Page 145 of Psycho Gods
“What the fuck? Be gentle with her.” Luka grabbed his twin and pulled him back from me.
I gaped at John as he was dragged across the room by his twin, and I tried to process his words.
He shimmied his hips and winked in his brother’s arms, dimples on full display as he licked his lips.
His dark eyes twinkled with mirth.
Outrage turned to gratitude in my chest as I realized what had just happened.
Once again, John had acted so ridiculously that he’d successfully distracted me when I was spiraling.
Scorpius pushed past John, bumping against him with his entire body as he passed, then he glowered down at me. “I wanted to ask you something.” He clenched his teeth, and a muscle ticked in the sharp edge of his jawline. “Can we talk?”
His cut cheekbones were stark against his hollowed cheeks.
There were dark-purple smudges underneath his eyes.
The man before me looked exhausted, and my gut told me his change in demeanor had nothing to do with war against the ungodly. Scorpius was a self-proclaimed sadomasochist and wasn’t someone to balk at something as trivial as murder.
No.
It wasn’t the war; it was something else.
His jaw clenched tighter, and he tapped his foot with impatience as he waited for me to respond.
I sat silently and stared up at him blankly as I purposefully said nothing just to piss him off.
He clenched his jaw tighter.
Pride filled me because it was nice to set goals and achieve them, especially when those goals were tormenting men.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to process the fact that John had purposefully left red marks on my throat while we play wrestled, and now Scorpius was asking for permission to speak.
Men were bizarre creatures.
“Shoot.” I leaned back on my covers with my arm behind my head, legs spread wide like the fuck boy I used to pretend to be. Casual and unbothered, with the confidence of someone who’d achieved greatness while doing nothing.
It was empowering being delusional.
“I’m manspreading, just so you know,” I said, just so he could get the full picture.
Scorpius’s dark eyebrows contrasted with his pale complexion as they lifted. “Okay?” he asked with confusion, then shook his head and said forcefully, “I know you’re exhausted after training, so”—he gritted his teeth together—“please let me wash you in the shower.”
He said “please” like it was a filthy word.
“Why?” I asked, genuinely confused.
He pulled at the neck of his sweatshirt like he was dying from discomfort.
“I’m your Protector,” he said with a sneer that insinuated I was stupid for asking.
“False—you’re just a rude asshole.”
White teeth flashed as he bared them at me, then his expression smoothed over like he was forcing himself to appear unthreatening.
He failed.
“I want to show you that I meant what I said about serving you. I want to be your hound. I want to—” He swallowed thickly. “—have a relationship with you.”