No. Coping was not a linear process.
“Oh, did Arabella not already tell you?” Scorpius taunted, and his high cheekbones were sharp as glass as he smiled.
His handsomeness was captivating, like a grotesque disease that made you stare in horror.
He pulled down the corner of his sweatpants, and his Adonis belt gleamed in the firelight.
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.
John slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh.
I drew on my inner fae bitch and whispered dramatically to John, “He probably has a heavy flow, but is one of those weak bitches who refuses to use an enchanted period cup because he passes out at the sight of blood.”
I’d listened to elite fae women talk for hours at the palace balls and had learned a lot from them.
Men thought they were so big and scary, but a gossiping woman was evil incarnate. They knew how to eviscerate a person with a few words. I aspired to be like them.
John choked.
Scorpius clapped and said, “That’s a better insult. Still not great though.”
Unsurprisingly, Malum’s red flames shot higher into the air.
Orion still hadn’t blinked.
Sadly, before Malum could light us all on fire and end the misery that was known as existence, Lothaire walked into the room and distracted everyone.
Lothaire asked, “What’s going on here?”
I studied my cuticles. “Malum needs a tampon.”
There was a long moment where my vampyre sire—the only man I’d ever call Daddy was my fictional lover who’d raze the realms for me—stared at me like he was trying to figure out if I was being serious.
“Is this a daughter thing?” he asked slowly. “Do you need sanitary products?”
I blew out a smoke gun.
And shot myself in the forehead.
I was twenty-four, not twenty-five; obviously, I hadn’t started ovulating yet. Men were ignorant, dumb, ugly creatures.
Frankly, I was done interacting with them.
It wasn’t good for my constitution.
John’s shoulder shook, and he slapped his other hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh.
Scorpius sneered something under his breath. Both Malum and I opened our mouths to speak.
Lothaire held up his hand.
No one spoke.
His brutal training was so ingrained in us you could instantly hear a pin drop. We barely breathed.
I half-expected him to whip out his baton and start beating us all bloody in a rampage.
Lothaire pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s forget whatever just happened. We have something important to address.”
“Coward,” I mumbled under my breath.
Personally, I respected him more when he attacked us. But maybe that was just me.
He turned to the kings. “First, I want to confirm that you will do everything in your power to keep my daughter safe like you promised. Otherwise, you’ll never find your mate.”
Malum’s chest rose and fell as he breathed harshly.
“Am I understood?” Lothaire’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Yes, sir,” the kings said in unison, but the expressions on their faces said they weren’t happy about it.
Lothaire nodded like they were in agreement.
How he missed the manic sadomasochistic glint in their eyes was beyond me.
“Good,” Lothaire said gravely. “Because there’s been a change of plans with this year’s training.”
Everyone froze.
“The High Court has ordered all of you to form a legion and compete in the Legionnaire Games. The games will be held here at Elite Academy. I’ll be the host.”
I blinked.
Swallowed thickly.
I dug my nail into my lower lip. I pulled off a flap of skin.
New life plan: figure out how to kill myself before the Legionnaire Games began.
Chapter 8
Aran
BESEECHING
The beginning: Shackles—Day 5, hour 4
Flames screamed in the crackling hearth.
There was a bloodstain on the ornate rug beneath my feet.
The room was red and hazy.
Stained glass sparkled.
I’d spent countless nights hyperventilating in this room, but Lothaire’s presence made it seem darker and more depressing than usual.
He’d sucked the life out of the space.
On the ceiling, a black hole swirled lazily.
I stared at the cracks behind Lothaire where Malum’s blood was smeared against the broken wall.
“So,” I asked softly, “do I have to compete, or do I get a pass?”
My eyes wide with fear, shoulders slumped, my body language screamed, My delicate feminine constitution can’t handle any more violence, and I’ll probably pass away from the stress.