Page 17 of Virgil's Demons

Barythaya.

The thought of her name alone sent a surge of heat through me. I could still feel her. My fingers ached from the memory of gripping her hips, the way her body bucked and writhed beneath me, a perfect, sinful match to my every movement. Her skin, soft yet firm, was hot beneath my touch as if we were both burning alive. I could still taste her on my tongue. Her salty sweat, the sweetness of her juices, the primal need that had twisted us together in that dream.

Something was very wrong, like a fracture in my memory I tried to focus, that shadow creeping around the edges. It was asif death itself had brushed its cold fingers across my soul, leaving a mark I couldn't shake. My chest felt heavy, weighed down by the sense that something was corrupting me from the inside out.

Death, or whatever the hell that thing was, had wrapped itself around me. I was almost certain it hadn't been just Barythaya in the dream. Death had twisted my desires somehow. I could still feel its cold fingers trailing down my spine, lingering long after I'd woken up, like a brand burned into my soul.

The room was still, too still. My breath echoed in the quiet, the steady thud of my heart the only noise in the dark. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the feeling that clung to me. But it wouldn't leave. I could still feel the weight pressing on my chest, a suffocating heaviness that whispered to me, taunted me. Death had been in my dream… but it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like it had been here, in this room, watching me.

What the hell did it want with me?

Did I just have a fucking nightmare, or was I going crazy?

I wasn't that stupid to dismiss it as nothing. There was something about the way Death had hovered, not just over me, but inside me, like a shadow that had slipped through the cracks. And that voice—so soft and seductive, like the pull of the grave itself...it lingered in the back of my mind. It had wantedme. Not my soul, at least not yet, but it did want me.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, my skin slick with sweat. The images wouldn't leave. Barythaya's dark, knowing eyes as she rode me, her nails digging into my skin, her body a perfect rhythm of violence and pleasure. But it wasn't her, not entirely. Death had worn her face, her body. The realization hit me like a gut punch.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the cool hardwood floor, trying to ground myself. I glanced around the room. There was an empty silence, no sign of anyone else. But the air felt charged like something had been here andleft a residue. I swallowed the rising bile, the unease settled deep in my gut.

The demon… it had been here too, lurking, waiting in the recesses of my mind, watching me, feeding off my fear, my arousal. It had been growing stronger with each passing day, and now I could feel it creeping closer, testing the edges of my defenses.

My hands trembled as I rubbed them over my thighs, trying to pull myself back into reality. But reality felt twisted now, tangled up in shadows and whispers. I remembered how it—the Angel of Death—had spoken to me, as if it knew me, like it had been watching for far longer than I'd realized. It had wanted more than just my life; it wanted my submission. It wanted me to give in.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. This wasn't normal. None of this was normal. But when had my life ever been anything close to normal? I hunted demons, sent them back to the abyss where they belonged. I'd walked through hell and come out on the other side more times than I could count. But this? This felt like something new. Something that didn't just want to break me—it wanted to own me.

I stood, my legs shaky but steady enough to carry me to the bathroom. I turned on the cold water, splashing it over my face, trying to shake the lingering fog of sleep. My reflection stared back at me, my eyes bloodshot, jaw drawn tight. I didn't look like a man who had just woken from a dream. I looked like someone who had returned from a fight and barely survived.

What the hell is going on?

Why am I being hunted by Death itself? And why does it feel like I'm not strong enough to fight it off?

The demon was one thing. I'd fought demons my whole life, I knew how they worked, and what they wanted. But this entity… this was something different. Something far older, far moredangerous. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on borrowed time, that whatever this was—whatever it was—wasn't going to stop until it had what it wanted. And what it wanted wasme.

Is this it, God? Are you warning me?

I gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, my mind racing, knowing I would never get an answer from him. I had to figure this out on my own before it was too late. Before I slipped and lost myself to whatever dark pull had latched onto me. Because if I didn't… if I gave in… it wouldn't just be me that was damned. It would be everything I'd fought for. Everyone I'd ever tried to save.

And Barythaya… what the hell did this mean for her? Was she just a pawn in all of this, or was there more to the connection I felt? A shiver ran through me, as if something cold had slithered across my skin. I needed answers, and I needed them fast.

Because Death wasn't just knocking at my door. She was already inside, waiting for me to falter.

I suddenly had this urge to see her.

I didn't bother to fight it. The pull was too strong. I quickly showered and got dressed, ignoring the dull ache in my muscles from the night before. I picked up the leather cutte, the symbol of the Royal Bastards sewn onto the back of the leather. I never search for a purpose,but these men had somehow welcomed me, slowly giving me one. I couldn't let them down, I couldn't die without at least leaving them with some kind of peace of mind.

My soul felt twisted, and it was torn between duty, lust, and something far more dangerous. I pushed thoughts of the MC to the side. It wasn't about my loyalty to them right now, and they'd understand it. Before I could help them, I needed to figure out what was going on with me.

I pulled on the leather and set out to see her. I had to know if it was just the dream or if Barythaya was somehow reaching into my mind and pulling me to her.

The ride to the Sanctuary felt longer than usual. The streets blurred around me, the people faceless, unimportant. All I could think about was Barythaya. Her scent. Her touch. The way my body had responded to her in my dreams. I wanted her in a way that was raw and undeniable. She was like a magnet, drawing me in, pulling me toward her even though I knew I should stay away.

When I pushed open the door to her shop, the familiar scent of ink and antiseptic hit me, but underneath it was her—something warm and feminine, with a bite of danger. My pulse quickened the moment I stepped inside. There she was, sitting behind the counter, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder, her eyes catching mine like a snare.

I swallowed hard, the air between us crackling with tension. She didn't say anything at first, just stared at me, as if she could see the storm raging inside me. My breath hitched, and I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to cross the room and pull her to me.

Her eyes flickered, her lips curling into a faint, knowing smile as if she could feel the same pull I did. My body was already responding to her, heat pooling low in my gut, making it hard to think straight. My cock jerked, wanting release, but I ignored it...for now.

"Virgil," she said softly, her voice like silk sliding over my skin.

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