Page 2 of Psycho Gods

Nothing had happened.

I couldn’t fly.

Then I’d envisioned an angel’s ice sword forming in my hand, but yet again—nothing.

Instead, as if mocking me, cobalt crawled along my fingers like gloves and spread across the ground with every step I took. I had zero control over it.

The ice was useless.

I was useless.

It was simple: angels were powerful, and I was weak.

My footsteps echoed louder as I sprinted down the marble hall toward Lothaire’s office. A servant told me that my vampyre/tormentor/commander/sire wanted to speak with me.

Lovely.

Does he know what’s wrong with me?

When I got to Lothaire’s office door, I went to open it but stopped. Frozen with numbness, I watched ice spread from my feet and crawl up the wood like an infection.

Time warped, and I stood still as a statue.

Eyes wide.

Unfeeling.

Sightless.

The door slammed open, and I jumped as Lyla walked out. The witch’s otherworldly eyes stared through me, and I averted my gaze, staring down at my ice-coated feet.

You didn’t look fate in the eyes, especially not when your fate was as corrupted as mine.

In my peripheral vision, Lyla’s forest-colored hair blew on a phantom breeze. White runes glowed across her dark skin. She stood inches away from me and waited silently.

She smelled sharp, like grief mixed with destiny.

Pressure built in my eyes, and suddenly I was hyperaware of the gaping emptiness inside my chest.

A horrible sense of foreboding slammed into me—things were going to get dark. A long stretch of merciless night spread before me.

Lyla leaned close and whispered so quietly it took me a few seconds to process what she’d said.

“You must embrace the dragon.”

Her soft words hung insidiously in the air between us.

“She’s here,” she said loudly as lightning struck, then she walked away and disappeared down the hall.

Lothaire responded. “Come in, Aran.” His voice had a strange inflection.

Orion sat down in the hall to wait for me.

I gingerly entered.

He stood up, single eye wide as he stared at the ice that spread out from underneath my feet.

I hid my hands behind my sleeves and cleared my throat. “You called for me, sir?” I asked awkwardly.