Page 4 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Lothaire pulled at his scalp and stalked over to his desk while muttering about a guardian and righteous path under his breath. He threw papers around like he was searching for something.

He muttered frantically about secrets.

He was losing it.

“Why do you guys have sex with other people if you’re so into each other?” the feminine voice asked.

I gritted my teeth and pretended that she didn’t exist.

She said louder, “Seems kind of disloyal.”

I concentrated on the hush of the dusty classroom. The perverse sense of tranquility that accompanied the quiet.

Dust particles floated in the stillness, and the red rays of the eclipse made everything glow like it was dipped in blood.

Like we were all drenched in it.

“Personally, I wouldn’t be getting with other people.” She sucked loudly on her pipe. “But that’s just me.”

The calmness I’d experienced while embracing my mates disappeared.

My control snapped.

I said in a menacing tone, “Don’t you fucking dare speak to us.”

I pushed my men behind me protectively as I glared over at Arabella.

She rolled her eyes and turned to the side, like she was trying to make it clear that she was now ignoring me.

Ruby-red lips parted and slowly blew out a cloud of smoke.

A tortured growl escaped my throat at her haughty expression, and flames trailed across my arms.

She arched her brow as she stared at her pipe, then her body sagged. Dainty fingers rubbed tiredly at her forehead and dragged across delicately arched cheekbones. Cuts littered her skin from Lothaire throwing her into the window before she revealed her identity.

Her flesh slowly knit back together and healed before my eyes.

I hated Aran, but I preferred him to the creature in front of me. The pathetic woman.

She was a fucking joke.

Everything about Arabella—the too-pretty face; delicate bone structure; long, curly blue hair—was proof that Aran had never existed.

She had put everyone at risk with her masquerade.

We trained and fought together in life-or-death situations. Our unit was only as strong as our weakest soldier, and in the heat of battle, trust in one another was sometimes all we had.

She’d betrayed us all.

Behind me, my blind mate asked, “What is she doing? Is the slave gloating?”

“No,” Orion whispered quietly to Scorpius. “She’s smoking and looking at her pipe like she’s bored. Now she’s yawning. She looks sad.”

My mates stepped forward and flanked me.

Scorpius glowered. Malice radiated off him like he disagreed with Orion’s assessment. So did I.

In contrast, my gentle mate stared at Arabella with wide eyes.

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