Page 62 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

“Don’t touch her,” John said darkly.

Scorpius’s nails gouged me harder.

Orion was suddenly inches away from my face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he mouthed. His gaze flickered to where his mate held me, and his pupils expanded.

His tongue snaked out.

I’d never noticed that his upper lip was fuller than his lower lip, and it gave him the appearance of a perpetual pout.

I stared at his mouth. The remnants of raspberries and chocolate still lingered on my tongue. The urge to lean forward and press myself against him was overwhelming.

A few days ago, he’d kissed me.

I ripped my gaze away from temptation and forced my expression to harden.

Everything had changed.

“Your mates are calling me a slave,” I whispered back. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

His pouty lips furled into a snarl, and his pupils dilated until he didn’t look soft. He looked mean. Angry.

Orion grabbed Scorpius’s arms and ripped his grip off me. The blind devil’s nails scratched down the side of my neck.

Pain streaked across the letters on my back.

I moved closer to John.

The royal students sitting closest to us weren’t blocked by John, and they stared up at us with open mouths.

We ignored them.

Scorpius bared his teeth as he backed up, and the harsh shadows on his sculpted face made him look like an animal.

“Simmer,” I said patronizingly.

He made an obscene gesture with his hands, and Orion stepped in front of him so the rest of the hall wouldn’t see.

“Stop being so obsessed with me,” I whispered as I turned to John. “Some people are so rude, interrupting other people’s conversations.”

John tsked under his breath. “You just can’t teach class these days.”

We grinned at each other.

Respectfully, we were hilarious.

Malum, who’d been standing in formation and paying attention to everything Lothaire said like a good little soldier, leaned toward us. “He’s right. You two need to shut up and pay attention.”

He shuffled to the side.

The demons glared over at him, confused why he was pushing out of formation.

It became clear what he was doing when he inserted a fat thigh between John and me as he tried to push himself between us.

John yanked me to his side so we were pressed against each other.

There was nowhere for Malum to go.

I whispered in John’s ear, “At least we’re not named Corvus Malum. Talk about a mouthful. His mother must have hated him. I think the name Mitch suits him better.”

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