Page 18 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

He waved his hand at the wall, which was vibrating with the music from the party still raging in the great hall. “The celebration should last for the next three days. I will be back before it’s over. No one leaves this room. Do you understand?” His voice dripped with menace.

“Yes, sir.” It took every ounce of control I possessed to bow my head like I was subservient.

If Lothaire wasn’t the key to finding our missing mate—flames trailed up the back of my hand and crawled up my arm—he would be dead.

“I’m trusting you,” Lothaire said as he took another step closer. “All three of you.”

Then he was gone.

Scorpius wrapped his arms around me and Orion and dragged us into our bed. Orion reached over and pulled the string that closed all the blinds on the stained-glass window.

Red light was replaced with darkness.

A yellow sheen glowed across Orion’s eyes, and I knew mine had a similar glint.

Devils had night vision.

Arabella smoked and stared at the ceiling, unaware that predators were watching her.

And she was our prey.

Chapter 3

Aran

DRUGS

The beginning: Shackles—Day 3, hour 21

Sixty-eight hours, three minutes, and fourteen seconds had passed since Lothaire left me in the room with the kings and told me to wait.

Not that I was counting.

The room was dark and cold. Soft snores sounded from across the room. The kings were asleep or dead.

I prayed that their wheezing was a symptom of rigor mortis.

The fireplace was empty, and no flames screamed at me like usual. Disappointing. I missed the shrieks.

The screaming flames added a certain je ne sais quoi to the room. An ambiance if you will.

They matched my aesthetic.

Yes, my aesthetic was mental illness; no, I didn’t want to talk about it.

I wanted to wallow. That was the bloody point.

Now the room was creepily quiet.

It was pitch-black. Even after my eyes adjusted, I could only see a few inches in front of my face. Immediately after I’d gotten the tattoo, I’d been able to see sharper and more colors, but the effect had faded.

A heavy bass thumped as the party raged in the great hall. The pounding music made my bed vibrate beneath me.

At least the darkness was giving a depressive ambiance.

I’d been fine when I first got back to the room, if you defined fine as a state of being in perpetual agony and manically hallucinating. The delusion was that I thought I was fine.

It was a vicious cycle.

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