Page 26 of Virgil's Demons

"Different how?" Hart's brows lifted in genuine curiosity.

I didn't know how to explain it. Barythaya wasn't just some random woman. There was a pull between us, something dark and magnetic. She'd seen things, lived through things like I had. And that drew me in. I felt it the second I was near, and every time I left, I found myself craving more.

"She's... been through shit," I said, keeping it vague. "She gets it."

Brimstone raised an eyebrow. "And you think she's getting you? You talkin' serious here, or what?"

I didn't answer. What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? I wasn't sure what this was, but I knew it was more than just some fling.

"Leave him alone," Quiver cut in, her voice teasing as she approached. "It's cute. He's got a soft spot."

"Fuck off," I muttered, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Hart gave me a knowing look. "Why don't you invite her to this event? She might like seeing the club, getting a peek into your world."

Brimstone nudged me. "Yeah, bring her along. Give us a chance to meet the woman who's got you all wrapped up."

I gritted my teeth, the teasing started to wear on me. But Hart's suggestion lingered. It was a stupid idea, but maybe it was the excuse I needed.

After the group dispersed, I pulled out my phone, hesitating for a moment before typing out a message to Barythaya.

You free this weekend? The club's doing a Halloween thing for charity. Thought you might want to check it out.

I hit send and stuffed the phone back into my pocket. As I returned to the group, Brimstone gave me a knowing look. "You text her?"

I grunted in response, and he chuckled. "Good man. You know, we're just fucking with you. That's how we show we care around here. Don't take it to heart."

I grunted in response, wanting to quickly end this conversation.

But Brimstone continued. "Trust me, once you take that step, it changes things. No going back."

I wasn't sure if I liked the sound of that, but before I could dwell on it, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and stared at the screen.

I'd love to come.

My heart skipped—a ridiculous reaction, but I couldn't deny it. She was coming, and somehow, this haunted house bullshit had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Brimstone clapped me on the shoulder. "Looks like you've got a hot date."

I didn't respond, but the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth told me he knew damn well what this meant. As we discussed the logistics of the event, sealing off the clubhouse and ensuring everything was secure, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

This wasn't just a community event anymore. For me, it was something else entirely.

BARYTHAYA

Istared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. My skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh bathroom lighting, and the dark circles beneath my eyes seemed to deepen with every sleepless night. I pressed my fingers under my lower lids, trying to will away the exhaustion, but it only made the hollow look more pronounced. I'd been fighting this… thing—whatever it was—for days now. Nightmares plagued my sleep, and the whispers in my head grew louder during the day. They twisted and taunted me, making me feel like I was losing my grip on reality.

The worst part? I didn't even remember what happened that night a few weeks ago. One moment I was at the tattoo shop, the next I woke up in a hospital bed. No memory of how I'd gotten there, no recollection of what I'd done to land myself in a psychiatric ward. All I knew was that Virgil had found me. The nurses had told me he stayed by my side for hours. His name was on the emergency contact forms, but when I asked if he left any message, there was nothing.

Nothing.

Just silence.

I can't explain how much that hurt, sitting there in that sterile, soulless room, waiting. Waiting for him to show up. Waiting for a call, a sign, anything. But as the days passed, my hope dimmed. Maybe he had decided I wasn't worth the trouble. Maybe he had seen enough of my messed-up life and bailed. That thought sat heavy in my chest, like a dull ache that wouldn't go away. I thought I'd never hear from him again, and with each passing hour in that hospital, I felt more alone than ever.

Being in that psych ward was one of the scariest things I've ever faced. There's something about those walls—so white, so cold, like they're trying to drain the life out of you. I didn't belong there. At least, I didn't think I did. But when they put me on that watch list, when the doctors and nurses started looking at me like I might break at any moment, I started questioning everything. Was I crazy? Was this it for me? Had I finally gone off the deep end?

But after the evaluation, they let me go. Said I was fine. I wasn't a danger to myself, not in their eyes anyway. But I lied. I told them what they wanted to hear, that I was fine, that I hadn't tried to hurt myself, that I didn't know what happened. I had to lie. Because what could I possibly say? That the voices in my head had made me do it? That something dark and twisted had been clawing at me for weeks, dragging me under?

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