Page 42 of Virgil's Demons

But no matter how far I ran, how loud I screamed, she was always slipping further from my grasp.

I dropped to my knees, hands digging into the dirt, cold and damp beneath me. Helplessness swallowed me whole, suffocating, crushing. "Barythaya…" Her name barely made it out, a broken whisper. My fingers clawed at the ground, fists full of dirt as I screamed her name one last time, raw and hoarse.

Nothing.

Just silence. That oppressive, choking silence that comes with failure.

And then, just as the darkness threatened to close in on me for good, her voice whispered again, soft, almost distant.

"Death has taken over."

I shot awake, my body jerking upright, drenched in sweat. My chest heaved, each breath a battle as her words echoed in my skull.

Death has taken over.

My fists clenched the sheets, knuckles white, heart still hammering like a wild thing in my chest.

I glanced down, my breath catching in my throat.

Barythaya lay beside me, curled under the covers, breathing soft and steady. But it wasn't her. Not really. It hit me like a bucket of cold water—the bile rising in my throat.

I'd just fucked Death.

I'd been fucked by Death.

Rage flared, hot and violent, but I shoved it down. There was no time for that. She was still here, still alive.For now. That's all that mattered. I couldn't risk waking her, not with Death wrapped around her like a second skin. I needed a plan. Needed help.

I threw the covers off, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floor beneath my feet shocked me awake, cutting through the remnants of the nightmare. My body screamed for rest, it was bruised and hurting, but there wasn't time for that. Not if I wanted to save her.

I yanked my jeans on, jerking them over my legs with shaking hands. Pulling on my shirt and jacket, I glanced at her sleeping form one last time. She looked so calm, so vulnerable, I swallowed the rage bubbling under my skin.

"I'm going to fix this," I muttered, the words more a promise to myself than to her. "I'll save you. I swear it."

I grabbed my keys and slipped out the door, the early morning air hitting me like a slap to the face, cutting through the fog clouding my mind. The streets were still dark and empty, my side of the world wasn't up yet. Electricity hummed in the air around me, thick, like a storm about to break. I needed speed. I needed to feel the wind, the roar of the engine, anything to drown out the thoughts that wouldn't stop spinning in my head.

Bulldog. He'd know what to do.

I rode like a bat out of hell, the wind whipping past me, the engine's growl vibrating through my bones. When I pulled up to Bulldog's, his lights were on. Good. He was a man who didn't sleep much, especially when shit hit the fan.

I found him sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey in front of him, the dim light casting shadows across his weathered face. His eyes flicked up when I entered, narrowing as they scanned me. Bulldog could read a man like a fucking book. He knew something was wrong before I even opened my mouth.

"I need Spectre," I said, my voice low, rough.

He didn't say a word for a long moment, just stared at me like he was weighing every inch of me with his eyes. Finally, he leaned back, took a slow sip of his drink, and set the glass down with a heavy thud.

"You're in deep shit, aren't you?"

I nodded, jaw tight, fists clenched. "Yeah. It's Barythaya. Death's taken her body. The demon… it's all fucked up."

Bulldog's expression hardened at that, his eyes darkening. He pushed back his chair with a creak and stood. "Alright," he grunted, rubbing a hand over his beard. "I'll make the call."

As he disappeared into the next room, I stood there, staring out into the night, the weight of it all pressing down on me like a goddamn lead blanket.Death had taken her body.

But I still had her soul.

And I'd be damned if I let Death take that from me.

The only question was…would I be too late?

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