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Dagny

I lay my head back against the stone wall, my wounds throbbing in agony with each beat of my heart. It’s so quiet, I can hear my lashes rustling and the soft whoosh of air entering my nose as I take small, labored breaths.

It’s been at least a day since Fenryr fell asleep—or, rather, the deep hibernation-like state demons enter when malnourished. When I was locked away in Kaebl’s dungeons, I witnessed Malice afflicted with the same condition. For hours, and sometimes days, I would be unable to read him, and I would be unable to break past the powerful barrier of sleep.

I have no idea what causes them to wake, or why, but I have a hunch it has something to do with the body’s drive to obtain food. Perhaps it believes that things will be different after a small rest. Wishful thinking.

Scoffing, I attempt to shift into a more comfortable position, and a small gasp of pain escapes my cracked lips as the wounds along my wrists tear open with the motion. Thick pink and white fluid oozes from the lacerated flesh, and my nose crinkles as the putrid odor of infection fills my senses.

I’m sorely regretting my decision to struggle as much as I did when Malice came to visit me. Though it’s not like I had much of a choice. When he’s around me, it’s like I can’t think. All I know, all I am is fire and rage . And it burns, but it also feels good. It feels right.

And now, I’m suffering the consequences of that brief high. Every inch of my body throbs, and whenever I make a small adjustment, black spots line my vision and threaten to take my consciousness from me.

The other concerning aspect is my hunger—and though I haven’t eaten since I’ve been in Slaine’s dungeon, it’s not from lack of available food. I’ve been able to take a few small ice cubes from the bucket Malice left me, but whenever he offers me human food, my stomach flips, and I can’t even swallow the tiniest mouthful. It's like my body rejects it—needing me to consume something else.

A shiver runs the length of my body as I consider just what that else might be. Souls. The thing that demons eat. At that moment, my stomach rumbles, seeming to confirm my worst fear. I’m no longer human.

But I’m not a full demon. According to Kaebl, I’m something in between. A halfling—supposedly one with great powers, though I’ve yet to see any evidence of them. There was just that one time when Slaine attacked—that burst of power that exploded from me, carving a massive cavern into the ice as far as the eye could see.

And then, of course, there are the wings. The first time they appeared, I wanted to deny them, but now, I know they’re real. I have true wings— feathered wings—which I’ve yet to see any of the demons in The Far Place possess.

I slide my palm over my skin, still sensitive despite the lack of silver luminescence it held earlier. Strange…

The creak of the cell door draws my attention to the opposite end of the room, and my eyes narrow in hatred as bright light spills across the stone floor, followed by a pair of all-too-familiar clawed feet. The fourth and fifth toes are missing on the left foot, the healed flesh jagged and heavily scarred, leading me to believe it was done crudely and with force.

That foot belongs to one demon, and one alone—Slaine’s torture master, Zairn. A sickly sweet smell follows him into the room, laced with something disgustingly metallic. Blood . One more sniff, and that awful tug in my chest lets me know whose it is. Kaebl.

I don’t have time to despair, though. A moment later, Zairn’s “pet” follows him into the cell, held back by a crude iron chain strapped to the torturous collar around its thin neck. Its claws carve deep grooves into the stone floor as it attempts to get closer, that horrible blood-coated mouth snarling and snapping at the air like a rabid animal.

I’d rather face a horde of antethorpes again…

Zairn steps toward me, and I flinch back against the wall as he reaches a clawed hand to my face.

“Be still, girl. I’m not going to harm you.” His lips part, revealing the rows of blunted yellow teeth lining his mouth. “Not yet, anyhow.”

His hand snaps out, grabbing my collar and hauling me forward so our faces are within inches. Zairn inhales deeply, the slits where his nose should be expanding as he scents me. A shiver of repulsion runs the length of my spine as his tongue darts out, dragging along his lower lip.

“ I know what you really are, ” he whispers, milky-white eyes narrowing to hateful slits. “ Halfling filth. ”

He presses his forehead to mine, and a wave of power enters my body. But it’s not at all like when my mates do it—Zairn’s power feels dirty. Tainted. But that doesn’t stop those unholy tendrils from reaching into my brain matter, extracting all of my memories, thoughts, and fears. It’s only for a moment, but it's more than enough, and when he’s through, Zairn reels back with a gasp, his eyes wide and mouth twisted in horror.

At his intrusion, a wave of my own power rises to meet him, and I rear back with a snarl, silver drowning out all my sight as I draw magic from the very earth itself. Before Zairn can react, I jerk forward, smashing the crest of my skull into his forehead with all my might.

A nasty crack fills the air, and Zairn falls back with a high-pitched yell, a river of blue-black blood flowing from the fresh gash in his forehead. Instead of the retaliating blow I expect, the torture master steps back, his hand shaking as he points an accusatory finger at my face.

“You’re… you’re Erik’s… I can’t believe it…” His eyes glaze over as his voice lowers, and it’s clear his words are not meant for my ears. “ I’m not sure how I could have missed it… the thing has his eyes, his nose… but she was supposed to be dead…dead! How could this have slipped past us? Must do something… must tell someone… ”

The name Erik hits me like a ton of bricks. I haven't heard it in so long, I had almost forgotten the name that would roll off my mother’s tongue in the night as she cried herself to sleep. Erik Olavera.

I know I shouldn’t, but my curiosity takes hold, forcing me to ask, “You knew my father?”

Zairn looks at me as if for the first time, his expression twisting with disgust. “I knew him well.”

“How?”

A cruel laugh echoes off the stone walls, filling my stomach with anxiety. But I still have to know. “What’s so funny?”

“Funny? Oh, just your question… It really brings me back…” His lips pull back in a demented smile, showcasing cracked, rotting teeth and bleeding black gums. “I was the one to kill him.”

A bolt of lightning travels through my body, freezing time and gluing me to the spot. My dad… killed… Zairn killed him… I had always known my father had died before I was born, but the story was that he lost his life in a tragic car accident—never that he was murdered.

Either ignorant or indifferent to the war raging in my mind, Zairn continues his twisted tale, his grin growing more severe by the second. “I often have dreams about it, you know. The way he screamed as I sliced the flesh from his body. The way he pleaded as I plucked the feathers from his wings, and the sound when I tore them from his spine.” He takes a deep inhale, his eyes glossing over as if reliving the moment all over again. “It was a pity when he died. Too soon. Much too soon.” Zairn’s pupils dilate as he makes eye contact with me. “I should have done more. For his crimes against Lord Slaine, for siding with Abaddon—that Gylden filth— I should have made his death last months—no, years. I shall always have regrets about that.” He scoffs, lazily dragging his gaze down my frame. “To think you came from a Sable as powerful as Erik? Pathetic, truly. This is why mating with humans should have been outlawed long before. They are a food source and nothing else. Pretending otherwise only breeds weakness. ”

With the barrage of new information, my mind is reeling, making it impossible to come up with a coherent response. Gylden? Sable? Feathered wings? My father… not just a demon, but one of great power? It seems too fantastical to believe.

Zairn leans in closer, his hot, putrid breath brushing my face with each of his labored breaths. Those milky white eyes seem to see through me in a way no one ever has before, and my blood roils with discomfort. “What?”

“Your eyes…” he whispers. “They’re just like your mother’s. The color of fresh shit— just like the flavor of her soul. ”

As he speaks, that thing inside me rises, drawing from the endless well of power living and the earth. A silver film closes over my vision as a blazing heat builds beneath my skin, but I can hardly feel it. All I want—all I need—is to end this abomination, here and now and forever. And through the fog, only one sound breaks through. Laughter.

“ I knew it, ” Zairn whispers, his tone full of awe. “ You are one of them. ”

I blink, and all the energy is sapped from my veins, snuffed out like a light switch and causing me to slump back against the wall, utterly exhausted. My eyes find Zairn’s once more, and I’m not sure, but it looks like a hint of fear enters his gaze.

It's gone in the next blink.

Before I can react, Zairn’s hand snaps to my neck, his fingers curling around the circumference as jagged claws scrape against my pulse point. “I should just kill you now—have it over and done with. Slaine would be angry for a time, but it would be worth it.” His vision mists over with a faraway look as his voice lowers, taking on a trancelike state. “ I can see it… all the misery you’ll bring… all the blood… the rivers and rivers of red ? — ”

“I think that’s quite enough, Zairn.”

Malice’s sinful tone slinks into the room, and my blood turns to liquid fire as it licks my skin, drawing out the wicked desires always lurking in the dark corners of my soul. “Rivers of blood? What nonsense—there’s no need to terrify the poor little thing.”

“There’s nothing poor about it,” Zairn snaps, turning his hateful gaze onto Malice. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you. Does Slaine know you’re down here?”

Zairn scoffs, waving Malice away, though fear slices across his gaze once more. “It matters not. I have free rein of the palace.”

“ Not here, you don’t.” The voice that flows across the room is nothing like earlier, filled to the brim with authority and laced with something much darker. Deadlier.

Zairn cringes before schooling his expression and stepping back, and though he turns to give Malice his attention, he never looks him directly in the eye. “Perhaps I should go.”

“Perhaps you should.”

Zairn shuffles toward the door, casting one last withering glare in my direction before slipping out of the cell. Only when the door slams shut and he’s sure no creepy torture masters are eavesdropping does Malice turn his attention back to me.

Instead of speaking, his voice enters my mind, hollow but undeniably Malice. His tone is different this time—soft and cautious—so unlike him, it startles me into silence.

Don’t worry, he whispers, his one good eye glowing molten as he reaches for my face. Zairn won’t tell Slaine what you are. Not unless he wants to be punished for entering this room without orders—of which the penalty is death .

My hair raises at the sensation of his shadowy fingers probing my mind, searching for something. I try my best to push him away mentally, which fails miserably, so I go for the next best option.

Using the last of my strength, I place my palms on Malice’s chest, fighting against the pleasurable wave of electricity that flows between us, begging me to do anything other than what I’m going to do. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not any more.

I shove Malice away with a snarl, fixing my face into a disgusted expression despite the painful tug of the bond. Following that invisible thread typing us together, I project my own voice into his mind, making sure it’s laced with as much venom as I feel.

It seems you’re mistaken on how much I care—I don’t. Not what happens to you, or that creep, or to me.

It hurts, but my words have the desired effect. An unmistakable sheen of pain enters Malice’s gaze, and he drops his hand back to his side as his eyes widen dejectedly.

Don’t say that…

Why not? I demand. If I have power, I don’t know how to use it. And if I don’t know how to use it, I have no way to get out of here and away from all of you. I don’t have a choice anymore. You did a splendid job of taking that away from me and sealing my fate.

I shake my head, rage filling the endless pit in my stomach, and suddenly, my thoughts aren’t enough to get my point across. “I hate you, Malice,” I say, my voice cracking heavily. “I hate everything you fucking stand for.”

His mouth sets into a hard line, all traces of arrogance gone. Y ou don’t mean that. The bond won’t let you ? —

“I don’t give a damn what the bond, the gods, or the fates themselves have to say about it,” I snap. “I fucking hate you for what you did to me. How you lied to me. And I always— always —will.” I turn away from him, facing the wall as the bond screams and yanks in opposition. I can’t bear to look at him—to feel my heart break all over again as I’m reminded of his betrayal. Because not only did he doom me, but he betrayed Cyprien, Roark, and Lir as well.

And Kaebl…

The bond aches at the thought of him, so I stop. I’m already so conflicted about my feelings toward Malice, I don't need to worry over my growing attachment to Abaddon’s core piece. Forcing my gaze from the red-eyed demon, I look at Fenryr, taking in protruding bones and oozing wounds peppering his torso and limbs. Even if he didn’t betray us all, there are still all the horrible things he’s done to Fenryr to take into account .

He truly is malice in every way, shape, and form.

Malice sighs, and his voice is laced with something akin to sorrow as it enters my mind. I cannot be anything more than I am, little one.

I roll my eyes. “Fenryr said as much.”

Shaking his head, he reaches toward my face once more, only to freeze midway when he sees me flinch away from his touch.

His eyes squint as he projects his voice into my head again, and this time, I’m positive it’s sadness in his tone. I need to talk to you, Dagny.

“We are talking.”

Not about this. He looks over his shoulder, apprehension rolling off his shoulders in waves. Something important—what I needed to talk to you about yesterday.

“Oh.” I tilt my head, a sneer curling my lip. “In that case, I still have no desire to hear you out.” My power crests, fixing to deliver a blow to Malice just like the first time he showed up.

But before that happens, Malice lets out a deep sigh, sending a wave of his own magic toward me before mine has the chance to explode. Instantly, the power is frozen in my veins, pulsing violently and threatening to burst my vessels and break my mind.

My body is lifted from the ground, and I kick at the frozen air as an invisible hand wraps around my throat, pinning me to the wall as it slowly cuts off my oxygen.

Malice steps toward me, pressing his nose deep into my pulse point and inhaling deeply. The feline slit of his pupil expands, swallowing the shimmering red of his iris in the next blink, consuming the last of his humanity.

“ I love seeing those claws of yours, kitten. That darling little fire in your eyes when you lose control and allow your hatred to consume you… ” The intangible force squeezing my throat tightens further, cutting off my airflow as Malice grabs my chin, his clawed fingers scraping my jaw lightly. “But make no mistake—they only harm me because I let them. ”

That thing holding me to the wall evaporates in the next moment, and my body slumps to the floor in a broken heap, muscles quivering and chest quaking with every jagged breath.

Malice's voice enters my mind once more, filled with the cool composure I’ve become used to. As I said , there is something we must discuss. Your freedom.

At the moment I catch my breath, it’s ripped from me with those two little words. Your freedom.

I turn narrowed eyes onto Malice, unease roiling in my gut at the sight of his red eye gleaming shrewdly. He knows he’s got me. I have to know.

Though I won’t trust a single word he says, it doesn’t mean I can’t hear him out—listen to whatever psycho scheme he has planned. Maybe, just maybe, I could use it against him in the future.

“Go on. Talk,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “And use your real voice—I don’t want you in my head.”

His eyes flit around the room, and he takes a steadying breath before his voice projects into my mind despite my earlier wishes. What I have to say… Slaine has ears all over this castle—in the walls and under the floors. I cannot risk him hearing it.

“ Okay. Do it your way .” I raise my brows, waiting for him to continue, for the chance to mock whatever nonsense comes out of his mouth. But what he says next has the words turning to ash on my tongue, and my stomach twisting into a thousand agonizing knots.

I need you to bond with Fenryr.