Page 282 of Psycho Beasts

Small skirmishes, allies, foes—all with changing allegiances—and every player possessed an agenda uniquely their own.

Game theory at its finest.

But how could I respond and best him when I didn’t know his motive?

The facts I knew: He called me Aran, he referred to me only as a man, he was referencing the event three weeks ago when I’d killed Sadie’s attackers, and he’d come at night with the purpose of unsettling me.

Plausible deduction: He wasn’t here for the fae queen, and he wanted something of me that I wouldn’t want to give.

Exhale smoke, inhale calm.

I shrugged. “I’m not the person you seek. Don’t know anything about a power anomaly. Why are you here?”

First rule of game theory: You don’t give away information.

A threatening rumble filled the foyer.

He stalked forward.

Fuck.

I’d miscalculated. Game theory assumes all actors are rational.

Without warning, Lothaire slammed his fangs into my neck.

Stabbing pain, then exquisite pleasure blinded through me, and the enchanted wound on my back burned like I’d been set on fire.

I bit down on my lip to stop from screaming.

Lothaire stumbled away from me, wiping blood off his mouth. His voice was raspy with surprise. “Who are you? What are you? Why are you so powerful?”

Shit. I’m a few wrong moves from him figuring out I’m not even Aran, that I’m Arabella.

I rolled out my shoulders slowly, like I was stretching. Like the wound on my back wasn’t filleting me with agony.

Nonchalantly, I said, “Water fae. I’m a cousin of the monarchy. Aran Egan.”

In a battle, the best lies were those closest to the truth.

Lightning cracked, and highlighted Lothaire’s harsh features.

His lips pulled into a smile, and his scar puckered tight across his missing eye. He stared down at me with unnatural stillness as he crowded my personal space. “Are you sure you’re fae, Aran Egan? You have quite the power in your blood.”

My face was a blank mask, eyes dead, muscles permanently relaxed with boredom.

With haughty male arrogance, I rolled my eyes. “Obviously I know who I am. I’m Aran, cousin of the royal family, and water fae.”

My body language screamed that his question was preposterous.

Lothaire smiled like he’d won the war.

“Perfect. Congratulations, Aran Egan, water fae, you’ve officially been enrolled at Elite Academy.”

My mask fell. “Excuse me?”

“This is a highly coveted institution and I expect you to perform rigorously.” Lothaire’s smile transformed into an outright snarl.

Thunder boomed.

“Classes start tomorrow.”

Before I could protest, reanalyze the situation, and decide the best path forward, Lothaire grabbed my arm. “We leave now.”

Flames exploded. And we disappeared.

To be continued

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