Page 177 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Here the truth was obvious: Enchanted words were carved into my back. Mother’s rare enchantment must be mutating. It was the only thing that made sense.

I was. So. Screwed.

Malum’s eye twitched as he stared at me like he knew I was full of shit.

I stared back with a bored expression.

He burst into flames.

I sighed heavily. Men were exhausting.

“What’s going on?” Scorpius asked, sleepy as he pushed himself off the bedroom floor next to my bed. Orion mumbled and sat up with him.

For some reason, all three of the kings had been lying on the floor near John’s bed while I slept (sleep being a generous term for coma).

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Orion mouthed, and his angelic features scrunched up with concern.

For a second, I wanted to shake my head and say no. I wanted to tell him about Mother and the word carved into my back. I wanted to seek shelter in his beauty and the kindness he was offering.

I stared into his warm, inviting eyes and forgot to breathe.

“Baby,” he mouthed as he reached his hand forward and trailed it across the side of my face.

Chocolate raspberries filled my nose, and I closed my eyes. Rested against his golden fingers and let him hold me.

He stroked me softly.

A lover’s caress.

My lashes fluttered against his palm.

“Sweetheart, why were you convulsing in the shower?” he whispered softly, his lyrical voice wrapping around me like a cocoon of warmth.

The words were on the edge of my lips.

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and I leaned against the touch.

I let myself pretend.

That he hadn’t stalked me down the hall like he wanted to hurt me.

The former without the latter was hot. The former with the latter was serial killer shit, and not the endearing fictional kind Sadie was always going on about.

It was the energy of the real-life male serial killers that were hunted down by the High Court and disemboweled publicly as a crowd cheered. While it was true that sometimes even modern-day killers had fans, I’d always made it a point to cheer extra loud as their intestines spilled out.

As the great Olympus philosopher Razarith had said, “The ends always justify the means. No exceptions.”

If Orion hunted women, then I’d hunt him. No exceptions.

I pulled my head away from his lips.

For a second, he grabbed the back of my head and held me still like he wasn’t going to let me go.

It was the reminder I needed.

He was breathtakingly stunning, but he wasn’t gentle.

It was a mirage.

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