Page 109 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

“Stop it,” I demanded with outrage.

The stabbing sensation sent pain exploding, but the pulling sensation that followed had my stomach rolling. John stuck his tongue out between his teeth as he concentrated.

He narrowed his eyes as he stared at my arm wound and mumbled, “You’re doing amazing, Princess, just about five hundred more little stabby stabs.”

“This can’t be happening,” I said as the horrible sensation washed over me.

John said calmly, “Corvus stitched up Orion, and then the demons helped Scorpius stitch Corvus. We think the string is enchanted because they healed about twelve hours after they fixed them.”

A part of me melted at the thought of Malum stitching up his mate while he was injured himself. It made my heart hurt.

The long silver needle glinted in the light, and I grimaced.

“Why aren’t they sewing me up, then? Are you sure you’re qualified?” I asked John skeptically.

John’s expression hardened, and his eyes flashed. “No one touches you but me.”

He stabbed me again.

I grimaced, then stated the obvious, “Slightly concerning that you just said that.”

John winked. “The truth hurts.” His posture relaxed as he stabbed me again.

“You’re so weird,” I groaned as the horrible sensation of thread pulling through flesh lasted for a couple of long seconds. “I’d prefer to bleed out slowly.”

John narrowed his eyes as he concentrated on closing my wound. He said, “I hate to bring this up, but neither Corvus nor Orion made a single noise of complaint while the demons stitched them.”

“I don’t care,” I huffed.

In reality, if I lost to them, I’d off myself.

John pushed the needle through my flesh and I didn’t make a single noise of complaint.

Instead, I lay backward on the makeshift cot and exhaled Horse. He hovered over my face, flapping, and stared down at me like he knew I needed the distraction.

I counted his feathers.

One at a time.

I inhaled as much of the enchanted drugs as I could and pretended I wasn’t getting stabbed by my friend.

Time ticked by slowly.

The only sound was John whispering encouragements every few seconds.

“You’re doing amazing,” he praised. “You’re so fucking strong and impressive.” He started sewing up another wound and murmured, “That’s it, just breathe slowly, Princess.”

Everything was a jumble of pain.

Seconds bled slowly into minutes, then dragged into hours.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” John mumbled under his breath absentmindedly as he worked on a gash on my forehead.

Suddenly, I forgot how to breathe.

A different type of pain streaked across my spine.

He’s your friend, don’t make it weird. You’re just confused and have lost a lot of blood.

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