Page 369 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

I was nothing more than a tool.

“For the greater good,” Dick loved to say.

He had no remorse.

I had misery.

I convulsed silently as the projection of the night sky swirled on the ceiling above me. It was audacious of the High Court to refer to this primitive island as “Elite.”

Lately, everything felt like a joke of cosmic proportion.

But no one was laughing.

I swallowed roughly as my eyes glossed with tears, and I cursed my fragile physical state for the millionth time.

My weak body had allowed for this complete incarceration. Still, crying, whining, or talking about it with other people was a useless endeavor that would do nothing to alleviate the reality of the situation.

Warren whimpered against my nape.

The shifter was the only person who partially knew what I was going through. I’d wiped his memories a few times in the beast realm, but he’d kept catching me having episodes, and it was too exhausting to silence him.

He’d agreed to not share my secrets on the condition that he stayed by my side for protection.

It was pure blackmail. It almost made me respect him.

Warren whined again as his whiskers tickled against the tears streaking down my cheeks.

Almost was the key word.

“Stop complaining,” I whispered. “You’ll alert the others.”

Warren was insufferably melancholic about the entire ordeal of me being electrocuted against my will at night. I flagellated myself every day for being blackmailed by such a pathetic person.

But I had much bigger problems than a clingy teenage shifter.

My fingers twitched as my cranium throbbed.

“Do not fail us in the showcase, Guardian. If you do, you will be exterminated,” the Angel Consciousness said snootily into my mind.

The throbbing intensified.

Speaking of idiots.

There were layers to my subjugation.

My purpose wasn’t linear, it was circular and convoluted. The various threads wrapped around my neck like a noose.

Each one more dangerous than the last.

More deadly.

About ten years ago, Dick forced me to do the unthinkable and two lives were irrevocably changed. Ironically, I’d been fourteen years old when I’d committed the atrocity. About the same age I masqueraded as now.

At such a tender age, I’d used my abilities and mutilated two people.

Forever.

My only excuse was the High Court had promised me freedom if I did it.

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