Only idiots would venture up a mountain in a blizzard, and here we stood because of Malum.
It made sense.
He stretched his flaming arms out wide. “I’ll take your lack of response as a yes—let’s do this. Are you sure you don’t want to use your wings? Knox says they are the source of your power.”
I gave him a death glare. “I’m sure.”
There was a 0 percent chance I was taking off my coat and exposing my wings in the middle of a blizzard.
Knox kept saying that our power generated from our wings, but Mother had lit me on fire nightly and she didn’t have them. He could shove his bad advice where the sun didn’t shine.
My fingers curled in my warm mittens.
After our morning fight （Malum had an episode and I watched）， he ranted on and on about responsibility and the importance of making progress.
Then he’d dragged me up the side of a mountain.
“Like I said earlier,” he said, like he thought talking about it more would change something, “I think it will be helpful for you to use your powers against my flames without all of us being present—I think we were trying too much at once. Let’s start small.”
I glared at him as my teeth chattered together.
Starting small would have been me trying to put out a fireplace while warm and cozy indoors.
“Okay, I’m going to release my fire—get ready.” He bent his knees and took a step away from me. “I don’t think it should be that much because the other men aren’t present.”
Flames roared as he exploded.
I was not ready.
Scarlet fire hissed as it fought against the blizzard. The wind sent red shooting out in all directions like a sadistic flamethrower.
I put my hands forward to get a little warmth.
It felt delicious.
If only I had some marshmallows and chocolate; suddenly I was craving s’mores.
“Try to stop me now!” Malum bellowed as he waved his arms. Ice melted around him, and the rocks in his vicinity caught fire.
Sucking on my pipe, I tried to figure out the best way to kill him while exerting the least amount of energy.
I patted my pockets.
I didn’t have a gun.
Regrettable.
Flames leaped higher off him. “Give it your best shot!”
Raising my hands before me, I imagined the ice that always dripped from my fingers crawled toward the flames and put them out.
Nothing happened.
Snow mixed with fire and the elements roared.
Malum tipped his head back and screamed out fire.
There was no doubt in my mind, he was the dragon of the House of Malum.
I pulled off my warm mittens and stuck them into my pockets. My bare fingers were immediately covered in a sheen of ice that had nothing to do with the weather. I pointed them toward Malum.
Scarlet leaped off him, toward me, like solar flares on a sun.
The ice thawed off my fingers.
I put my hands under my armpits.
Hopping up and down to warm myself, I yelled, “It’s not working!”
Exhaustion weighed down my bones, and my eyelids felt too heavy for my face. The urge to curl up under the flames and sleep was overwhelming.
Not again.
“Stab me with your feather, that worked before!” Malum yelled as his flames shot toward me with increasing frequency.
He took a step forward.
I basked in his warmth.
He gestured toward his stomach, and I realized he was showing where I should stab him.
My stomach pinched at the thought of purposefully making him bleed. That, or something I’d eaten wasn’t sitting right.
I scowled. “Knox said our feathers are precious! I’m not wasting one on stabbing you.”
Malum made an aggressive hand gesture that seemed to indicate annoyance, but it was hard to tell because his face was engulfed in fire so I couldn’t see his expression. “I’ve seen you make ice claws, use that!”
“Fine,” I said.
Snow gathered on my lashes and made it hard to see. Somewhere far above in the howling gray, Horse cawed out encouragement.
I once again extended my hands like an idiot.
Mother had never done something so idiotic.
A wild thought struck me, and I snapped my fingers like she always had and pictured Malum writhing in pain.
I waited.
Nothing happened.
Honestly, in retrospect, it was probably for the best that I didn’t have torture powers （I was a little disappointed）。
I focused on ice claws, and within seconds, cobalt serrated edges extended from my fingers.
I admired them but frowned as I pulled them closer because the ice dug into the edges of my nails. Blood dripped down my hand. Holy fucking sun god. I scoffed in disbelief. Now I knew why my cuticles were so ruined.