Page 16 of Virgil's Demons

My fingers grazed his jaw, and he flinched but didn't pull away. There was fire in him still, a fight I admired. I trailed my hand lower, down his neck, feeling the pulse of his life beneath his skin. He was so full of what I wanted, life, energy, raw power. It was intoxicating.

"I can give you release," I said, my voice dropping to a hushed, sensual tone. "I can take away the pain, the weight you carry. All you have to do is give in."

I could see the conflict in his eyes, the desire warring with his will. He wanted me, even if he didn't understand why. And I wanted him, more than I had ever wanted anyone before.

"I've killed many men," I whispered, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "But none like you. You're different. Special."

Virgil's breath hitched as my hand slid lower, across his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths, each one more labored than the last. "What are you?"

I smiled against his skin. "I am yours, if you'll have me."

I let my form shift, taking on the appearance of the one woman who had been on his mind lately—Barythaya. Her dark hair, her sharp eyes, the tattoos that marked her skin. I knew he wanted her, though he kept his distance. I knew the pull she had on him, the way he fought it every time they crossed paths.

His eyes widened as he saw me, confusion flickering across his face. "Barythaya?"

"No," I said softly, taking another step closer. "But I know her. I know what you want from her."

His breath hitched, and he reached for the knife on his bedside table, his fingers brushing the hilt. He didn't trust what he was seeing. He shouldn't.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Virgil," I said, my voice calm, soothing. "I'm here to save you."

He stared at me, the knife now gripped in his hand, but he didn't raise it. "Save me from what?"

"From the demon that haunts your dreams. The one that wants to tear you apart."

I could see the understanding dawn in his eyes. He knew what I was talking about. He had felt the demon's presence, its relentless pursuit. It had been growing stronger, feeding off his exhaustion, his fear. And now it was close, closer than ever before.

"It wants to destroy you," I continued, "It's angry with you, envious of what you are. It craves your pain, your suffering. It won't stop until it has consumed you. It wants you to suffer eternal damnation."

"And you?" he asked, his voice low. "What do you want?"

I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "I want to help you. I've been watching you for years, Virgil. I've seen the battles you've fought, the souls you've saved. But this one… this demon is different. You can't fight it alone."

He stared at me, the weight of my words sinking in. He knew I was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. The demon was too strong, too relentless. And I was the only one who could stop it.

"But why?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why help me?"

I stepped closer, until I was right in front of him, my hand reaching out to touch his chest. "Because I admire you. I've admired you for a long time. And because I don't want to see you fail."

His breath hitched again, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He didn't trust me, not fully, but he was desperate. And desperation made men do foolish things.

"I can protect you," I whispered, my hand sliding down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my touch. "But you have to trust me."

His grip on the knife tightened, but he didn't move. He didn't push me away.

"Let me help you, Virgil," I murmured, my lips hovering just above his. "Let me save you."

For a moment, there was only silence, and then he broke it."I don't need your help. I work alone. I always have. Now get the fuck out," he whispered, his voice rough.

I stared at him for a moment, seeing his resolve, and then I roared in anger. He pressed his arms over his face as I shifted back into that dark fog I came from.

"I will come back for you. You will be mine, soldier. You were meant for Death."

I slowly dissipated, letting the threat linger. I'd have my way, I always did.

VIRGIL

Iwoke up in a haze, drenched in sweat, every muscle coiled tight like I'd been wrestling a goddamn beast in my sleep. My heart pounded against my ribcage, as my mind struggled to make sense of the fragments of the last dream I had. It clung to me with images that were violent, raw, and seductive. I sat up in bed, my breaths coming hard, the sheets tangled around me, the air thick with the scent of sex surrounding me. The dream, if I could call it that, hadn't been a simple nightmare. No, this had been something far worse. It felt real—too real.

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