And before I can think about dealing with Slaine, I must find a way to make Dagny trust me again.

And I have a sickening suspicion that it will be a lot harder than I ever thought.

2. Dagny

2

Dagny

I think I’m going mad.

In fact, I know it. Ever since the battle—since I changed—I’ve felt the cracks in my soul, pulling me apart at the seams and allowing the magic of The Far Place to flood in. It’s a never-ending well of power that courses through my veins like liquid fire, heating my skin past the point of comfort.

Whenever I close my eyes, it feels like someone is cleaving my skull in half, then bashing my brain to pulp with a rusty ice pick. But keeping them open means I have to witness the shadows swirling and dancing on the wall, mocking me. They’re clearer than ever before—once formless whispers of smoke are now living, breathing figures of people and animals alike.

I’m positive they’re souls—that somehow, my awakening has allowed me to see the remnants of the beings lost to The Far Place—though I really wish I couldn’t.

If you can fear, you can also be brave.

The words of my late mother bring less comfort each hour that goes by, each minute I’m left to rot in Slaine’s dungeon. Chained to the wall like an animal, I’m slowly going mad from my own power. Unable to stop it due to my lack of knowledge. My naivety.

A molten blade pierces my heart as the memories come flooding in, and I’m reminded of the actions that led me to this predicament. If only I hadn’t trusted him. If only I hadn’t listened to my stupid heart and left Malice in the dungeons to rot.

My lip curls as I think of the red-eyed demon responsible for the demise of my mates and me. Those casual lies, all the hope he fed me—worthless and only served to better his life.

If any of Abaddon’s soul pieces were to go by the name they represent, it should be him.

A rush of power floods my veins as my rage crests, casting my skin in a haunting silver light and flooding my sight with luminescence. Malice should be locked in a cage, not the other pieces. Not Cyprien, Lir, or Roark. Not Kaebl.

The blaze of anger is extinguished as my thoughts turn to my four other mates, and that familiar buzz of anxiety floods in. I want to know where my bonded are, to run to them. That invisible cord in my chest is aching horribly, bringing tears to my eyes and filling my bones with lead. The only thing comforting me is the knowledge that they are all alive.