Page 27 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Everything about her had me off-kilter.

She pulled at her loose sweatpants and clawed at her skin like she was going to rip off the tattoo with her bare nails.

Annoyance sparked.

How dare she want to remove the tattoo? She should be honored to be bound to us.

I shook my head at the irrational thoughts and grabbed her wrist. It was pathetically small, and my fingers overlapped twice.

The girl was fine-boned, for fuck’s sake.

Gross.

She had long limbs, and the lean, cut muscles of a dancer.

Soldiers needed width. Thick muscles to protect us from the elements and weapons.

She wasn’t built for war.

We were.

Even Orion, who was built slightly shorter and leaner than Scorpius and me, was still covered in layers of impressive muscles. Our size, just like our tattoos, reflected what we were.

Power incarnate.

Arabella tried pathetically to wrench her arm from my punishing hold.

“Stop it,” I snarled. “You will not remove the tattoo until we find our fourth.” I tightened my hand until her bone creaked. “If you remove it, we’ll immediately have a new tattoo branded on you,” I lied through my teeth.

The ringing silence of our missing mate bond hung heavy around us and was testament to the fact that I’d never willingly agree to another binding.

Arabella saw through my ploy and scoffed, “If I remove it, you won’t ever find me. You have nothing over me.”

I exploded into flames.

She called my bluff so easily it was infuriating. Could she not be agreeable for five fucking seconds?

I held her tighter.

“But, Arabella, Daddy wants you protected.” Scorpius laughed as he crouched beside me. “We’re only in this predicament because he’s convinced you’re so weak you’ll be immediately killed.”

His milky eyes flashed with cruelty, and his sharp jaw was tight.

Scorpius had never liked Aran and had raged over Orion’s infatuation with the pathetic boy. Now he could do something about it.

I almost pitied the girl.

Almost being the key word.

Scorpius leaned closer so his breath fanned against both our cheeks. “Actually, you should cut the tattoo off.”

He shuddered dramatically. “I can’t wait to hear the sounds as you’re brutally murdered without our protection. You’ll scream for help, and we won’t move a muscle to assist.”

He smiled like he meant it.

I didn’t miss the way his hands were balled into fists or how his voice had the edge it always did when he was stressed and trying to hide it.

His words were cruel, but his body language didn’t match them.

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