“Enough,” I cut him off.
At this point, she was begging for me to hurt her.
I tensed my muscles, ready to throw myself at her and drag her to the floor.
“The other legions are staring at us. Stop acting so embarrassing,” Zenith hissed, and I jolted with surprise.
The demons usually minded their own business.
“He’s right,” Corvus said through gritted teeth like it pained him to admit it.
Arabella and I both huffed, but neither of us did anything else.
I pretended to ignore her the rest of the meal, while discreetly piling food onto her plate whenever I heard her fork scrape against the empty surface.
Using my superior sense of smell, I avoided the meat because she was clearly being unreasonable about it. I didn’t like how delicate her neck had felt. It didn’t matter that she was a tall woman; she felt breakable.
It was like Orion said.
And it was unacceptable.
I needed her strong so I could break her. No one else was allowed to hurt her.
As the meal progressed, I pretended I didn’t notice that Arabella took forty-three bites of food and dropped ten pieces of meat onto the ground.
I pretended she didn’t touch John three times, whisper to him eighteen times, and pick at the scab on her lip seventeen times.
I pretended she didn’t take thirty-seven puffs of her pipe and forget to breathe four times.
Arabella was just so loud compared to everyone else. That was it.
She made a breathy noise of enjoyment as she bit into something, and I shivered as I adjusted my sweatpants.
Would she groan with pleasure as I dragged a knife across her flesh?
I knew I would.
And I couldn’t wait.
It was only a matter of time. After all, she belonged to us.
Chapter 13
Aran
CONFLICTS
The Legionnaire Games: Day 22, hour 19
Sitting on my bed, I tugged at the brush that was tangled in my hair. I yelped as a knot yanked against my scalp.
I hated pain.
Loathed it.
It was not my thing, and I was sick and tired of constantly experiencing it. Could one stupid thing in my life maybe not suck?
Each day last week I’d woken up and said my morning affirmation: “I am the victim.”
The week had felt like it lasted a million painful years, but somehow it had all blinked by.
The first competition was tomorrow.
My life was a cycle of misery.
All I did was train, panic, eat, train, panic, avoid Sari’s hateful gaze at meals, panic, try to sleep, smoke, maladaptive daydream about a hot fictional man loving me, eat, panic, and hang out with misogynists all day. Repeat.
When I tried to focus on any individual day, I could barely remember the details.
It was all a hazy blur.
Like a bad trip.
I wasn’t ready for the psychological torment to begin tomorrow, because I was already tortured. Not to be dramatic.
Huffing with my arms burning （why was brushing your hair literally harder than hauling a granite slab?）， I repositioned myself on my bed to get better leverage and pulled harder. Pain pinched my scalp, but the brush didn’t move. My stupid curls were driving me wild.
I lived in hell.
Shadows from the fireplace refracted eerily across the gothic architecture. The heavy curtains had been drawn, and they blocked out the eclipse’s red haze.
The rest of my legion snored softly, and besides the occasional sound of bedding rustling, the room was quiet.
Everyone slept peacefully.
Not relatable.
After ten minutes of fighting with my stupid brush, I yanked out a tangle of curls in defeat. This was what I got for trying to practice self-care. I got scalped.
I snarled at the brush and slammed it against my overly plush mattress.
The damn thing was like sleeping on a cloud. It was horrible.
I preferred to sleep spread-eagle on my stomach, and I swore the thing was giving me back pain.
Sure, the enchanted “WHORE” carved into my flesh and random surgical lines that Sadie said were parallel to my spine were likely contributing to the pain, but the mattress was still not helping.
Lately nothing was.
The drugs had lost their efficacy, and I couldn’t blame my problems on a made-up monster in my head. Dissociating wasn’t fun when you knew you were just pretending.
I couldn’t even pretend that I wanted to pretend.
Shadowy walls collapsed around me.
A random chill made shivers crawl down my spine, so I pulled myself out of bed and lay in front of the large hearth with my blankets wrapped around me.
The flames warmed my cold skin as they screeched obscenities at me.
As I lay on the ornate carpet in front of the fire, the pounding in my temples intensified.
“Screw you,” I whispered as the fire screamed.
I reached my fingers toward it. For a second, a strange tingling zapped between my shoulders.
Whoosh.
The fire disappeared, and darkness surrounded me. Embers glowed dimly.
I stared down at my shadowy hand with no clue what I’d done.
Shivering from the cold, I regretted my life choices. At least the darkness was comforting and my head had stopped pounding.
I lay on the floor wrapped up in my blanket cocoon.
The hard surface grounded me.
Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the quiet darkness because it was all going to be okay.
Whoosh.
Flames reappeared in the hearth, and they screamed even louder than before. I didn’t need to speak fire to know they were shrieking obscenities at me.
Shadows expanded across the walls.
Jumped.
Taunted.
Nothing was okay.
I slapped both hands over my mouth, leaned forward, and screamed. Curling into a fetal position, I shoved my knuckles against my teeth to muffle the sound. The fire was warm, but I convulsed with shivers.
Pulling the blankets tighter, I squeezed my eyes shut.
Tasted copper as I silently screamed.
Wished I could disappear.
“Sweetheart.” A tinkling, lyrical voice made me jump. “Are you okay?”
I dragged myself out of my blanket fort and removed the fist from my mouth. The endearment sent streaks of agony across my spine.
Orion was sitting up in bed with a concerned expression on his face.
Scorpius and Malum were curled beneath him, snoring.
The golden devil sat up from the pile of his mates with a bemused expression. Blond hair messy, red lips swollen, he was shirtless with gray sweatpants hanging low off his hips. His skin gleamed like gold metal as it pulled across his perfect Adonis belt.
He was indecent.
I whispered, “Don’t call me that.” My voice was rough from screaming.
“Sorry,” Orion mouthed, and he held up his hands like he was talking to a wild animal. “Are you okay, baby?” He leaned forward with his hands extended like he wanted me to climb into his arms.
His words and body language seemed sweet and caring.
There was just one problem.
They didn’t match his eyes.
Uptilted warm brown eyes stared at me without blinking, and his gaze was penetrating. Harsh like a predator’s.
I couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling in my gut that wouldn’t go away. It had started after he’d kissed me like he wanted to consume me.
He’d whispered dark, possessive words.
I clamped my lips together to stop my teeth from chattering as another shiver made me convulse.
Something about Orion made me nervous.