Page 50 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

With Orion draped all over him, he looked like a painting. The title would be The Carnal Delights of Monsters. Or something equally off-putting and sexy.

Scorpius showed off the tattoo of a snake eating its own tail that was wrapped in four chains. He proudly said, “Arabella is now our slave, and she can’t leave our presence without pain.”

Chains glinted as they rotated on pale flesh.

John stumbled back and leaned against the bed as he clearly recognized the symbol.

Dark eyes widened.

He looked at me with horror.

John had been present when Lothaire had forcibly taken me from the realm to bind my life to the kings, but just like me, he hadn’t realized it was through slavery.

I sucked on my pipe and nodded gravely.

John choked.

Darkness expanded around him like it was sentient.

It didn’t take analytical skills to see that John was not fully human, but I had no clue what type of creature wielded literal darkness.

The darkness dissipated, and John’s expression changed from furious to concerned.

He hugged me and said, “I get why you were having a pity party.”

“It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” I whispered.

John squeezed me tightly, then asked, “Should we kill them?”

“The kings?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm,” he confirmed as he played with one of my curls.

“For sure.” I closed my eyes and enjoyed his warmth. “But right now? That seems a little aggressive.”

Sometimes a girl was just too tired to murder. My creative killing juices weren’t flowing.

Yes, my depression was definitely impeding me from living my best life. I was aware. Just another thing to talk to Dr. Palmer about if I survived this realm.

John wrapped my curl around his finger. “We might as well just do it now.”

“Maybe?” It was all sorts of complicated with my lives tied to theirs, and my headache was making it hard to think. “You decide.”

John tugged at my curl. “Come on, I don’t want to choose.”

“I decided to kill Horace all by myself last time,” I pointed out.

John sighed and mumbled against me, “You’re being a bitch.”

“Don’t try to goad me into action.” I pulled back from his embrace. “You know it’s your turn to choose if we kill someone. You can’t just expect me to always decide. That’s rude.”

We glared at each other.

Someone growled, and the pitch was reminiscent of whiskey, cigarettes, and broken glass.

“Are you two done?” Malum snapped. “Neither of you is going to kill us.”

“Now who’s acting like they’re on their period?” I pointed at Malum and arched my brow.

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