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.

4. Dagny

4

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.