Page 107 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Every day, I got sexier and funnier.

It took a little prodding the carpet with my fingers to discover that I was lying on pieces of a mattress.

A stiff green sheet was wrapped around me, preserving my modesty.

Two makeshift mattress pads were spread out next to me and soaked in blood.

Somehow the clothes I’d been given still covered my body. At least what was left of my body.

Mounds of skin were spread across—

I gagged and looked away.

“What happened to the room?” I asked John as I plugged my nose and tried to process what I was seeing. His hand on my back was gentle as he helped support me.

He sighed heavily.

“Apparently, it’s part of the games. Competitors don’t get access to Lyla or any medical supplies. Each legion has to make do with a single first aid kit and help one another heal. We called for the servants, but they aren’t allowed to come in for five days after each competition. Something about not wanting people to have any outside assistance.”

Lothaire’s strange use of the term health management during his little welcome speech suddenly made sense.

My voice was scratchy. “What happened? You guys scraped our carcasses off the lawn and brought us back here to heal?”

John winked and pulled at the stethoscope hanging across his neck.

“That’s literally exactly what happened.” He raked his hand through his sweaty hair. “Witch John, at your service. As you can see, I sped up the healing process by helping push all your”—his smile wobbled—“pieces back into place.”

Since it felt like my arms were about to fall out of their sockets, I believed him.

“But don’t worry, I fixed everything.” John pointed at my arm.

A small yellow bandage was placed over a tiny, centimeter-long cut on my hand. The yellow rectangle was next to a gaping wound that ran up my forearm. My sleeve was pushed up to expose it.

We both watched as I moved my arm and blood gurgled out of the open wound.

I wheezed, then made a serious expression. “Thank the sun god you put that on. What would I do without you, John?”

He flashed his dimples. “You’re welcome. No need to thank me. I live to serve.”

I prodded at the bandaged paper cut. “Yes, I can see that. Did you clean the cut first? I can tell. It looks great.”

A mischievous glint sparked in his dark eyes. “Actually, I just rubbed some dirt and spit on it.”

“Oh, perfect.” I nodded. “Very nice.”

John’s glint turned into a full-on sparkle. “Well, as your doctor, there’s only one thing left to do.” He leaned forward with his lips puckered like he was going to kiss my wound.

I debated causing a scene.

Too much work.

His puckered lips trembled.

I arched my brow. “No, please. Proceed. Kiss my bleeding wound, ye o powerful witch.”

John narrowed his eyes and got closer slowly, clearly waiting for me to call his bluff.

His lips gently touched my wound.

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