Demonic Descension

In the wake of her mate’s heart-shattering betrayal, Dagny Olavera finds herself trapped in Slaine’s dungeons. She’s been left for dead…and her only hope is the demon she’s sworn to loathe for all eternity.

Anything is worth it to save her five other mates, even relying on Malice, the demon whose sins shattered her. The same one determined to win back her heart and trust, even if it kills him.

When dark truths unravel and wrong turns into right, Dagny must put aside her hatred and fear. The fate of The Far Place hangs in the balance, and if she does not learn to harness her newly awakened powers in time, it will all be for nothing.

The fates that drew them together now want them apart. But they don’t realize just how far the vicious demons will go to keep their mate and protect her heart.

Preface

This book contains material that may not be suitable for all individuals. Please read all of the following content warnings.

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Pronunciations

Character names:

Abaddon - (abba-don)

Cyprien - (seepree-ahn)

Dagny (dag-nee)

Fenryr- (fen-rear)

Kaebl - (kay-bl)

Lir - (leer)

Roark - (row-ark)

Rai - (ray)

Slaine - (slain)

Varys - (veh-ris)

Zairn - (z-air-n)

Creatures:

Antethorpe - (ante-thorp)

Arachnyx (arak-nix)

Flayling (Flay-ling)

Ice Wyrm (ice-worm)

Kleptak - (clep-tac)

Penkin (pen-kin)

Skelpi (skel-pee)

Welwig - (well-wig)

Species:

Gylden - (gill-den)

Naif - (n-ae-f)

Sable - (say-bull)

1. Malice

1

Malice

My beautiful mate is driving me mad.

I tap my claws one by one along the stone wall, the rhythmic clicking burrowing deep beneath my skull and rattling my core as I watch Dagny’s slumped form from the shadows of her cell. It’s been three days since I’ve put her there—three horrible days when she’s refused to eat, drink, or acknowledge my presence—three days I’ve been driven mad with the desire to touch her. Talk to her. To look into her beautiful, bronze-rimmed eyes and revel in the pleasure of our new bond.

She must know I’m here. She must. Why does she pretend otherwise?

“You can’t ignore me forever, my wildfire.”

At the utterance of her nickname, Dagny’s eyes crack open to reveal hateful, narrowed slits. “I am not your anything,” she snarls, her voice cracking heavily from disuse. “Don’t you fucking call me that anymore. You don’t have the right.”

My chest constricts at the venom in her tone, and I have to hold back a whine rising in my throat as a shock of pain travels down the bond. “Wildfire, I⁠—”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” A heavily distorted voice explodes from her along with a rush of power, and a blast of heated air smacks against me, forcing long strands of red hair off my face and the ends to billow out in all directions. The ring around her pupil expands as her magic penetrates the air, consuming the warm brown of her iris and casting her skin in a cool, silver light. A demonic light.

I eye the beautiful creature warily, the thing beneath my skin rising to meet her power head-on. It likes it. It wants it.

While each demon's power increases with the bond, Dagny’s has grown exponentially, propelled to new heights every time she bonds with another piece of Abaddon’s soul. The fourth bond—our bond—allowed her powers to fully awaken, that much is clear. But seeing it with my own eyes and having it used against me… I have no doubt that one day she will be the most powerful creature in The Far Place.

If only she lives long enough to see it.

As Dagny continues glaring with those shimmering silver eyes, I take a moment to inspect her. The beautiful dermal armor Kaebl gifted her is in tatters, showcasing her protruding ribs and deep, festering sores across her arms and legs.

I’ve seen the wounds only a handful of times in Abaddon’s memories, but it’s enough to realize exactly what they are—magic pollution. When halflings still walked the land, magic pollution was a real and terrible consequence of those able to harness the wells of power hidden deep in the earth of The Far Place. Unlike demons, halflings are born of both this world and the mortal realm, and have unlimited access to that source. But it comes with a price.

Dagny has no knowledge of how to halt the wave of power coursing into her bloodstream, and if she doesn’t learn, it will consume her soul and cause her to deteriorate, both mentally and physically—of which I am already seeing signs.

“Wild—Dagny,” I correct. “Please… I need to talk to you.” I don’t recognize my desperate tone, but it’s there nonetheless. However, it doesn’t have the effect on Dagny that I want.

“I don’t want to talk. I want to kill you.” For a moment, a flash of pain enters her gaze, but in the next, it’s gone, leaving me to wonder if it was there in the first place.

“Dagny, please⁠—”

“I said NO!”

Dagny’s piercing scream cuts me off as blinding silver light explodes from her pores, from her eyes and open mouth, bathing the room in luminescence. The beast under my skin rises to meet her show of power, and my skin shudders with the strength to hold it back.

Not here. Not now. Not yet.

But it seems Dagny has other ideas.

Instead of trying to control the power flooding out of her, she lets it flow freely, filling the air with pure magical energy. It flows into the walls of the small room, imbuing the stone and causing the ground to vibrate. A howling wind whips around me, sucking the air from my lungs and plastering long red strands of hair to my face and neck. And within that wind is a scream—a sound only for my ears—filled with so much rage and pain and despair, it causes that hollow space in my chest to twinge.

As the power consumes her, Dagny mindlessly rails against her restraints, pulling and yanking and clawing at the collar around her neck, ripping deep gouges into the thin flesh.

Part of me is horrified as I watch a river of red pour down to her chest, coating her hands in her precious life force as she continues fighting. But then there’s that other part. The one that’s utterly fascinated with her desire to survive—to be free. The part that wants to watch her struggle and see how far she’s willing to go. To bring her back from the edge just before she slips. To show her what she’s capable of. To show her that she’s mine, just as much as I am hers.

A smirk tugs at my mouth as I stare at her, the thunderous roar in my ears drowning out the sound of my lungs screaming for air.

You’ve never looked more magnificent, wildfire. If you kill me now, I’d be happy knowing this is the last thing I saw.

My voice enters her mind as a gentle caress, and though she doesn’t want it, her gaze softens as the bond between us thrums in ecstasy. Her concentration slips for the briefest moment, but it’s enough. Dagny’s power falters, and the wind whipping around me dies, as does the massive rush of magic pouring from her body. The adrenaline pumping through her veins ceases, and Dagny slumps back against the blood-coated stone as her quivering muscles give out.

I suck in a deep breath and propel myself across the room, landing directly in a pool of Dagny’s blood. I crouch so we’re at eye level and, giving zero thought to my safety, reach for her wounds with the healing magic thrumming in my palms.

Right before I make contact, Dagny’s eyes spring open, the warm brown of her iris brimming with hatred. I’m so shocked by the emotion, I don’t react in time to move my hand out of the way—something I sorely regret when Dagny’s teeth rip into the flesh of my palm.

A wild glint enters her gaze as she tears through muscle and tendon, and while pain flares along the length of my forearm, I’m too mesmerized to pull away. A moment later, she does it for me, reeling back with a chin covered in blue-black blood and a piece of my flesh clenched between her teeth.

She turns her head to the side, spitting the chunk onto the stone ground before an eerie smile overtakes her expression. When she faces me again, I’m shocked to find her canines lengthened, tapering to razor-sharp points—just like a typical demon of The Far Place.

How spectacular.

I pull my hand to my chest, a matching smile tugging at my own mouth as I take in the bloodthirsty look in my beloved’s eyes. Instead of healing the wound, I allow it to ooze, reveling in the sensation of my own blood dripping down my arm, drowning in the ecstasy each throb of pain offers me—all because it reminds me of the creature who put it there.

Thank you, I whisper into her mind. I’ll treasure it for as long as I’m able.

At this, Dagny releases a vicious snarl, the silver ring around her pupil expanding as her power rises once more. But before it gets a chance to explode in a stunning display like earlier, a voice breaks out over my shoulder, causing Dagny to lose focus.

“It’s good to know I’m not the only one going mad.” The words are muffled, distorted, and barely comprehensible, but the laughter that follows is unmistakable. Fenryr.

I narrow my eyes as I turn my head, sending the green-eyed demon the full weight of my glare. “Something funny, dog?”

He shakes his head, but his chuckle still echoes off the metal muzzle strapped to his face. At the sound, an irritated growl rumbles in my chest, and I make a mental note to adjust it so he’s unable to speak for the foreseeable future.

Speaking of the future…

I look between Fenryr and Dagny, the strength of the bond trying to draw them together palpable in the air. If his familiar was so inclined, it already would have happened. However, I had Nya lead him to the human realm—something he hasn’t done since Fenryr was locked up—and he’ll be preoccupied with getting his fill of mortal souls. But not forever.

It’s not like separating them would help—and even if I wanted that, there are no other cells with strong enough wards to hold Dagny and Fenryr. Slaine refuses to offer Dagny a normal room—for good reason—until he assesses her threat level, and with the way she’s reacting to my presence, I have to assume it’s just as bad around Slaine’s soldiers.

No, this is the only way. I just have to hope his familiar, Echo, stays away long enough.

I’m about to attempt to speak to Dagny again when the door bursts open, calling my attention to the huffing soldier in the doorway. My lip curls as I take in his gray skin and clouded white eyes—a hideous trait only descendants of the Naif species seem to possess. Though smaller than Abbadon’s species—the Gyldens—the Naifs make up for it with their speed and unquenchable bloodlust, making them near undefeatable. The only species to rival their capability in battle is the Sable, distinguishable by its onyx-colored, feathered wings, but that lineage has been wiped out for decades. Erik was the last of his kind, and he fell along with Abaddon during the sundering twenty-one years ago.

I cut a glance toward Dagny as the last thought crosses my mind. At least, he was the last one…

“Malice! Did you hear anything I just said?”

I hold back a growl as the soldier’s voice makes its way to my ears, rudely interrupting my train of thought. I clench my fist as I turn to face him, giving him the attention he so desperately craves. “I can’t say I did. You’re more than welcome to repeat yourself.”

The soldier frowns but doesn’t comment on my mocking tone. “I said Slaine needs to see you. He says it’s urgent, and to come right away.”

Irritation roils beneath my skin as I debate whether it would be worth the punishment to slit this useless demon’s throat. Hearing him choking on his own blood would be pleasant, but…

I sigh, turning on my heel and stalking to the door without another word. It would be nice, but no amount of temporary pleasure is worth the lifetime I’ll possess if everything works out the way I plan.

The soldier follows me out of the cell, locking the door securely behind him before hastening after me down the hall. I take the stairs at the end of the passageway, my rage growing at the demons' irritating huffing just over my shoulder. By the time we make it to Slaine’s throne room, I’m barely able to contain the urge to whip around and bash his face in.

Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. Stick to the⁠—

“Malice. I was worried I would have to wait all day.”

My lip curls as I step into the massive throne room, the sensation of plush carpet beneath the pads of my feet causing my skin to crawl. “Your lap dog was very persistent.”

“Hmm. Indeed.” Slaine looks down on me from his throne, disgust swirling in his misted white eyes as he taps a clawed finger on the shimmering blue armrest. I recognize the material immediately—carved from the stonelike ice deep beneath the crust of The Far Place, pulsing with the magic the roots of the welwig have imbued into it.

Disgraceful. It would be better to see him resting on a throne of antethorpe shit. More fitting for the new lord.

“What did you need to speak to me about? I have important matters to attend to, so make it quick,” I say, a thrill rushing through me at the disgruntled look on Slaine’s face.

“How dare you speak to Lord Slaine in that manner? I should have you clipped⁠—”

“It’s fine, Rai.” Slaine brings the tips of his fingers together as a smirk replaces his earlier expression. “In fact, it’s Malice’s ‘important matters’ I wish to discuss.”

I narrow my eyes, trepidation trickling down my spine at the flip in temperament. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what. The little human you have stashed in one of my cells.”

“And what of her?” I try to keep my tone nonchalant, but I can’t help the ounce of worry that finds its way into my words—something Slaine seems to notice.

His smirk spreads to a full-on grin, and for the first time since we arrived in this palace, worry hardens in my gut. “Some of my men… they’ve seen some disturbing things when attempting to feed her,” he says.

I don’t dare blink. “Have they?”

“Indeed. They say it looks like she has powers. You never told me about that.”

I shake my head, fearful my words won’t come out on account of the vise squeezing my windpipe. “That’s fucking nonsense,” I say. “She’s just a human. Nothing more.”

“Yet the stories…” Slaine looks off to the side, excitement brimming in his ugly misted gaze. “Some of them think she might be… a halfling.”

“There are no more halflings,” I deadpan. “You saw to that twenty years ago. Anything your men have seen must be some byproduct of her bond with me and the other demons.”

“Hmm. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” He looks back, that eerie grin never wavering. “After all, you wouldn’t let one of those things into my palace, would you? You wouldn’t dream of having me feed it. Keep it alive. Would you, Malice?”

My fist clenches as I say, “Of course not.”

“Because you realize how detrimental that would be, correct?” His eyes flash black. “Not just for your little pet but for you as well.”

I bristle at the insinuation—that he thinks he could best me in any capacity. That he thinks he could harm my mate—this will not do.

But it will have to. For now.

“I understand,” I murmur, the words turning to ash on my tongue. “If that’s all, I’ll be leaving now.”

Without another thought, I turn and walk out of the throne room, my skin trembling with the effort to hold my transformation at bay. I know attacking him now will do no good. I’m still not strong enough yet, still not healed.

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.

Every now and then, a bolt of pain will travel through the bond to me, and though it hurts me to know my mates are suffering, it’s overshadowed by the relief that they’re still here with me.

But it won’t be for long.

At the last thought, a burst of power explodes behind my eyes, coloring my sight in blinding silver light. I can’t see, but that doesn’t matter—all I know is I need to get free of these chains.

My wounds burst open as I rail against the restraints, coating my arms and neck in thick dark red. I know I’m losing vast amounts of blood, and if I keep going, I’ll die, but I can’t find it in me to care. All I want is to be free, to go to my mates and heal them of their wounds—the ones I’m directly responsible for.

The blame I hold is twice as painful as the metal cutting into my skin, so I keep fighting, and fighting, and fighting until the cuffs cut to the bone and I can’t feel anything other than the bond humming in my chest.

“You shouldn’t do that. I hate to see beautiful things ruined.”

The muffled voice slinks through the air, the words brushing my skin with wicked undertones and causing my spine to tingle. A piece of my sanity returns as warning bells blare in the back of my mind, snapping me back to reality and allowing me to focus on the green-eyed demon chained to the opposite wall.

Fenryr. Jealousy.

“You can talk?” I ask, irritation coursing through me as I recall our first interaction when he led me to believe he couldn’t. Just like Malice, he lies—meaning I can’t trust him. My lips purse as I shoot a glare in Fenryr’s direction. “Well?”

“I only speak when I feel like it.” He gestures to the metal piece covering the lower half of his face. “It’s more difficult to project than some might think. Painful.”

“Oh…” I lower my arms to my sides as a bolt of sympathy travels down the bond, replacing the spikes of agony I’ve become accustomed to. “I’m sorry.”

“No need. I’ve gotten used to it by now.”

“How long have you had it? The muzzle, I mean.”

He looks around the room, eyes glazing over in thought. “I’ve lost track. Several months, perhaps.”

“Did Malice put you in it?” I ask, his name exiting my mouth with disdain despite the painful tug of the bond. Fucking soulmates.

Fenryr nods, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile. “Yes. But I don’t blame him. Neither should you.”

I scoff. “Why the hell not?”

“Because it is his nature.”

I tilt my head, a wave of indignation coursing through my veins. “I don’t see how that’s a good reason.”

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