4. Barythaya
BARYTHAYA
M y breath came in ragged gasps as I ran, my bare feet pounding against the hard concrete, fear propelling me along the twisted road that stretched endlessly ahead of me. My calves burned and my lungs screamed in pain, but I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Behind me, I could hear it. The creature, the monster that haunted my nightmares for as long as I could remember.
It was getting closer.
The ground beneath me suddenly became soft and slick, pulling at my ankles like quicksand, threatening to swallow me into its depths. Panic surged through my veins, every instinct screaming for me to keep running, to escape. But the thick fog that surrounded me made it hard to see, distorting everything, hiding the monster that was now hunting me.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat as I stumbled, pain ricocheting along my legs and feet. My body crashed to the ground. I scrambled to get up, dirt and grime clung to my skin, my nightgown torn to shreds, and I could feel it getting closer. My heart hammered wildly, threatening to tear out my chest, it burned. I feared it could hear it beating.
Suddenly, its presence loomed behind me, its heavy, labored breathing echoed beside me, its breath sliding along my ear. Cold fingers of dread wrapped around my spine.
"No… no…" I whimpered, pushing myself back up to my feet, but it was too late. The monster was there, its foul breath on my neck, reaching for me with its gnarled hands.
I screamed.
Suddenly, something cold and firm wrapped around my throat, stopping my scream short. A hand—strong, commanding. Before I could react, I was yanked backward, my body slammed against a solid chest, and the world shifted.
"Shh, don't scream, Barythaya." His voice was low, dark, and familiar. The soothing deep rumble vibrated against my back, his breath hot against my ear.
It was Virgil.
Somehow, impossibly, he was here in my nightmare, and the grip he had on my throat was possessive, controlling. I felt my heart skip, but not from fear anymore. Something darker stirred in me, something primal.
"What are you—" I started to say, but his hand tightened around my neck, silencing me.
"Quiet," he whispered, dragging me out of sight, pulling me into the shadows with him. We moved together, hidden in the pitch-black, and for a moment I forgot about the monster chasing me. I forgot about the terror that had been coursing through my veins. This was a new adrenaline, and all I could focus on was him—his touch, the way his fingers pressed into my skin, the way the heat of his body felt pressed against mine.
He held me there, his hand still on my throat, both of us silent as we watched the monster lumber past. I could see it in the distance now, searching for me, snarling as it sniffed the air, confused by my sudden disappearance.
"See?" Virgil's voice was soft, coaxing. "I'll always keep you safe from it. From any monster."
My body trembled, but not from fear. I felt the heat of him behind me, the way his grip tightened possessively. His fingers slid up from my throat, brushing along my jaw, turning my face just enough so that his lips were inches from mine.
"You don't have to run anymore," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down my spine. His other hand slid around my waist, pulling me tighter against him. "I've got you."
And in that moment, everything shifted. The terror of the nightmare faded away, replaced by something deeper, something darker. My body was no longer tense with fear, it was tense with desire.
Virgil's lips brushed against my ear, his hot breath teasing, and his hand moved lower, trailing down my throat, over my breasts, his touch leaving a path of fire in its wake. I let out a shaky breath, my pulse racing for a completely different reason now.
"You want this, don't you?" he murmured, his hand sliding under my shirt, fingers brushing my bare skin, finding the tips of my nipples. The coarseness of his fingers slid over them, and they tightened and pushed against his hand.
I couldn't find my voice, couldn't speak, so I nodded.
His lips curved into a wicked smile against my neck. "Good."
Then, before I could react, his hand moved to his side, and I heard the faint metallic click of a knife being drawn. My heart leaped into my throat, a sharp thrill of fear mixing with desire.
He pressed the flat of the blade against my skin, running it lightly down my collarbone. The sensation was cold, dangerous, but it sent a jolt of pleasure through me that I couldn't explain.
"Virgil…" I whispered, my voice trembling, though I wasn't sure if it was from fear or excitement. Maybe both.
He shushed me again, dragging the knife down my body with agonizing slowness, the cold metal contrasting sharply with the heat between us. I felt his lips graze the back of my neck, his breath hot and teasing.
"You're mine, Barythaya," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "In every way."
The blade slid lower, over the curve of my hip, and I gasped, my body arching into him. His hand came up again, wrapping around my throat, holding me in place as his other hand, the one with the knife, continued its slow, sensual exploration.
I should have been afraid. I should have been terrified of the blade in his hand, of the control he had over me. But instead, I felt alive, more alive than I'd ever felt. The fear mingled with the desire in a way that was intoxicating, and consuming.
I whimpered softly as his hand tightened on my throat, the knife now tracing the inside of my thigh. His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he spoke again, his voice thick with hunger.
"You want me to take you, don't you? To enter this sweet pussy and make you mine," he growled, the knife hovering over the edge of the waistband of my panties.
"Yes," I breathed, unable to deny it, unable to fight the pull he had over me. "Please…"
With a swift, deliberate motion, he cut through the fabric, the knife slicing easily through the thin nightgown, leaving me bare before him. His hands were everywhere, gripping my breasts, his hands possessive, rough as they drifted between my thighs, and filled with a dark kind of tenderness that made my body ache for more.
The dream shifted again, and suddenly we were no longer hiding in the shadows. We were somewhere else—somewhere darker, more intimate. I didn't care. All I cared about was the feel of his skin against mine, the heat between us, and the way he made me feel like I was teetering on the edge of something both terrifying and beautiful.
Virgil's mouth crashed against mine, and I melted into him, every part of me surrendering. His hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my throat to him as his lips and teeth claimed every inch of my skin. The knife was still in his hand, a dangerous promise of control, and it thrilled me in a way I couldn't explain.
He pressed the knife to my throat, and I swallowed, feeling the steel blade against my skin with the movement. His hand drifted between my thighs, finding my hot slick center.
"So wet," he murmured against my neck as he flicked my hard clit. My body jolted as if it were being electrocuted by all sorts of sensations. All thoughts of other men, my childhood, withered away as I gave myself to this feeling.
Virgil moved over me, his finger sliding into me as the blade slid down across my breast. A sting of pain made me jump and I looked down to find a trickle of blood along the top of my breast. I gasped as his tongue reached out to lick it off me. His eyes were dark as he fucked me harder, penetrating me with his thick fingers.
We moved together, a tangle of need and desperation, our bodies meeting in the dark. His movements were rough and unrelenting, but I didn't care.
I craved it.
I craved him.
Every kiss, every touch, every thrust of his hand felt like a claim on my soul, and I gave into him completely.
He slid the blade along my body and the intensity grew. His grip on me tightened, his control absolute as he flicked the blade against my nipple, another sting soothed by the sucking of his mouth. My body responded to him with an urgency that made my head spin, the lines between pleasure and pain blurred in the most exquisite way.
Virgil's lips were on mine again, his tongue teasing and demanding, and I knew, in that moment, that he owned me. In this dream, in this twisted reality, I was his completely.
I could feel the orgasm building, his need was as powerful as mine. "Cum for me, beautiful," we both moaned as I shattered.
I screamed, launching off the bed. I shook as I trailed my fingertips over my drenched pussy, a lighter orgasm flooded through me and I gripped the sheets while still imagining Virgil over me.
As I came down from the wet dream, I shivered. Flinching, I looked down at my chest, and there, a raw red mark signaled that the dream was just a little too real.
How?
Why had he chosen me?
I slid my fingertips along the red mark and remembered the sting of the blade. I realized then, that I didn't want a dream, I wanted the reality of it.
I wanted the reality of him.