Page 196 of Psycho Gods

What he described was the bloodiest, most gruesome tournament known to man.

I felt sick to my stomach listening to how they’d been hunted through the woods when they were still teenagers.

Malum spoke about enduring torture like it was nothing.

He talked about how he’d learned to rely on Scorpius’s advanced hearing for tracking, and how Orion’s enthralling voice had saved them an infinite number of times.

Then he talked about how he’d unleashed his flames on the other competitors.

The rules banned full use of mate powers, so they hunted down the other competitors like animals and killed them. One by one, Malum lit them on fire.

It was a savage, gruesome tale.

It was awe-inspiring.

When he was done explaining how they’d survived, half-beaten for weeks with barely any food and water, he picked up his tea and took a sip.

Jinx and I blinked at him.

“Does that give you—nightmares?” I asked cautiously, unable to reconcile how someone could survive such an ordeal and still function.

Malum shrugged and rubbed at his chest. “No. Physical pain is not what I’m afraid of. It’s never been my weakness.”

A strange sensation unfurled around my heart.

I understood. A broken bone would heal and bruised skin would recover because the violence of a blow was temporary.

It was mental pain that crushed you relentlessly into smithereens.

You didn’t heal overnight.

It was a long-festering suffering that persisted as long as the conditions that fostered it remained, and sometimes long after they’d gone.

Mental pain lingered.

It would take an insane life change—I’d have to live in a peaceful realm that was fully sheltered from violence and war—before I’d even hope to recover.

I’d take a punch to the face over the feelings of emptiness any day.

“I know exactly what you mean,” I whispered as I stared at Malum like I was seeing him for the first time.

The tea in his hand shook.

He stared back at me with haunted silver eyes, and it felt like I was staring into a mirror.

“Someday, both of us will feel whole,” he whispered. “The mental pain will lessen—it has to.” His voice cracked like he was trying to reassure himself.

Before I could think through what I was doing, I reached forward and laid my hand across his. “I agree. We’re going to heal,” I said with conviction. “I have a good feeling about us.” The truth of my words strummed through me.

Then, because bronze cheekbones still blushed pink as he stared at me, I added, “Thank you for sharing your past. I enjoy talking to you—not as enemies.”

Pink became scarlet.

His fingers trembled and tea spilled. He wiped at the mess as he cleared his throat. “It’s nice, getting to know each other.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s do it more often.”

“It’s a plan,” I said and a strange warmth zinged in my chest.

There was something about this disheveled, blushing version of the fire king that brought down all my defenses.