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Psycho Devils: Chapter 42

Scorpius - SCARS

Rebirth—Day 56, hour 6

Arabella whimpered.

A chair sizzled as it caught on fire, and then there was a loud cracking noise as Malum ripped the bathroom door off its frame.

Orion and John gasped shakily as they knelt beside her body. They were probably inspecting the letters that were carved into her skin.

The demons stumbled, their feet tripping over the carpet as they backed away from the center of the room.

Arabella screamed in pain and kicked the floor with her foot.

So many sounds.

Everywhere.

I dug my fingernails into my palms to ground myself, but the pinpricks of pain did nothing. Every interaction we’d had with her flashed through my mind. All with perfect clarity.

We’d called her a whore.

Shamed her for killing her mother.

Made fun of her for being a prude and changing in the bathroom.

I remembered all the times she’d forgotten to breathe. Had she been in pain? Had she been suffering? I’d never bothered to find out why.

She’d told Malum that she’d experienced much worse than him. Was this what she’d been referring to? Her mother had lit her on fire and carved her up.

My hands trembled at my sides.

Bile crawled up my throat as an abominable thought hit me—Lothaire was her father. He hadn’t protected her. He’d let this happen to her.

She’d said it like her mother had lit her on fire frequently.

I slapped my hand over my throat as I felt the eye tattooed on my neck start to open. No. Not now.

Lothaire would die by my hand.

We just needed time.

To figure everything out.

I’d thought I’d known rage when Orion had explained that Xerxes shifted and Arabella used her body to protect him. For hours. The coward had hid beneath her instead of helping her.

She’d been stabbed with glass shards for hours.

It was a miracle that she was even conscious.

I shook my head to clear my jumbled thoughts as the room fell apart around me. Everyone was freaking out and forgetting the important part.

“We need to help her. Orion, bring the first aid kit. Now!” I shouted, and the room went quiet as everyone stilled.

It took a second, then everyone started rushing around, trying to find supplies as they realized Arabella was bleeding out and all of us were having meltdowns.

I took a deep breath and went into the bathroom to fill up a bucket of water to clean her wounds.

My hands trembled, but I forced my mind to stay calm and analytical.

I was a Protector for a reason.

And my teammate needed protection, so that was what she was going to get.

We’d iron out the logistics later because there was nothing we needed to discuss now. It was simple. People would die.

Arabella wasn’t the spoiled princess we’d stupidly assumed she was.

She’d been tortured.

Warm water sloshed over the side of the bucket as I absentmindedly seethed over what had been done to her.

I knew firsthand how cruel people could be. How they tormented with words and bludgeoned with fists.

The realms were not nice places.

The bucket cracked as I squeezed the sides tightly.

Suddenly it made so much sense why she’d disguised herself as a boy and hidden from her queendom.

She didn’t kill for power; she’d killed for revenge.

She wasn’t a pampered despot; she was an abused woman on the run.

We’d never been so wrong about someone.

A wave of relief washed over me as I rubbed at the snake-and-chain tattoo on my hip that tied all our lives together.

Thank the sun god we were connected.

It was obvious that no one was protecting her, that no one had ever protected her.

She forgot to breathe, sucked on her enchanted pipe, mumbled under her breath, and drank herself into oblivion because she was suffering without help.

Not anymore.

I was called a Protector for a reason, and she was under our care.

From now on, Arabella would be guarded from harm.

I picked up the leaking bucket and carried it back into the bedroom. Kneeling beside her whimpering form, I worked with the rest of my legion to help her.

I would make it up to her by guarding her with my life.

I vowed it to the sun god.

Then I would kill Lothaire because willful negligence was no excuse. He was at fault. He would suffer by my hand.

Arabella had been mutilated.

It changed everything.


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