Page 50 of Psycho Beasts

Aran shrieked and immediately flicked it off.

The sound was blood-curdling.

I gaped at her.

The horrified expression on her face turned into laughter, and soon she was on her knees, gasping like a maniac.

Aran’s voice shook. “I’m scared of fire and blood. I’m disguised as a boy with an enchantment that isn’t strong enough to change my vagina into a dick. My best friend is being initiated into a scary gang and looks awful. Also, as we speak, I’m probably being hunted by insanely powerful fae.”

On her hands and knees on the plush carpet, she inhaled raggedly, like she was drowning in the air.

Her horrifying reaction to the flames seemed to echo through the opulent space.

Aran choked like she was sobbing, but her eyes were bone-dry and unfocused.

My gut told me she couldn’t cry even if she wanted to.

Stomach in knots, I collapsed onto my aching knees beside her and patted her head.

Morbidly, my shaking hands were discolored with blue-black bruises, the hues similar to the lowlights in her short turquoise hair.

As my best friend gasped in horror, I silently trembled in the aftermath of torture.

There was nothing to say to comfort her.

Our situations were too depressing for meaningless platitudes.

But like Aran, I didn’t cry.

Somewhere among discovering I was part of a lost race of ancient fae, infecting the fae queen with my blood, and getting tortured by Spike, I’d gone cold.

Maybe it was the true disposition of my heritage. Maybe it was shock. Most likely, it was just torture.

Either way, I was empty.

Finally, after what could have been minutes or hours, Aran stopped choking and sat back on her heels.

Her tormented expression smoothed away as she rebuilt her calm facade.

The distressed person was gone, and in her place sat a cold, emotionless fae. Just like Ascher, she expertly concealed her feelings.

Abruptly, Aran straightened and smiled pleasantly. “I call the right side of the bed.”

I nodded, still not understanding why we had to sleep in the same room.

As Aran sensed my hesitation, her smile fell. “I can’t sleep alone. Please. The nights have always been a…bad time for me.”

The unspoken truth, that her mother used to hurt her in the night, hung heavy between us.

I grabbed her hand in mine. In that moment, as we sprawled together on the floor, déjà vu settled over me.

Aran’s experiences were eerily similar to my own.

My skin prickled with premonition. We were always so busy trying to survive the present that it felt like we were missing the big picture. In a few months, it had gone from a hunch to a burning surety that we were missing something crucial.

The High Court, the different realms, that I was a blood fae, Aran’s black eyes, the dark poems that kept taking over people’s bodies around us.

It only happened when we were together.

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