Psycho Gods: Enemies to Lovers Romance

SUPRISES

Consanguineous (adjective): of the same blood or origin.

There was a loud, ominous knock on the front door, and when I opened it, Lothaire stood framed in moonlight.

Long moments passed as we stared at each other.

“Congrats, daughter,” he whispered, and a smile curled up his lips. “I told you that you were powerful.” He winked. “You’re my daughter, after all.”

I rolled my eyes and gestured for him to come in.

When he passed my mates, who were crowding behind me protectively, he turned to the kings and said, “I trust you used the RJE device I gave you wisely?”

Scorpius smirked evilly and said, “Over three hundred fae guards have been—eliminated.”

Lothaire nodded and flashed his canines. “Good.”

Then all of us proceeded to walk toward the hearth. I closed the door behind me before the men could step inside, because I wanted alone time with Lothaire and they would hover.

Corvus said something rude on the other side, but since the house didn’t burn down around us, he was just being his dramatic horse girl self.

“So.” Lothaire sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to him. “Tell me all about the war and your ice powers.”

Gingerly, I sat down next to him.

A few hours later, I sleepily rested my head on his shoulder and beamed with pride as I explained how I’d killed hundreds easily.

I told him how I’d thought of him when I was trapped in the room with the infected.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

When he stood up with a yawn and said it was time to go, he promised he’d be back to visit me.

“It’s great talking to you—I’m so proud of you, daughter,” he whispered as he enveloped me in a hug.

I patted his back and said, “Thanks, Father.”

When he released me, there was a suspicious sheen of moisture on his cheek, and he wiped at his face.

“I’ll be back,” he repeated as he said his goodbyes to the men and RJE’d away.

I stared at the place he’d disappeared from and wondered when I’d become so softhearted. My chest hummed with warmth, and my determination to never forgive him seemed silly.

Our relationship wasn’t perfect, and I had a strong feeling it never would be, but there was relief in not having conflict between us.

There was peace in not holding on to hate.

I felt lighter as I thought about how my father had beamed at me with pride.

Life was weird.

That night after he left, while the rest of the men climbed into the kings’ extra-wide bed, Scorpius pulled me into the bathroom.

Fully clothed, we sat in the fancy marble tub with warm water pouring over us.

He didn’t make any innuendos or try to seduce me while we sat under the warm spray. He just talked about the estate. About growing up blind in a world that everyone said was beautiful to look at.

He told me how scared he’d been when I was missing.

How proud he’d been when I mated with them and became one of them completely. He said it was the best day of his life, seeing me uncover my potential on the battlefield. The sheer power I’d wielded had been like nothing he’d ever experienced. It felt spiritual.

I told him about how I was doing better but sometimes I still spiraled.

I admitted that little things still set me off.

A bird would screech and it would sound like a chittering, and I’d freeze with fear. Sometimes I’d wake up sobbing in the middle of the night, feeling like I was choking to death with no memory of how I’d gotten that way.

I explained how other times, silence would get too quiet and fear would skitter up my spine.

Every now and again, I’d escape to the bathroom and lie against the cool tile, panting while I tried not to pass out.

Shamefully, I admitted that I didn’t forgive my father completely.

A tiny part of me couldn’t stop wondering why he hadn’t checked up on me when he knew Mother had a reputation for being awful.

Scorpius held my hand while I spoke and didn’t try to interrupt me.

When I was done, he admitted he had nightmares about losing all of us to ungodly. He’d run down corridor after corridor, screaming, but he couldn’t hear a thing and he couldn’t find any of us.

He told me I had no obligation to forgive Lothaire.

Then we talked about our favorite foods to lighten the mood. His was steak with risotto, and mine was mango chutney on warm bread. We both liked enchanted wine.

Scorpius couldn’t comprehend colors, but his favorite sound was B natural; he said it sounded like lying beside all of us under the stars.

When morning’s first light peeked through the gossamer curtains, I yawned and told him we should go to bed and get a little sleep before all the men woke.

He told me that if you stayed up through dawn and didn’t sleep, you’d actually feel more restful. I was skeptical, but he was so earnest that I stayed in the tub talking to him.

Corvus found us a few hours later asleep under the spray, holding hands.

Scorpius had lied.

I didn’t mind.

A week after Lothaire’s visit, Corvus tied a blindfold around my eyes and told me to be a good girl as he led me down the hall.

I shivered at his deep baritone voice, stomach tightening with need.

We slept together and shared chaste kisses, but the men said they didn’t want to pressure me into anything. They said we had all immortality to be intimate and that I needed to focus on recovering from the war.

Personally, I thought sexual relations would accelerate my healing process, but that was just me.

“Surprise,” Corvus whispered gruffly as he pulled off my blind fold.

I burst into tears.

Sadie and Jinx stood at the doorway with wide, excited smiles—well, Sadie was smiling, and Jinx was scowling while Cobra stood behind them with a scowl.

I threw myself at Sadie and nearly brought us to the ground.

“I missed you so much!” she wailed, and I mumbled unintelligible things against the top of her head as I peppered her with kisses.

After a few minutes (a good hour) of tears, we pulled apart.

“You look amazing,” Sadie said as she poked my face. “I didn’t know you could tan? You no longer look ill. I like it.”

I brushed her white hair over her shoulders, and it glittered. “Did you get gold put into your hair?” She nodded, and my jaw dropped. “I’m obsessed.”

The conversation continued with compliments for another twenty minutes before Jinx made a rude comment.

For the first time, I took her in.

Jinx was tall, really tall. She was my height and had a surprisingly voluptuous, unathletic-looking figure. I silently felt bad for her because her string-bean arms were not going to be helpful in a fight.

I made a mental note to give her mace to carry around.

“You got a prosthetic!” I exclaimed as I realized what was different. “You can’t even tell.”

She glared back at me and drawled, “Obviously.”

Her words felt more hurtful now that I knew she wasn’t going through a teenage rebellion.

Ignoring her squeal of disgust, I pulled her into a bear hug. “Are you okay?” I whispered quietly into her ear so no one could hear. “Are they still hurting you? Do you need help?”

She went stiff in my arms.

“I’m okay,” she whispered back, then relaxed in my embrace and returned the hug. “I promise. I have a plan.”

I held her back at arm’s length and pinned her with a serious gaze.

Lately, I’d had a lot of time to think about my future, and I’d realized what an asset Jinx could be.

“If I claim the fae throne,” I said slowly, “I’m going to need a regent to rule in my absence.”

“What absence?” Sadie asked.

Corvus asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jinx’s lips pulled into an evil smile as she understood exactly what I was saying.

She nodded and said, “I’d be honored to whip that realm into shape.”

Sadie hit both of us to get our attention. “What’s going on?”

I explained, “I have to reclaim the fae throne, but I don’t want to rule because I’ll probably suffer from PTSD.” I shrugged. “So I’ll go claim it back, and then Jinx can rule for me—if she wants to. Otherwise, I’m sure we can find someone else.”

“I want to,” Jinx said eagerly.

My men tried to interrupt, but I cut them off as I gave the girls a tour of the estate.

We spent the night talking under the stars. Well, Sadie talked. Jinx spent most of it in silence, but she voluntarily sat next to us, which for her was a declaration of undying love.

We used Sadie’s inter-realm enchanted phone—still had no idea how they’d acquired such a device, because they weren’t supposed to exist—and called all the girls back in the manor.

Apparently Jax was sheltering the girls. He still hadn’t let Jess get tested because he was afraid of the High Court’s machinations and didn’t want her registered in their database.

She was disgruntled but understood.

Meanwhile, Jala was a ball of energy and kept going on about how Warren had hot friends that they’d been introduced to.

The phone was ripped away by tattooed fingers.

Ascher launched into a disturbing but highly educational lecture about boys and sexual relations.

We lost connection while he ranted, which was a shame because I was learning a lot and he was just getting to the juicy part. Apparently men had needs that women didn’t because they had a prostate.

The rest of the night, Sadie planned our joint wedding.

According to her the House of Malum estate was perfect. She’d already decided we were having it at the pond, and it would be a five-hundred-person wedding.

I nodded in agreement while I mentally planned how to sabotage her—our—big day. No way was I letting people stomp around the estate.

It was our quiet home.

Our sanctuary.

However, I did not break it to her that we were having a small wedding because she was already acting like a bridezilla.

I’d wait a little.

Other than that, the night was perfect.

Sadie cried when she saw a miniature pony, and the next day, Cobra had to throw her over his shoulder to get her to leave.

She promised to return for dinner.

Three hours later she came back, and we ate a delicious cheese board underneath my favorite tree.

That night, after she’d left—again, by force, I blinked with surprise when I entered the bedroom.

A tiny baby bird with tufts of fluffy red-and-gold feathers was lying on my pillow. He was no longer just smoke.

“Horse,” I whispered, afraid to move and ruin the illusion.

He cawed with delight and flapped his wings at his name as he hopped across the bed toward me.

I sobbed and held his fluffy feathered body against my cheeks.

He smelled like fire and ice.

Somehow, against the most unimaginable of odds, we’d both risen from the ashes. The phoenix and the woman who was emotionally dependent on him were reunited.

Together again.

The next morning, the sun rose a little brighter.

We both rose with it.