Psycho Beasts: Aran

The doorbell rang.

“I got it!” I yelled, not wanting to disturb Sadie and her men.

My best friend deserved some peace, especially after everything. Her missing ring finger was a constant reminder that those fuckers had hurt her.

The darkness in my soul rattled against its cage.

Pausing with my forehead pressed to the wall, I breathed in smoke from my enchanted pipe.

You killed them. They’re gone.

I willed myself to remain blasé and to calm the monster—that I’d come to identify as myself.

As I descended the grand mahogany staircase, inhaling smoke with each step, I fingered my sweatshirt pocket.

Caressed the smaller finger-length pipe Ascher had gotten for me.

Again, the doorbell rang.

What rude fucker was calling at midnight?

I gritted my teeth as my monster snarled louder, banging against its steel cage.

Another pause, another long, deep drag. Any stimuli threatened the carefully desensitized state that I’d worked so hard to create.

The space between my shoulder blades itched.

Breathe in smoke for five seconds, hold five seconds, breathe out five seconds, pause five seconds.

Repeat.

A storm howled outside, and rain slammed against the brick structure.

Thunder cracked.

With a falsely constructed sense of ennui, I opened the door, and the night storm echoed throughout the dark foyer.

“What do you want?” I asked calmly.

Silhouetted in the dark was a massive figure. Taller than the door with layers of muscles that could only be used for one thing: war.

Sucking in smoke, I pushed the door shut in its face.

Step one to being cold and callous: You don’t engage in basic impulses like fear. You react to nothing.

Survival of the unfeeling.

Crack.

The massive thing slammed a hand against the door and stepped past me into the mansion.

“Are you Aran?” a baritone voice growled as the man flung the door wide.

Wet shoes squeaked on polished marble. Pouring rain traveled on cold wind and slammed against the both of us.

I focused on my cage, fortified steel bars, until the slightest rattle of emotion was silenced by a prison. I assessed in a hazy inhale of smoke that if the creature was asking for me, it wasn’t a threat to the others.

I relaxed my shoulders. “Who’s asking?”

Lightning flashed.

And illuminated a towering male with a brutal scar slashed across his eye.

Long hair dragged in a wet braid against the marble floor, and a tailored suit stretched across an impossibly muscled figure.

Twin opal fangs protruded from red lips.

“I’m asking,” Lothaire growled, voice dripping with anger.

He wasn’t used to being questioned.

“Ah, Lothaire, the vampyre. I’ve heard of you.” I nodded and sucked in smoke, presenting a lazy, uncaring figure.

I’d done more than hear.

I’d watched him bow to my mother under the dual suns of the fae realm.

Watched him attack Sadie on the hot sand of a gladiator stadium. Watched him proclaim her unworthy as he attempted to drain her blood.

He’d stood witness to my atrocities.

Said nothing, just observed, as I’d ripped out my mother’s beating heart and consumed it.

The cage rattled.

My back burned as the slur “WHORE” festered on my flesh, an enchanted penance for a wrong I hadn’t even gotten to commit.

Lothaire had bowed to my mother.

Smiled at her.

Breathe in smoke for five seconds, hold, breathe out, rest. Repeat.

Why is he here?

Lothaire’s singular eye flashed like the storm that raged against us.

He spoke as if he read my mind. “A power anomaly was detected in this realm on the equinox, and rumors are that a man named Aran was responsible.”

Lothaire took another menacing step forward. “Are you Aran? I won’t ask again.” His voice dripped with warning.

Thunder boomed.

The mansion shook.

I took a long drag of my pipe and focused on feeling nothing and expressing nothing. Being nothing.

After all, Lothaire had planned this visit for that very purpose, to unnerve me.

But the one class I’d succeeded in above all else, beyond what I should have, was battle analysis.

Lothaire had come at midnight, in the height of a storm. Entered without invitation. Stepped into my personal space. Said nothing of why he was here, just cryptically demanded my name. Demanded I answer him.

I took another long drag and sighed heavily.

Somehow, everything was war.

Small skirmishes, allies, foes—all with changing allegiances—and every player possessed an agenda uniquely their own.

Game theory at its finest.

But how could I respond and best him when I didn’t know his motive?

The facts I knew: He called me Aran, he referred to me only as a man, he was referencing the event three weeks ago when I’d killed Sadie’s attackers, and he’d come at night with the purpose of unsettling me.

Plausible deduction: He wasn’t here for the fae queen, and he wanted something of me that I wouldn’t want to give.

Exhale smoke, inhale calm.

I shrugged. “I’m not the person you seek. Don’t know anything about a power anomaly. Why are you here?”

First rule of game theory: You don’t give away information.

A threatening rumble filled the foyer.

He stalked forward.

Fuck.

I’d miscalculated. Game theory assumes all actors are rational.

Without warning, Lothaire slammed his fangs into my neck.

Stabbing pain, then exquisite pleasure blinded through me, and the enchanted wound on my back burned like I’d been set on fire.

I bit down on my lip to stop from screaming.

Lothaire stumbled away from me, wiping blood off his mouth. His voice was raspy with surprise. “Who are you? What are you? Why are you so powerful?”

Shit. I’m a few wrong moves from him figuring out I’m not even Aran, that I’m Arabella.

I rolled out my shoulders slowly, like I was stretching. Like the wound on my back wasn’t filleting me with agony.

Nonchalantly, I said, “Water fae. I’m a cousin of the monarchy. Aran Egan.”

In a battle, the best lies were those closest to the truth.

Lightning cracked, and highlighted Lothaire’s harsh features.

His lips pulled into a smile, and his scar puckered tight across his missing eye. He stared down at me with unnatural stillness as he crowded my personal space. “Are you sure you’re fae, Aran Egan? You have quite the power in your blood.”

My face was a blank mask, eyes dead, muscles permanently relaxed with boredom.

With haughty male arrogance, I rolled my eyes. “Obviously I know who I am. I’m Aran, cousin of the royal family, and water fae.”

My body language screamed that his question was preposterous.

Lothaire smiled like he’d won the war.

“Perfect. Congratulations, Aran Egan, water fae, you’ve officially been enrolled at Elite Academy.”

My mask fell. “Excuse me?”

“This is a highly coveted institution and I expect you to perform rigorously.” Lothaire’s smile transformed into an outright snarl.

Thunder boomed.

“Classes start tomorrow.”

Before I could protest, reanalyze the situation, and decide the best path forward, Lothaire grabbed my arm. “We leave now.”

Flames exploded. And we disappeared.

To be continued