going mad.” The words are muffled, distorted, and barely comprehensible, but the laughter that follows is unmistakable. Fenryr.

I narrow my eyes as I turn my head, sending the green-eyed demon the full weight of my glare. “Something funny, dog? ”

He shakes his head, but his chuckle still echoes off the metal muzzle strapped to his face. At the sound, an irritated growl rumbles in my chest, and I make a mental note to adjust it so he’s unable to speak for the foreseeable future.

Speaking of the future…

I look between Fenryr and Dagny, the strength of the bond trying to draw them together palpable in the air. If his familiar was so inclined, it already would have happened. However, I had Nya lead him to the human realm—something he hasn’t done since Fenryr was locked up—and he’ll be preoccupied with getting his fill of mortal souls. But not forever.

It’s not like separating them would help—and even if I wanted that, there are no other cells with strong enough wards to hold Dagny and Fenryr. Slaine refuses to offer Dagny a normal room—for good reason—until he assesses her threat level, and with the way she’s reacting to my presence, I have to assume it’s just as bad around Slaine’s soldiers.

No, this is the only way. I just have to hope his familiar, Echo, stays away long enough.

I’m about to attempt to speak to Dagny again when the door bursts open, calling my attention to the huffing soldier in the doorway. My lip curls as I take in his gray skin and clouded white eyes—a hideous trait only descendants of the Naif species seem to possess. Though smaller than Abbadon’s species—the Gyldens—the Naifs make up for it with their speed and unquenchable bloodlust, making them near undefeatable. The only species to rival their capability in battle is the Sable, distinguishable by its onyx-colored, feathered wings, but that lineage has been wiped out for decades. Erik was the last of his kind, and he fell along with Abaddon during the sundering twenty-one years ago.

I cut a glance toward Dagny as the last thought crosses my mind. At least, he was the last one …

“Malice! Did you hear anything I just said?”

I hold back a growl as the soldier’s voice makes its way to my ears, rudely interrupting my train of thought. I clench my fist as I turn to face him, giving him the attention he so desperately craves. “I can’t say I did. You’re more than welcome to repeat yourself.”

The soldier frowns but doesn’t comment on my mocking tone. “I said Slaine needs to see you. He says it’s urgent, and to come right away.”

Irritation roils beneath my skin as I debate whether it would be worth the punishment to slit this useless demon’s throat. Hearing him choking on his own blood would be pleasant, but…

I sigh, turning on my heel and stalking to the door without another word. It would be nice, but no amount of temporary pleasure is worth the lifetime I’ll possess if everything works out the way I plan.

The soldier follows me out of the cell, locking the door securely behind him before hastening after me down the hall. I take the stairs at the end of the passageway, my rage growing at the demons' irritating huffing just over my shoulder. By the time we make it to Slaine’s throne room, I’m barely able to contain the urge to whip around and bash his face in.

Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. Stick to the ? —

“Malice. I was worried I would have to wait all day.”

My lip curls as I step into the massive throne room, the sensation of plush carpet beneath the pads of my feet causing my skin to crawl. “Your lap dog was very persistent.”

“Hmm. Indeed.” Slaine looks down on me from his throne, disgust swirling in his misted white eyes as he taps a clawed finger on the shimmering blue armrest. I recognize the material immediately—carved from the stonelike ice deep beneath the crust of The Far Place, pulsing with the magic the roots of the welwig have imbued into it.

Disgraceful. It would be better to see him resting on a throne of antethorpe shit. More fitting for the new lord.

“What did you need to speak to me about? I have important matters to attend to, so make it quick,” I say, a thrill rushing through me at the disgruntled look on Slaine’s face.

“How dare you speak to Lord Slaine in that manner? I should have you clipped?—”

“It’s fine, Rai.” Slaine brings the tips of his fingers together as a smirk replaces his earlier expression. “In fact, it’s Malice’s ‘important matters’ I wish to discuss.”

I narrow my eyes, trepidation trickling down my spine at the flip in temperament. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what. The little human you have stashed in one of my cells.”

“And what of her?” I try to keep my tone nonchalant, but I can’t help the ounce of worry that finds its way into my words—something Slaine seems to notice.

His smirk spreads to a full-on grin, and for the first time since we arrived in this palace, worry hardens in my gut. “Some of my men… they’ve seen some disturbing things when attempting to feed her,” he says.

I don’t dare blink. “Have they?”

“Indeed. They say it looks like she has powers. You never told me about that.”

I shake my head, fearful my words won’t come out on account of the vise squeezing my windpipe. “That’s fucking nonsense,” I say. “She’s just a human. Nothing more.”

“Yet the stories…” Slaine looks off to the side, excitement brimming in his ugly misted gaze. “Some of them think she might be… a halfling.”

“There are no more halflings,” I deadpan. “You saw to that twenty years ago. Anything your men have seen must be some byproduct of her bond with me and the other demons.”

“Hmm. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” He looks back, that eerie grin never wavering. “After all, you wouldn’t let one of those things into my palace, would you? You wouldn’t dream of having me feed it. Keep it alive. Would you, Malice?”

My fist clenches as I say, “Of course not.”

“Because you realize how detrimental that would be, correct?” His eyes flash black. “Not just for your little pet but for you as well.”

I bristle at the insinuation—that he thinks he could best me in any capacity. That he thinks he could harm my mate—this will not do.

But it will have to. For now.

“I understand,” I murmur, the words turning to ash on my tongue. “If that’s all, I’ll be leaving now.”

Without another thought, I turn and walk out of the throne room, my skin trembling with the effort to hold my transformation at bay. I know attacking him now will do no good. I’m still not strong enough yet, still not healed.

And before I can think about dealing with Slaine, I must find a way to make Dagny trust me again.

And I have a sickening suspicion that it will be a lot harder than I ever thought.