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Kaebl

Long, hooked claws slice into the membranous flesh of my wing, ripping large gaping holes in the skin and shredding the delicate blood vessels that run throughout. Streams of dark blue blood fall to the floor, pooling at my feet and seeping into the stone lining the floor of Slaine’s torture chamber.

My head falls back in a silent scream as agony laces my veins, filling my entire being with a deep, throbbing ache. But it’s not from the sensation of having my wings torn to shreds—it’s from the absence of my mate.

Dagny.

She’s the single thought filling my head—the only source of light keeping me going, keeping me alive in this frozen hell. Without the thought of her smiling face, her pretty pink cheeks, and the way her pupils grow when my hands roam her body… if I didn’t have the memory of her, I would have succumbed to my injuries long ago.

But I can’t. Not when I have something to get back to. Not when I’ve finally found the reason for living. Not when that reason is her.

Black spots line my vision as I gaze into the milky white eyes of Slaine’s torture master, Zairn. Animalistic rage stares back, the sheer lack of humanity in those soulless, clouded eyes enough to take my breath away. That, or it’s the sheer pain of his soul-crazed pet gnawing on the bone of my wing.

Soul-crazed demons are exactly what they sound like—creatures of The Far Place that have ingested too many souls in quick succession. They’re not born, they’re created, and usually by force. The practice was outlawed while Abaddon was in power, seen as a cruel and inhumane waste of life and consciousness.

It appears Slaine doesn’t share Abaddon’s sentiments.

My lip curls in disgust as the creature sucks and laps at the fresh blood oozing from my wing, the thin gray skin of its belly extending the more it drinks of me. Unlike typical demons, soul-crazed creatures are basically mindless and will take their fill of any substance—edible or not. Still, anything other than souls is toxic to the sad being, and the fact that Zairn is allowing it to feed from me in this way is a disgusting display of his lack of empathy.

The soul-crazed demon moves to my elbow joint, sinking his powerful teeth through muscle and tendon before whipping its head side to side in a vicious attempt to yank it from my back.

“That’s enough, Zairn.”

The gravelly voice that flows into the torture chamber is filled with a sickly sweet lilt, causing my stomach to churn uncomfortably. I crack my swollen lids open just in time to witness Slaine step into the room, the air around him bristling with authority. His clawed toes scrape the bloodied stone as he stalks toward me, a smile pulling at his gray skin that doesn’t quite match the look in his eye.

He’s worried about something. What? And why?

“Call it off. NOW, Zairn. I need to speak to him.”

Zairn lets out a disgruntled huff, but obeys. He tugs the leash attached to the spiked collar around the creature's neck, causing the metal protrusions to dig into its flesh. The creature yelps, releasing the pressure in its jaw enough for Zairn to pull it away—but not without its mouthful of flesh.

I watch as the creature is dragged backward, eyes rolling back into its skull as it chews on my shoulder muscle. A horrible squelching noise accompanies the sight of blue-black blood dribbling down its chin as the soul-crazed demon enjoys its meal, causing my stomach to churn.

And this is just a small part of why they were outlawed.

With one last withering glare, Zairn hauls his “pet” out of the room, slamming the door to show his displeasure. Slaine walks the rest of the distance to me with a chuckle, stopping just short of the halo of blood frozen to the floor, his nose turned up and lip curled in disgust. The shine of his gray horns starkly contrasts with the lichen-encrusted walls of the torture chamber, as is the sleek comb of his snowy hair. The dermal armor strapped to his body like a second skin gleams beneath the faint glow of the sconces lining the wall, showcasing the powerful muscles covering his form.

“What a sad sight. Surely, this pathetic thing could not be the core of the great and powerful Abaddon.”

I eye the shimmering blue crown adorning his head, a silent chuckle rising in my chest. What a sad sight, indeed. A lowly soldier wearing the crown of the king. We’re much too old to play pretend, Slaine.

Though he can’t hear my thoughts, the sight of my smirk sends Slaine into a rage. The blow that lands against my cheekbone has stars sparking behind my eyes, and I blink rapidly, holding desperately to consciousness as blood pours from the fresh split on my face.

A cold laugh makes its way through the violent ringing in my ears, and a moment later, Slaine’s claws are embedded in my chest, lacing every one of my senses with agony. My mouth fills with the taste of copper as Slaine rakes his claws downward, tearing through skin and muscle and bone as if my organs were made of tissue paper.

“Not smiling now, are you?”

I just stare at him, not reacting to the pain or the taunt. Instead, I empty my mind, focusing on the ever-present tug of the mate bond. It calms me and fills me with a sense of need—a sense of purpose—and I hold on to it like the lifeline it is, knowing it’s the only thing that will get me through this.

Failing to get a rise out of me, Slaine frowns, clearly upset that I won’t play his twisted game. With a scoff, he rips his claws from my chest, lowering his hand dejectedly to his side as my blood drips from his fingertips.

Never taking his eyes off me, Slaine calls out, and the door creaks open to reveal the pale gray face of Rai, one of his soldiers tasked with leading me to this room and my cell.

“Yes, Lord? What can I do for you?”

“Take this animal back to his cage,” Slaine orders. “I’m done with him for now.”

With one last rage-filled glare, Slaine turns on his heel and stalks from the torture chamber, brushing past Rai without so much as a glance. Once Slaine is gone, Rai lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“ Gods. That guy gives me the creeps …” Rai cuts a gaze toward me, a sheepish smile replacing his frown. “It’s a good thing you can’t talk. If Slaine heard me…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to think about it.”

Rai steps over to me, clawed hands working quickly to unhook the chains bolting me to the wall. He wraps his fist around the one hanging limply from my collar, using it to lead me from the chamber. It’s a short walk to my cell, but it feels like it lasts for miles. Each step sends a bolt of agony straight to the marrow of my bones, replacing the core with molten lead that weighs me down and fills my mind with a thick fog of pain.

When we finally make it to my cell, it’s all I can do to take that last step inside before I slump to the floor, utterly spent and lifeless. Rai checks that I’m still breathing before slamming the door shut, the lock bolting into place like an ice pick to my skull. The power in my veins has long been used up, and without a source of food, I’m unable to replenish it. All my energy is being used to keep my organs working, so there’s none left to heal the wounds that need it.

In the silence, my mind travels to my familiar, Syn. A pang of worry echoes in my chest at the reminder I haven’t seen her since I attempted to reverse Abaddon’s sundering. Is someone keeping her away? Has Malice found a way to trap her? I shake my head, letting out a shallow breath as I push those thoughts away. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it. I’m here, and that means Syn is alive, which is what’s important.

Without anything else to focus on, I lie on the blood-and-vomit-covered stone, counting the cracks on the ceiling. My vision fades in and out to the rapid throbbing of my wing, but I fight against the dark spots that line my sight. I need to stay conscious. I still have to check that Slaine’s soldiers didn’t find it while I was in the torture chamber. Every time I go to that room, they scour my cell, checking for weapons or other signs I’m trying to escape. They have yet to discover the treasure I was given the first day I arrived in Slaine’s palace, and I just have to hope today is the same.

My muscles tremble as I push to a sitting position, and I have to use the wall as a support so I don’t fall back over. Slowly, I shuffle to the back corner of my cell, the scent of rot growing heavier the closer I get to the corpse.

My fingertips brush the edge of the decaying body, a disgusting squelch accompanying the flood of cool liquid onto the back of my hand. I flip my hand palm up, my stomach churning as I force it beneath the rib cage, coating the fresh wounds in whatever horrid substance is leaking from the carcass.

That’s going to be a nasty infection.

I push those thoughts to the side as I curve my finger under the ribs, pushing them past the spongy remains of the heart in search of— aha!

With a smirk, I run the pad of my finger along the hard surface of the arachnix tooth, careful not to touch the pointed tip in my inspection. Though it’s not lethal, arachnix venom is incredibly painful. The smallest amount can paralyze a creature for hours—even demons. Especially demons.

Only an inch in length, the structure of the tooth is curved in such a way to make it practically indestructible, and by its weight, it’s filled with the potent paralytic—making it the perfect weapon for a prisoner, if used in the right way. At the right time.

I found the tooth on the first day. Or rather, it was given. And by the most unlikely of sources, too.

When Malice first showed up in my cell, it wasn’t to taunt me or to show me what he did to Dagny, like he said. No—when he pushed his clawed finger into the wound on my shoulder, it wasn’t to harm me—it wasn’t even to get me back for a fraction of what I did to him.

It was to give me the tooth.

I’m still not sure why Malice gave it to me or what twisted plan he has in store—but I know it can’t be anything good for me, at least. Still, I’m not going to waste this gift, this opportunity. I’m going to use it to escape. To save Dagny.

And then I’m going to rip Malice’s head off.