Page 112 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

John laid his arm over my shoulders softly as he struggled to position himself. The beds weren’t meant to accommodate two tall people. No wonder the demons and kings were always tangled together.

John’s voice trailed off like he was falling asleep. “Please, we both know which one of us has a farting problem.”

I buried my head under a pillow. “It was just that one night. Those tacos were killer.”

“Sure, Aran. The first step to getting help is admitting you have a problem.”

The last thought that drifted through my mind before sleep claimed me was, he doesn’t call me Arabella like the kings. I like the sound of my name on his lips.

Chapter 17

Aran

BLOODY EYES

The Legionnaire Games: Day 27, hour 11

“Fucking slut,” a demonic beast growled as it ripped the warm covers off me.

There was a loud smacking noise as the bed bounced. The furnace I’d been pressed against disappeared.

I shivered.

Another demonic beast sneered, “Whore.”

They definitely didn’t mean it in a coquette way. Embarrassing for them.

“Oh, look,” I said as I squinted open my crusty eyes. “Three bastards with mommy issues and the emotional maturity of dead fish.”

“We don’t have mothers,” Scorpius snapped.

The jokes really wrote themselves.

Grabbing at the covers, I pulled them over my head and said, “Exactly.” Again, they were ripped away, and goose bumps erupted across my partially healed legs.

Someone had opened the room’s curtains, and the red light from the eclipse was too bright.

I pulled my hoodie up over my head and told my attackers, “You’re a bunch of soulless, demonic men.”

“Hey, that’s offensive,” Vegar said across the room.

I winced.

“Sorry, let me rephrase.” I waved my hands. “The Devil Kings in this room are horrible pieces of shit. Everyone else is chill. I have no beef with the demon and pathetic human communities.”

John huffed. “Who are you calling pathetic, Princess? Because I know it’s not me.” His laughter was low and smooth. “If you knew what I was, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

I pulled the hoodie away from my eyes.

John was standing beside his bed in nothing but loose gray sweatpants.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked and pointedly looked away from his impressive naked torso.

John flashed a dimple and winked. “You don’t want to know.”

Keeping my eyes on the ceiling, I held my hands toward him. “Get back into bed. You’re like a giant heating pad, and I’m cold.”

I grinned as John immediately leaned forward to snuggle into my arms.

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