Page 70 of Demonic Division

My stomach flips at the sight. Meanwhile, Slaine breaks into a grin, each one of his pointed teeth on display, and his cloudy eyes shine proudly down at his creation. “That’s a good boy… Just a little longer, precious. Then you can have all the fun you want.”

He raises his head, that eerie smile widening as he takes in the wounds along my neck, wrists, and ankles. “It seems you’ve already tried to escape… that just won’t do. We’ll have to teach him some manners, won’t we, boy?”

The creature ceases its clawing, turning its clouded eyes onto my face as it releases another ear-piercing whine. My skin shudders while Slaine breaks into manic laughter, and though I try to look away, I can’t.

“Until I find a way to get rid of M—the petulant brat—I have to uphold my promise not to kill you… but that doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you until then,” he whispers, voice brimming with excitement. Slowly, he removes his hand from my wing, steps back, and lets the chain fall from his hand, his breath coming hard and fast with the promise of the horror he’s about to witness.

With a grin, he turns his head to the creature at his side, his lips moving around a single word.

Sic.

Red-hot pain flares to life across my body as the creature descends onto me, tearing flesh from muscle and muscle from bone. My blood pools beneath me, spreading across the stone and staining Slaine’s clawed feet. All the while, his laughter bounces off the prison walls, burrowing beneath my skin and scraping the inside of my skull.

And it hurts, but the pain is nothing compared to the hurt that comes with the knowledge that Dagny is not at my side. That she could be put through the same horrors as me—and it’s all my fucking fault.

Her name rings throughout my mind, echoing with the same intensity as Slaine’s laughter, easing some of the agony coursing through my veins.

Dagny. Dagny. Dagny.

But even that word is overshadowed by a louder one, far more insistent and demanding to be heard. And it says the one word I’ve been fighting against, trying and failing to ignore since the moment she showed up in my throne room.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

And then, even louder than that—possibly the most heart-shattering of all—is the realization of what I know to be true.

She’s gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

42

Dagny

The first thingI’m aware of is the scent of blood. The smell hangs heavy in the air, so thick it coats the inside of my throat and lungs. It takes root, pushing the air from my chest and past my trembling lips, billowing out in a thick cloud of vapor.

Cold. It’s so cold here.

Prying my lids open helps a little. I have to blink for several minutes just to clear the thick film coating my eyes. Even then, I’m left barely able to distinguish the blurry form of a slumped figure lying along the far wall of the room. My ears are ringing, but one sound does manage to break through the high-pitched whine rattling my skull.

The scraping of claws against stone.

I jerk forward, causing the hard strap of metal around my neck to press against my windpipe, cutting off my oxygen. My fingertips brush the edge of the metal, picking at the grooves of the thick bolts all around the circumference. They all come together to form the ring of a collar, bolted to the wall by a short iron chain.

When I realize there’s no way to remove it, I follow thethick iron chain holding me to the wall. My trembling hands brush the stone before me, frantically searching for some form of weak spot in the giant slab of metal chaining me in place.Nothing.

I breathe out in frustration, lowering my hands as I turn back to that shadowy figure I saw earlier. Now that my vision isn’t so hazy, I’m able to make out certain details—like the pair of massive, bat-like wings spreading from his shoulder blades, pooling on the floor around him like a blanket. He has dark green hair that flows past his shoulders and onto the ground, the edges matted and colored gray from the grime of the prison floors.

This one is far less imposing than the other demons I’ve encountered. His muscles are sunken at odd places, adding shadows to graying skin that sags loosely over his protruding bones. He looks to be terribly sick—or perhaps, he’s already passed.

“H-hello?” I call out, cursing the shake in my voice. “Are you… alive?”

The demon doesn’t respond, but he does raise his head from his chest, piercing wolf eyes the color of emeralds blinking lazily in the darkness. A gasp fills the air as I catch sight of the thick piece of metal strapped to the lower part of his face like a muzzle. Runes the hue of a mossy forest floor swirl over each inch of exposed skin, glowing faintly and casting harsh shadows along the panes of his gaunt face. And though I’ve never seen this demon before, that thing beneath my skin rises, desperately tugging me toward him.

“Fenryr…” My mouth falls as shock rolls over me in waves. I’m not sure how I know, but I’mpositivethat the demon chained to the wall is Abaddon’s missing piece.But which one?Isthisthe real jealousy?

At his name, Fenryr’s eyes crinkle at the corners, but he still doesn’t speak. Instead, he gestures to a thick leather-bound book lying at my side—one which I hadn’t noticed until this very moment.

“What is it?” I ask.

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