“Then you’re not looking close enough, little one.”

I take a moment to survey the demon—his cunning, wolflike eyes. The bright green of his hair and the shaved part of his head that has grown out an inch at least. Just like the other soul pieces, he’s inhumanly gorgeous, with a bone structure carved from the gods themselves and a body to match. Though he’s malnourished and his muscles have withered, I have no doubt that at his peak, he’s just as foreboding and powerful as the others.

“Why are you telling me this?”

His eyes crinkle with a smirk. “Because you deserve to know. Because you’re important. Because… you’re the key to it all.”

I blink, recalling Malice saying those exact words not long ago. “You’re the second demon who’s said that to me.”

“Twice as right, then,” he says, his eyes practically closed with the weight of his grin. “You’ll see, little one. You’ll see. But not before it’s time.”

With that, his beautiful emerald eyes close, bathing the room in total darkness once more. Leaving me alone to wonder just what he meant by that.

I’m sure it’s nothing good.

3. Kaebl

3

Kaebl

Long, hooked claws slice into the membranous flesh of my wing, ripping large gaping holes in the skin and shredding the delicate blood vessels that run throughout. Streams of dark blue blood fall to the floor, pooling at my feet and seeping into the stone lining the floor of Slaine’s torture chamber.

My head falls back in a silent scream as agony laces my veins, filling my entire being with a deep, throbbing ache. But it’s not from the sensation of having my wings torn to shreds—it’s from the absence of my mate.

Dagny.

She’s the single thought filling my head—the only source of light keeping me going, keeping me alive in this frozen hell. Without the thought of her smiling face, her pretty pink cheeks, and the way her pupils grow when my hands roam her body… if I didn’t have the memory of her, I would have succumbed to my injuries long ago.

But I can’t. Not when I have something to get back to. Not when I’ve finally found the reason for living. Not when that reason is her.

Black spots line my vision as I gaze into the milky white eyes of Slaine’s torture master, Zairn. Animalistic rage stares back, the sheer lack of humanity in those soulless, clouded eyes enough to take my breath away. That, or it’s the sheer pain of his soul-crazed pet gnawing on the bone of my wing.