Psycho Devils: Aran’s Story Book 2 (Cruel Shifterverse 5)
Psycho Devils: Chapter 16

The Legionnaire Games: Day 26, hour 23

I rolled over and tried to scream, but breathy moans were all my shredded throat produced.

Every inhale.

Every exhale.

Every muscle twitched.

Sent tendrils of stabbing pain across my senses.

With jerky movements, I searched desperately for what I needed. Panic and desperation made me a shaking mess.

I couldn’t replace it.

“Calm down, Aran.” A pipe was pushed gently between my cracked lips. “The fact that this damn thing survived the drop is ridiculous.”

Inhaling smoke, I sagged backward with relief and grinned through the pain.

Drugs made everything better.

All was well.

Yes, I was delusional. Next question.

A hand pushed gently against my shoulder, and John said, “No. You don’t get to smile after taking years off my life like that.”

I smiled bigger.

John huffed. “You crazy bitch. I promised myself I’d yell at you after you fell headfirst like an idiot. But I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

I grunted out smoke and nodded as I peeled open my blood-crusted eyes.

John’s face was inches from mine.

A huge grin split his face and showcased his cute dimples. “There are those pretty blue eyes. Did you know one of your eyes has a little gray in it? Kind of freaky.”

He winked.

The bedroom warped behind him, and everything became a mess of squiggly lines as my eyes unfocused.

“Alert the realms, the queen has fully risen,” John announced dramatically and flung his head down across my legs. “All must bow to Her Excellency!”

He kept bowing.

A chuckle burst from my lungs, but the noise that came out of my mouth was somewhere between a dying moan and a banshee’s howl.

“How long out for?” I croaked.

John’s smile slipped. “Three days.” He stared down at me intensely. “Corvus woke up two days ago, and Orion woke up yesterday. We were all starting to panic about you.”

I grimaced as I tried to haul myself into a seated position.

The scent hit me first.

Copper and bile.

The sight hit me next.

My eyes burned as I blinked away the crust and took it all in. The clean bedroom with the ornate cream carpets, crackling fireplace, and fluffy emerald sheets was gone. It was filthy.

The white carpets were stained pink in some sections and bright red in others.

Blood arcs had splattered across the wall.

Bedsheets were torn to pieces.

Of the eight beds spread along the walls for all of us, only three seemed to have survived the shredding.

Orion, Corvus, and Scorpius were piled in their usual bed, sleeping together. Similarly, the demons were cuddled together in their bed, snoring.

Everyone was asleep except for John.

The white mattress pads had been pulled off my bed and the one next to it. RIP Horace. You will truly be missed. Gone but never forgotten. Always in our hearts and memories. Fly high, sweet angel.

I choked on a laugh at my sarcastic thoughts.

Every day, I got sexier and funnier.

It took a little prodding the carpet with my fingers to discover that I was lying on pieces of a mattress.

A stiff green sheet was wrapped around me, preserving my modesty.

Two makeshift mattress pads were spread out next to me and soaked in blood.

Somehow the clothes I’d been given still covered my body. At least what was left of my body.

Mounds of skin were spread across—

I gagged and looked away.

“What happened to the room?” I asked John as I plugged my nose and tried to process what I was seeing. His hand on my back was gentle as he helped support me.

He sighed heavily.

“Apparently, it’s part of the games. Competitors don’t get access to Lyla or any medical supplies. Each legion has to make do with a single first aid kit and help one another heal. We called for the servants, but they aren’t allowed to come in for five days after each competition. Something about not wanting people to have any outside assistance.”

Lothaire’s strange use of the term health management during his little welcome speech suddenly made sense.

My voice was scratchy. “What happened? You guys scraped our carcasses off the lawn and brought us back here to heal?”

John winked and pulled at the stethoscope hanging across his neck.

“That’s literally exactly what happened.” He raked his hand through his sweaty hair. “Witch John, at your service. As you can see, I sped up the healing process by helping push all your”—his smile wobbled—“pieces back into place.”

Since it felt like my arms were about to fall out of their sockets, I believed him.

“But don’t worry, I fixed everything.” John pointed at my arm.

A small yellow bandage was placed over a tiny, centimeter-long cut on my hand. The yellow rectangle was next to a gaping wound that ran up my forearm. My sleeve was pushed up to expose it.

We both watched as I moved my arm and blood gurgled out of the open wound.

I wheezed, then made a serious expression. “Thank the sun god you put that on. What would I do without you, John?”

He flashed his dimples. “You’re welcome. No need to thank me. I live to serve.”

I prodded at the bandaged paper cut. “Yes, I can see that. Did you clean the cut first? I can tell. It looks great.”

A mischievous glint sparked in his dark eyes. “Actually, I just rubbed some dirt and spit on it.”

“Oh, perfect.” I nodded. “Very nice.”

John’s glint turned into a full-on sparkle. “Well, as your doctor, there’s only one thing left to do.” He leaned forward with his lips puckered like he was going to kiss my wound.

I debated causing a scene.

Too much work.

His puckered lips trembled.

I arched my brow. “No, please. Proceed. Kiss my bleeding wound, ye o powerful witch.”

John narrowed his eyes and got closer slowly, clearly waiting for me to call his bluff.

His lips gently touched my wound.

“Ew, you weirdo.” I jerked back violently. “I can’t believe you actually kissed it! Immediate no. You have just violated every rule of friendship.”

John smirked. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like my lips on you, Aran.”

My stomach clenched. Violently.

For a long second, I struggled to breathe. Finally I found my voice and said, “You’re a shit healer. Also, Sadie is my best friend, so you’re still in second place.”

Instead of frowning like I expected, John flicked my nose. “It’s so cute that you don’t think I’m going to eliminate her and take her spot.”

He had to be joking.

John smiled indulgently.

“You know you can’t kill my best friend and expect to just take her place,” I said slowly. “I’d never forgive you.” Those were words I’d never expected to have to say.

John laughed like I’d made a joke. “First, yes, I can. Second, you’d eventually forgive me because I’m so charming, bestie.”

I twirled my pipe with my lips and inhaled drugs.

Instead of responding to his inane statements, I focused my energy on what was important: I needed to replace a student with access to demon brew so I could get fucked up.

High and drunk.

ASAP.

There were open wounds covering every inch of exposed skin that I could see, and I was not mentally ready to deal with it. At least my clothes were still intact, so no one had seen my back. It was a minor miracle.

I needed to know what type of fabric they used. Talk about durability.

John’s gaze fell to my lips as I rolled the pipe back and forth with my tongue.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

I blinked.

He parted his maroon lips. “On a more serious note, rumor is that whoever’s running this competition put something in the academy food so it takes longer for competitors to recover from injuries. Which is why you still look like that.” He waved his hands at me and grimaced.

“Wait, what?” I stopped staring at my friend’s neck like a creep and took stock of the injuries I’d been trying to ignore.

Streaks of pain let me know I had more gaping wounds under the sheet.

Now that I thought about it, after three days of sleep, my skin should have already knitted back together.

It hadn’t.

“Don’t worry,” John said with a serious inflection that made me immediately panic. “The first aid kit had a needle and thread, so we’ll just stitch you up. I’ve been too busy positioning your parts to help your natural healing, so now it looks like it’s time for step two. The little bandage was just some comedic humor before I started sewing.”

He winked and held up a needle and thread.

The blood coating his fingers to his forearms took on a whole new meaning.

“Oh my sun god, you’re not joking?” I asked.

John nodded. “I need you to think calm, peaceful princess thoughts and—”

I screamed and reared back as he stabbed me.

Instead of giving up like a sane person, John just rocked with me and kept sewing.

“Stop it,” I demanded with outrage.

The stabbing sensation sent pain exploding, but the pulling sensation that followed had my stomach rolling. John stuck his tongue out between his teeth as he concentrated.

He narrowed his eyes as he stared at my arm wound and mumbled, “You’re doing amazing, Princess, just about five hundred more little stabby stabs.”

“This can’t be happening,” I said as the horrible sensation washed over me.

John said calmly, “Corvus stitched up Orion, and then the demons helped Scorpius stitch Corvus. We think the string is enchanted because they healed about twelve hours after they fixed them.”

A part of me melted at the thought of Malum stitching up his mate while he was injured himself. It made my heart hurt.

The long silver needle glinted in the light, and I grimaced.

“Why aren’t they sewing me up, then? Are you sure you’re qualified?” I asked John skeptically.

John’s expression hardened, and his eyes flashed. “No one touches you but me.”

He stabbed me again.

I grimaced, then stated the obvious, “Slightly concerning that you just said that.”

John winked. “The truth hurts.” His posture relaxed as he stabbed me again.

“You’re so weird,” I groaned as the horrible sensation of thread pulling through flesh lasted for a couple of long seconds. “I’d prefer to bleed out slowly.”

John narrowed his eyes as he concentrated on closing my wound. He said, “I hate to bring this up, but neither Corvus nor Orion made a single noise of complaint while the demons stitched them.”

“I don’t care,” I huffed.

In reality, if I lost to them, I’d off myself.

John pushed the needle through my flesh and I didn’t make a single noise of complaint.

Instead, I lay backward on the makeshift cot and exhaled Horse. He hovered over my face, flapping, and stared down at me like he knew I needed the distraction.

I counted his feathers.

One at a time.

I inhaled as much of the enchanted drugs as I could and pretended I wasn’t getting stabbed by my friend.

Time ticked by slowly.

The only sound was John whispering encouragements every few seconds.

“You’re doing amazing,” he praised. “You’re so fucking strong and impressive.” He started sewing up another wound and murmured, “That’s it, just breathe slowly, Princess.”

Everything was a jumble of pain.

Seconds bled slowly into minutes, then dragged into hours.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” John mumbled under his breath absentmindedly as he worked on a gash on my forehead.

Suddenly, I forgot how to breathe.

A different type of pain streaked across my spine.

He’s your friend, don’t make it weird. You’re just confused and have lost a lot of blood.

I was not falling for a man just because he was nice to me.

That was pathetic.

John’s dark hair was messy, and my blood was streaked across his sweaty face. He smiled down at me tenderly and whispered, “I’m so proud of you. I just need to stitch your torso, then you’re done.”

His words had something foreign unfurling in my gut, something new.

A floaty sensation made my brain feel all fuzzy.

I smiled up at him and nodded because I wanted to impress him. I’d do whatever I needed if it made him smile down at me like I was his entire world.

Yep. I was officially pathetic.

I yanked my shirt up to my neck to expose my torso.

John’s smile fell. “What the hell are you doing?” Before I could respond, he pulled my shirt down over my chest to protect my modesty.

“It’s nothing, it’s just a sports bra and boobs.” I shrugged, too tired to care that my best friend was a prude.

Half my skin was hanging open, exposing my organs. It was a little late to care what I looked like.

John shook his head and said, “Our teammates could wake up.”

“So?” I rolled my eyes.

He clenched his jaw, and a muscle ticked as he busied himself tying a new string around the needle. His olive skin pulled across the tight muscles of his torso.

“No one gets to look at you,” he murmured as he stabbed at the open skin on my stomach.

I didn’t get to respond because I jolted in pain. The sensation was ten times worse across my sensitive stomach.

I was so busy counting I almost missed it.

It took me a moment to register that he mumbled something else under his breath.

“If anyone looks at your naked body, I’ll kill them.”

“What?” I whispered. “What did you say?”

John flashed his dimples and patted my head. “Almost done, Aran. Just hang in there a little more.”

That wasn’t what he said.

When he tried to have me roll over to fix my back, I snarled and refused to budge.

“I’m fine, I can feel that there are no cuts on my back,” I lied through gritted teeth.

He made a face of disbelief and murmured something about an ungrateful, ridiculous woman but stopped fighting with me.

I was a master manipulator. Turns out I was my father’s daughter, after all.

Finally, a long, sweat-filled hour later, John threw the needle down and said, “You’re done. No more.”

His hands trembled, but he rubbed them together to stop the shaking.

My eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds. “I guess I’ll sleep here.” The sheet was stiff around my legs, and I squirmed with discomfort, but tiredness outweighed my disgust.

I shivered with a sudden chill.

“No. You won’t.” Gentle hands tugged another shirt over my body, and I inhaled his sandalwood musk. John’s smell was more pleasant than the kings’ scent. Less aggressive. Warmer. It felt like home.

I tried to move my legs, but nothing cooperated.

“Stay still, let me do it,” John whispered against my ear as he lifted me.

Instead of laying me in a bed, he placed me gently onto cold tiles and ran warm water over me. I was still wearing his T-shirt and mine, but it didn’t matter.

A noise of enjoyment tumbled from my lips.

The warmth was everything.

My eyes were too heavy to open, so I just sat limply and gave grunts of approval as John gently dragged the soap over me.

I hated being grimy.

I needed this.

As he gently washed me, my will to live went from negative ten to five. It was an improvement, but the scale was out of one hundred.

When John gently pulled apart the tight braids lying against my scalp, my eyes rolled back with bliss. He scrubbed suds against my scalp, and I tipped my head back further.

“Ohmysungod yes,” I keened to encourage him to keep going.

His fingers were magic.

He massaged my temples and skull with an expert pressure that was so amazing I barely noticed the streaks of pain lighting up my spine.

John chuckled hoarsely, but said nothing.

“Time to stand up, killer.” Hands grabbed me under my armpits and easily pulled me to my feet. Then he wrapped my hair up in a towel, and I shuffled with him unsteadily.

“Hands up.” John’s voice was soft with a slight rasp. “Don’t worry, my eyes are closed. Let’s just get you into dry clothes.”

“My eyes are also closed,” I said helpfully, and he rewarded me with a laugh as I put my hands in the air.

“How big is your head?” He huffed as he struggled to pull his sweatshirt onto me.

I purposefully flailed around and made it more difficult.

My hands smacked at his face.

“Did you just hit me? After I massaged your head?” John asked with fake outrage, and he clicked his tongue. “Guess you really are the scary queen everyone talks about.”

I giggled.

He used my momentary stillness to pull the hoodie over me.

It must have been the oversize one he always wore, because it hit me midthigh.

“Good enough,” John said.

Next thing I knew, I was being carried while pressed against a muscular chest. Then I was placed on a fluffy mattress while the covers were tucked under my feet.

The bed creaked as John climbed in next to me.

He radiated heat like a furnace, and I snuggled against him.

“If you fart, I’ll kill you,” I mumbled.

John laid his arm over my shoulders softly as he struggled to position himself. The beds weren’t meant to accommodate two tall people. No wonder the demons and kings were always tangled together.

John’s voice trailed off like he was falling asleep. “Please, we both know which one of us has a farting problem.”

I buried my head under a pillow. “It was just that one night. Those tacos were killer.”

“Sure, Aran. The first step to getting help is admitting you have a problem.”

The last thought that drifted through my mind before sleep claimed me was, he doesn’t call me Arabella like the kings. I like the sound of my name on his lips.