A King's Weakness (Book 1)

Chapter 28

I DON'T BREATHE AS I GLANCE BETWEEN DANTE AND MAL, the former of which only shows me his back. Mal makes a tsk'ing noise, a smirk firmly engrained on her face.

My options are slim, none of which I like—run, fight, play dead. Pray.

"I don't have all day—come on," she urges, annoyance making her voice sharp. Her crimson eyes sparkle; clearly the heinous bitch enjoys my hesitance. A cold tendril of fear wraps around my spine, begging me to find a way out of whatever trap this is. But I know that I'm not getting out of this without going into the damn ice rink thing, I can tell based on the barely concealed glee on her face.

Rolling my shoulders back, I stand as straight as possible, holding my head high and walking into the walled arena. When I step inside, the small entryway snaps closed with a click, locking me in the space with her.

"What kind of lesson is this?" I ask, forcing ice into my voice if only to chase away any remnants of nerves. I can handle whatever she wants to throw my way; it's not like I don't know how to hold my own. I'm a brawler by nature—I've been picking fights since I could walk.

Mal walks around me in a lazy circle, a lioness stalking a gazelle. My heart rate skyrockets. "If you have magic, you must learn how to use it. And if you don't—well, you just have to try to keep from getting burned." She shrugs at this, coming to a halt a few feet in front me.

My muscles bunch apprehensively, hands closing into loose fists. "So like self-defense?" I suggest hopefully, watching as she lifts one hand up and examines it carefully.

"I guess you could say that." So, no?

A small flame springs to life on her pointer finger, flickering warmly. She plays with it, rolling it across her fingers like a coin.

I narrow my eyes, gaze focusing on that volatile magic. "Your domain is fire." Of course she doesn't burn; instead, the flame lovingly embraces her palm like a second skin.

She shrugs, the casual motion smoothing over her muscles like oil. That smile of her's widens as she takes a step closer to me, making me all sorts of jumpy—for good reason. She flicks her wrist and her entire hand is engulfed in fire, one massive ember threatening to burn my face even from three feet away.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I hiss, adrenaline flooding my system.

She makes a fist, stunning me for half a second by throwing a massive ball of fire at my head. I barely manage to duck before it hits me, the smell of burning hair—my hair—searing my nose as a scalding heat flies over my scalp.

I clumsily scramble sideways, falling to my knees in my haste. That'll leave a bruise.

A sour emotion rises up, wrapping bitter cords around my chest—jealousy. She nearly killed me; I should be furious, but the only thing I can feel in this instant is all-consuming envy for this bitch's control. That fireball was no random, out of control explosion. It was precise, carefully crafted to singe my eyebrows off.

"Get up." Mal's voice is low, eerily calm. "You won't learn anything by sitting on your ass on the floor."

She stalks closer, forcing me to scuttle backwards on my hands. Panic overtakes the jealousy, chilling my blood and sending my muscles into a frenzy as my nerves desperately try to transmit signals. As she walks, fire licks at the mats behind her, leaving a blackened footprint.

Jesus Christ, it's like watching a female Satan rise from Hell.

My back hits the wall of the arena, knocking the air from my lungs, and I use it as a support to stand. She moves like a dancer, taking beautiful, balanced strides. Both of her hands are aflame now, and the heat is a living, breathing monster threatening to eat me alive.