Good thing I was depressed for other reasons.
“You should probably cry about it more,” I said to Malum, who was still fully on fire. “That will definitely help the situation.”
Yes, I was being a raging bitch to the kings whenever I could, which objectively wasn’t helping the situation; however, subjectively, it was making me feel better.
A win-win.
Flames roared.
“He’s not wrong,” Scorpius sneered as he gripped his lunatic of a mate. “At the end of the day, you’re our Revered. You’re fated to be with us—not them. You need to grow up and stop pretending. You’re already one of us.”
Orion nodded in agreement, and light pink petals drifted across his neck as captivating brown eyes glinted with anger.
I yawned sleepily.
Who was going to tell them I was way too fashionable to be one of them? Our lifestyles had a fundamental conflict—I wanted to lie in the sun all day and do nothing, and they wanted to kill things for fun. I wanted to nap under a tree as a warm breeze rustled my hair, and Malum wanted to set the tree on fire and scream at it.
I shuddered.
We were never going to work.
Luka draped his hand down over the side of the bunk, and I threaded my fingers through his. The only good thing about the suffocatingly close bunks was we could easily reach one another.
I’d gotten used to waking up with a numb arm.
I needed Luka’s touch because nightmares stalked me when I closed my eyes, and his grip was my only tether to reality.
“As your Ignis, I order you to break off your engagement,” Malum snarled harshly.
A callused thumb brushed back and forth against the back of my hand comfortingly.
I snuggled deeper into my covers and said, “As the hole in the room—I order you to stop ordering me around.”
Sleep pulled me under, because unlike the plush beds at Elite Academy, my mattress was hard as a rock. I loved it.
“You’re not just a hole,” Malum snapped.
“Wait, really?” I asked in mock confusion. “That’s news to me.”
“Obviously,” Scorpius spat. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s already apologized for that—we’re trying to move forward.”
“Technically,” I whispered, “I have three holes. So I’m holes. Plural.” I chuckled to myself as darkness wrapped around me.
I drifted away into sweet unconsciousness.
“Do not talk about yourself that way. I won’t fucking have it,” Malum barked, and I immediately jolted back awake.
Sun god forbid the hole in the room have a moment of peace.
“Is Malum having a meltdown again?” Vegar asked from the other set of bunks. Our demon teammate’s voice was scratchy, like he’d just woken up from a nap.
Zenith grumbled above him.
“Oh yeah,” John answered.
The demon lovers were grumpier than usual because they couldn’t fit together on the narrow beds. Add into the mix a seven-foot-tall soldier of death with the constitution of a flaming, deranged donkey and you had a recipe for uncomfortable living.
Malum screamed, “I’m not having a meltdown!”
Convincing.
Vegar resumed snoring.
“Okay, Mitch,” I mumbled.
“What?” Zenith asked.
“Male bitch.”
“Oh,” Zenith said, “makes sense.”
The leader of the kings let out a war cry.
“Save it for the battlefield, Mitch.” I pulled the blanket over my head with my free arm and tried to suffocate myself to sleep.
Luka squeezed my hand, and I relished his touch.
“Can you stop antagonizing him?” Scorpius sneered. “You’re not helping the situation.”
“You’re doing this to me, Arabella,” Malum said harshly.
What a charming individual.
“No baby girl, that’s all you.” I yawned. “Also, that’s something a Mitch would say.”
Someone let out a barking laugh, but sleep swallowed me, and I couldn’t respond.
I jolted awake.
Soft snores and the whisper of sheets echoed.
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. The room’s single window was dark with snowfall, and there wasn’t a star in sight.
The covers pulled up to my chin crackled with frost, and my breath came out in a visible puff even though the room was warmed by enchantment.
I couldn’t find the energy to be surprised.
Lately, the cold stalked me.
Diamonds flashed as I moved the wrist clasped in Luka’s grip. My other hand was filled with cold metal and paper. I brought my palm to my face in confusion.
Recognition dawned.
A lighter and a tiny piece of paper, which read, “Please don’t hurt Corvus, he doesn’t mean what he says.”
Orion was trying to help.
Bless his delusional, psychotic heart.
He didn’t realize his mate was beyond saving.
For a second, my heart panged as I thought about how much the kings all cared about one another. They didn’t want to see Malum hurt, and truthfully, neither did I—I wanted him obliterated. Complete annihilation.
There was nothing more satisfying than a grown man crying.
Empty anger welled.
I was vengeful because of what he’d done to me.
He’d made his choice.
He’d sacrificed me in the games.
He’d discarded me like trash.
I needed payback—I needed to do something.
Gently detangling my fingers from Luka’s, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the barely three feet of space that separated one end of the room from the other.
Kneeling in front of the lowest bunk, I brought the lighter up.
Flicked it.
A yellow flame danced, and I held it against the white sheets. It crawled across fabric and left a scorch of black, and the harsh scent of burning cotton was noxious.
Fire multiplied.
Harsh bronze features in repose flickered with shadows. Asleep, Corvus Malum looked more like a man and less like the angry instrument of the sun god.
Silver eyes opened and glinted with a green sheen.
Yellow flames intensified.
Malum stared at me and didn’t move as his bed went up in flames.
“Can you turn off your powers?” I whispered.
Bronze skin rippled as he leaned forward, and I scrambled backward as he climbed out of the yellow inferno and unfurled to his full height.
For a long moment, he stood before me, burning.
His brow crinkled, and he fisted his hands and scrunched his lids shut like he was concentrating on letting the fire consume him.
Lashes fluttered.
Silver eyes pooled with sadness.
“No,” he said brokenly. “I can’t turn it off.”
As he stood before me, half-naked, layers of bronze rippled across his immense torso, his shoulders hunched forward with defeat like he’d thought this could save us.
A ripple of pain shivered down my spine, and I pretended not to feel it.
I mumbled, “At least you tried.”
We both knew it wasn’t enough.
We’d both heard my screams.
“Look at me.”
I stared at the floor.
“Please,” he begged.
I glanced up.
The flaming devil took a step closer, and his expression fell as he whispered, “I’m sorry about how I spoke to you earlier. I was out of line—and it does hurt.”
A blush stained the tops of his cheekbones as he stared down at me.