Page 178 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Why did I keep forgetting?

I yanked away from him roughly and pushed at his chest until he took a step back from the bed.

Orion’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he realized I was rebuffing him.

He fisted his hands.

His chest heaved as he pulled at his blond hair and stared at me. Like he could hypnotize me with his gaze.

I looked down at the covers.

What did he expect? My fictional lover would never chase me. Not like that.

Was it too much to ask for a man to fall on his knees at the sight of me and treat me like a delicate doll that would break if she wasn’t protected because he thought I was perfect?

John pushed past the kings and held a cup to my lips. I gulped the refreshing water, grateful for a distraction from the devils. I choked as I inhaled too fast.

“Aw, there’s my special girl. Can’t even drink water correctly,” John said as he patted my head like I was an idiot.

I glared up at him.

Orion made a wounded sound as I refused to look over at him, and Malum growled like he was protecting his mate.

I choked harder on the water.

The three kings crowded by the bed, and the weight of their attention was heavy on my shoulders.

I didn’t look up at Orion. I didn’t breathe, because Scorpius was listening. Sweat dripped down my face from the heat of Malum’s flames. I didn’t wipe it away.

As much as I tried to ignore them, the kings’ presence was overwhelming.

“Good girl,” John whispered as he wiped water gently off my chin.

I smiled instinctively, then glared as I realized what I was doing.

Orion made a weird noise.

The temperature spiked hotter.

If I could see auras like a witch, I’d bet all the gold in the fae palace that all three of the kings’ would be maroon. The color of spilled blood, aggression, lust, evil.

John brushed a curl behind my ear and asked softly, “How do you feel?”

I gave him a hesitant smile but stared at the cup because I couldn’t look into his kind eyes. The throbbing ache between my legs reminded me of what we’d done.

What I’d done to him.

John stroked a curl off my forehead, and I struggled to swallow around the lump in my throat.

John was too good for me. His aura was probably gold. The color of friendship, compassion, generosity.

The kings stood beside the bed at my feet.

John stood beside my head.

I imagined my aura engulfed the space between them. Mine was black. Depression, bleakness, heaviness, and suffering.

After I’d finished drinking all the water in the cup, there was nothing left to distract me from my guilty conscience.

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