Page 20 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Horace was close behind, so I crawled across the carpet as fast as I could. I needed to get away.

Horace yelled after me, “Come back, cousin! Explain it to me!” His voice was loud and desperate. “I thought we were friends?”

Great, I was being chased by a specter of the man I’d murdered.

Normal girly things.

I stumbled to my feet, grabbed the door, and wrenched it open.

The red light was too bright, and I struggled to focus on the empty black marble corridor. Chandeliers and stained-glass windows refracted brightness everywhere. It burned my corneas.

“Come back, friend!” Horace yelled. “I did nothing wrong.”

Great, I was being gaslit by a ghost.

I needed to get away.

Now.

I sprinted.

Lightning streaked down the halls, and my teeth hurt from the electricity traveling through the marble.

The great hall was only a few doors down. I rubbed at the tattoo on my hip as I ran and prepared for the pain. Still, I had to try.

I slipped through the open doors and walked into the party. It was as dark as the bedroom, but bursts of neon lights flashed every few seconds.

It was disorienting.

Loud.

The music was cranked up to a decibel level that made my bones vibrate and my chest hurt. The sweaty crowd flowed like a hive, and I let myself be pulled around by the frenzy of gyrating bodies.

I rubbed harder at the tattoo on my hip.

No pain came.

The bedroom must have been close enough to the party that the slave brand hadn’t acted up. Or all three of the kings had died in their sleep.

It was definitely the latter.

For once the sun god had truly blessed me. If I could cry, I would have sobbed with relief.

My eyes were bone-dry.

Tipping my head back, pipe between my lips, I closed my eyes and lost myself to the music. Celebrated the demise of my enemies.

It was so loud that I couldn’t hear Horace yelling at me. The bass was so deep that I couldn’t see Tara.

A man grabbed my hips and pulled me back against his crotch.

A voice slurred in my ears, “Hello, my pretty princess. You visiting?” Hands groped my hips and ass roughly. “I haven’t seen you around.”

White horns curled off the top of the head of the blond man who was touching me.

I was no man’s princess. However, I was a whore.

Being a slut wasn’t a title, it was a lifestyle.

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