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.