Page 7 of Virgil's Demons

Virgil followed me, the weight of his gaze never leaving me, and when I pulled the chair out for him, he didn't hesitate to sit, leaning back like he owned the place. I grabbed my sketchbook and set it on the table in front of him.

"So," I began, flipping through blank pages. "What do you want and where do you want it?"

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a strong, thick forearm already lined with ink, but there was space, deliberate like he'd been waiting for something specific to fill it. I glanced at his hands, large, also filled with ink, long thick fingers that sent a hot shiver down my spine.

"Here," he said, tapping the bare skin.

I blinked once then nodded before glancing up at him again. "What are you thinking?"

He hesitated for just a second, eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place, then he reached into his vest pocket and took out a piece of paper, handing it to me, "A rune."

My hands stilled as I stared at the symbol. It was ancient, one I'd seen many times before, especially circling the Voodooreligion. "This rune?" I repeated, narrowing my eyes. "You know this isn't just a symbol, it's used for protection, right?"

His lips twitched again. "Yeah. That's the point."

"But it's a specific protection. This is the symbol of Marutukku."

"Now how do you know that?" Saddle asked from behind me.

I turned to look at them. "I studied ancient art and symbols or sigils such as these in college." I turned back to Virgil. "The occult intrigues me."

His eyes grew darker as he watched me. "Yeah, me too."

My cheeks flushed but I studied him for a moment, sensing the heaviness in his words. "What exactly are you trying to protect yourself from?"

Virgil leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse quicken. "Let's just say… I've got a few demons on my back I need to get rid of."

There was more to that, I could feel it, but I wasn't going to push. Not yet. I let the tension simmer between us, the charged energy palpable. "Alright, Virgil," I murmured, brushing my fingers over the space on his arm. His skin was warm under my touch, and I swore I felt him shiver. "But you should know, runes only work if you believe in what you're doing. You sure you're ready for that?"

He held my gaze, something hot and intense lingered in his eyes. "I've been ready for a long time."

I bit my lip, my heart racing a little faster. This wasn't just about ink—it was about whatever darkness had wrapped itself around him. And hell if I didn't want to know every inch of it.

"Well then," I whispered, my voice low and thick, "let's see what you're made of."

My fingers brushed against the soft paper as I sketched the rune he'd given me, each stroke deliberate, calculated. The weight of his gaze burned into me. There was something primalin the way he watched me, almost like he was waiting for me to see through him, to call him out on the secrets he carried like heavy chains. And maybe, just maybe, I was about to.

"You've dealt with the occult before," I said, not bothering to look up as I shaped the intricate lines.

"Once or twice," he murmured, his voice low, gravelly, like the shadows of whatever haunted him had settled deep in his throat.

I glanced over his broad shoulders and traced the other tattoos that aligned his arms. A crucifix was inked on his forearm, a rosary wrapped around the arm that led up to a skull.

"You're Catholic?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered.

I glanced up at him, his response nearly making me laugh. "You question it?"

"No. If there's something I know for certain is that there is a God. I don't know where the fuck he is at the moment, but there's no doubt in my mind he exists. What I'm even more positive about, is that where there's God there's the Devil. And that motherfucker likes to show up all the time where you least expect it. He's got front-row seats to all our sins.

I nodded. "Sounds like you know him personally."

He grunted. "A little too well. Let's just say we're intimate."

"Is that why you chose this specific rune?" I pressed, glancing at him from beneath my lashes.

He smirked, leaning back in the chair, arms resting on the sides like he was perfectly at ease. But I could feel the tension, the tightly coiled energy radiating from him. "I didn't think you were the type to ask so many questions."

---