The glowing pink in her pupils seemed to ripple, distort, and reshape themselves into something resembling a pair of neon hearts. "And... I think I’m in love!"
What?
I leaned back slightly at the abrupt shift in her demeanor. Psychics were infamous for their mood swings, and apparently Psyren was no exception.
Steve, meanwhile, seemed to think the whole thing was hysterical, erupting into laughter and nearly folding himself in half on the couch.
"Ha ha ha! I told ya, sis! Told ya you’d like him," Steve cackled, wiping a tear from his eye.
Psyren giggled. "Yeah, you did," she said, fluttering her lashes at me.
"Er, right. Okay. So long as you understand," I said, taking my hand away from beside her head.
"Sure do, bossman," Psyren said with a wink, stretching her arms along the back of the couch and tipping her head backward as though inviting me to do any number of things to her firm, high breasts and attractive body. "Just give me the order. I can prove I’m a good girl. Or a bad one, whichever you need."
Well, she’d become cooperative pretty damn quickly.
I wasn’t entirely convinced, though.
I stepped away and returned to my seat. "Alright. So, tell my why you want to get into this business."
"I think it’s the fun," she said.
"Fun?"
"Yeah," she said, shrugging. "I mean, hell, the concerts are fun, ya know? Getting all those people all excited over little old me.
All obsessed with me and wanting me. But I want to go deeper, ya know," she said. "I want to use my power and be as evilly sexy as I can be. But if I do that just, you know, casually, I could get into bad trouble. And wouldn’t it be nice to be able to use your powers and not have to worry about that?"
Well, she had a point.
Using her abilities was obviously going to be complicated.
Unless she went full-blown villain and declared war on civilization, she’d struggle to do much beyond what she was already accomplishing with the concerts at the Death Rumble. And the only reason she could probably get away with that was Arman’s protection.
Kinda feels weird the Armenian Arman but I digress.
Manipulating someone wasn’t quite the same thing as outright controlling them. Still, judging from the little demonstration she’d given me when I arrived, I suspected this wasn’t exactly her first time.
My gaze drifted toward the ceiling light again, and I found myself wondering how often Arman had made her use her powers like that...
"So freedom?" I said.
"But that’s not all," she gushed, slipping out of her seat and making her way across the room.
I straightened instinctively, already tense about whatever she was planning.
Then she climbed into my lap and cuddled against me.
"What are you—" I began.
"I’d really like to work with you," Psyren said, running a hand across my chest and practically purring like a cat. And if I hadn’t been completely certain she couldn’t use her psychic abilities on me, I’d have been considerably more nervous. "I think we could do such wonderful things together. Right? You got a sidekick?"
"I don’t really do sidekicks," I said.
"Oh?" she said, glancing toward Glacia.
I noticed her lips were pressed together so tightly they’d gone nearly as white as her hair.
Psyren grinned and wriggled deeper into my lap.
"Mmm. Lucky me..."
I sighed. "Look, I work solo," I informed her.
"Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman," Psyren countered, the implication that she had someone specific in mind being anything but subtle.
She pressed herself against me, rubbing her breasts against my chest with enough shamelessness to catch my breath and bring Miles the second very much to life. "How about it? Wanna team up, boss? I’ll be your good henchgirl. Promise."
"This is a favour I’m doing for Steve," I said.
"Mmm. Bro always gets me the best toys," Psyren giggled.
"Excuse me," Glacia cut in icily. "Sir is not your toy."
"Of course not," Psyren said with another teasing grin. "He’d be so boring if he was."
I rubbed my forehead.
This was getting complicated.
And somehow, it was about to become even worse.
A vibration traveled through the floor beneath us, and I immediately looked toward the doors.
Psyren tilted her head as she listened, then pushed out her lower lip in a pout.
"Dammit," she muttered.
"What?" I said, sitting upright.
"Manotaur," she sighed.
Huh?
The doors suddenly burst open, and one of the largest men I’d ever encountered charged his way into the room.
And, yeah, bull was definitely the right word.
He was shirtless, dressed in nothing except a pair of ripped jeans, and displaying a bronze-colored physique that suggested either superhuman strength, rampant steroid abuse, or some impressive combination of the two.
Some men gained enough strength to lift a car and apparently decided their bodies needed to advertise the fact.
But what really convinced me that super strength was involved were the enormous bull horns growing from his head.
He forced his way into the room, his face carrying a subtle muzzle-like shape that made me wonder whether Patty had been experimenting with genetics beyond her own body.
"Psyren!" the massive man bellowed. "Say it ain’t so! Say you ain’t quitting!"
Psyren rolled her eyes. "Hi, Lyle," she said, glancing over at him.
"Babe, you gotta be jokin’!" he said, pushing his way inside, shoving one of the couches out of the so hard it flew across the room to bang against the far wall. "My match wouldn’t be the same without you! You never even responded to my texts!"
Psyren sighed and rested her head against my shoulder while looking up at the pit fighter. "Seriously," she said. "I’m not interested. I thought I made that clear."
"Babe, come on! I know I can make you happy. Just give me a chance. What are you even leaving for?"
Only then did he notice me.
Which said quite a lot about his ability to pick up on obvious social cues.
Then again, with Psyren practically draped across my lap, there wasn’t exactly much room for misunderstanding.
His mouth fell slightly open before he straightened to his full height, his expression twisting as though he’d just bitten into a lemon.
His enormous hands curled into fists at his sides, and he snorted so violently that steam poured from his nostrils.
"So it was you!" he bellowed.
"For the love of idiots," I sighed.