Despite its strangling grip, I’m attempting to outrun the darkness again, as futile as that may be. Even when the sun shines, I feel no warmth. But what choice do I have?

No one sees the tempestuous clouds hanging over my world, urging me to think there’s no hope. But I refuse to give in to despair. And so, I tell myself, This time will be different.

I glance down at my sandals. They are clearly the wrong choice as I stumble through the wetlands of Louisiana, mud caking around my bare ankles and squishing between my toes. The ever-present throbbing between my legs is thankfully a dull ache tonight: I need to focus on my surroundings instead of the need that threatens to consume me.

I reach the rotting wooden steps and take a good long look at the dilapidated shack I will call home. It’s funny how something considered inhospitable to most is welcoming to me. I guess it represents isolation.

My nose wrinkles at the stench of stagnant water a few feet away. Eww, yet perfect—another deterrent from visitors.

More relaxed, I tug the rubber band from my ponytail, releasing inky locks to fall around my shoulders, and then I skirt the perimeter of the cabin. The towering cypress trees seal the deal, representing an additional barrier between me and the rest of the world.

Yes, I look around; this may work out after all.

~ooOoo~

I settle in quite nicely. Live a few days. Wipe off dust layers. Move some furniture around to make the surroundings more comfortable.

Yet, despite a new start, the nightmares of the past still haunt my dreams. Often, I can’t sleep, so tonight, I’m sitting outside in just a T-shirt on a patch of leaves, leaning against the cypress near my porch. I like the way the cool ground feels against my heated bottom. Listening to the symphony of frogs, crickets, and cicadas helps pass the time and keeps my mind off other things.

The hum of a motor breaks my thoughts. Not expecting company, I bolt upright, moving around the tree to hide from the dim light growing brighter across the swamp. The wind kicks up, and I catch a whiff. Based on the masculine woodsy scent, it must be a man. 

My body instantly reacts, and the familiar ache increases—although ‘ache’ hardly does the feeling justice. It's as if I’m weighed down, crippled in a way by arousal, until I'm touched. Fucked. Until his cock becomes a part of me, and I won’t let it go until I’m a depleted, panting mess. One might think rampant sexual desire is a blessing, but not for me.

I’ve tried many things to satisfy my needs. I swear, I have. But nothing can replace a pulsing, blood-filled cock buried inside me. Not fucking is like dying of thirst and having no water to drink. But every time I do, I come closer to letting the darkness swallow me forever.

I brave another peek. He’s reached the dock and is bent over, tying up his boat. His body distracts me when I should be on high alert. I love a man’s body: the strength of broad shoulders, narrow hips, and especially a thick ass and thighs—his muscular thrusting power on display. I can only see him from the waist down, but this one fills his jeans nicely.

He moves, and I tuck my head back as he approaches the cabin. I pinch my nose and breathe through my lips. Maybe he won’t affect me as much if I can't smell him. I live in hope.

Heavy footsteps thud on the rickety stairs, followed by a knock at the door. Then, deafening silence. After several agonizing moments, I peek around the tree again to take in his dark silhouette by the door. Artificially numbing one of my senses seems to amplify the others. The visual stimulus of his taut physique under the checkered shirt makes my veins fizz, and I squeeze my thighs together to control the urge to plunge my free hand between them. A twig snaps underfoot as I squirm, causing him to turn around.

“Hello? Anyone there?” His voice is deep and husky—the kind of voice I want whispering dirty things in my ear. Nasty things. Electric things that will scorch every hair follicle in my body as I throb and claw and take what I need from him.

I don’t move another muscle. I daren't. Pinching my nose harder, I shut my eyes. Another sense muted. I can now practically taste him in the air. Please don’t come over here!

Can he hear me breathing? Detect my thundering heartbeat behind my breasts? I give up on holding my nose and wrap my arms around my chest in a fruitless attempt to slow my pulse. His scent, carried across the space between us, ratchets my need.

More footsteps. Oh no, he knows I’m here!

“Hello?” He's moved but isn't much closer. “It’s just me, Landon, your neighbor. I saw the lights on. Dropped by to say, ‘Hello’.”

Go away! I remain still as the dead. Hoping. Praying to a God I’m no longer sure exists. 

“Okay. If anyone’s there, I live around the bend if you need anything.”

And with those words, he traipses back toward his boat, untethers it, and leaves.

As the hum of his motor fades, I collapse back in the damp grass, rolling around like a rabid animal while I finger fuck myself. Humping my hand, I growl and quickly cum. My clit’s puffy, so I ravage it and cum again… and again. My fingers don’t stop until I’m so sensitive it hurts to touch myself, and I quake in the undergrowth to the lingering wisps of his pheromones.

I tell myself I won’t think of him again. I may even believe it.

~ooOoo~

Have you ever noticed the easiest person to lie to is yourself?

In the subsequent days, I’ve been ravaged with such intense sexual heat that I’ve stayed as still as possible. Movement triggers internal heat. Even a slight breeze outside brushing against my skin stirs me, so I stay inside. Motionless. Staring into nothing. I haven’t showered for fear of what the water pressure would do to my hypersensitive flesh.

I’m convinced if I cum again, it will unleash a flood of need that will lead me to his bed. And that can't happen. It mustn't. So I sit, aching, on the edge, not daring to bring my thighs together. It would be too easy to squeeze them and affect my clit.

A spider scuttles diagonally across the wooden floor, mounts the rug near my feet, and pauses. Moves left. Then right. Tests my little toe with a whispery touch. Sensing no danger, it crawls on, spiraling up my shin to calf to knee. Pauses before the silent patter takes it along my thigh, working down to explore the creamy inner flesh.

It tickles the closer it gets to my heat, and I jig my leg, slowing its progress as it reassesses if the terrain is benign. It crawls higher, and as I bounce my knee in its wake, the friction of my slick pussy lips overwhelms me.

I stand sharply and shake the critter off, then tear to the bedroom and throw myself forward, succumbing to the terrible need. My hand snakes between my legs and tends to it. Angry, urgent circles bring on the first of many tremors, my wrist crushed between quivering thighs as I gasp.

The floodgates open, and I'm lost. One, two, three orgasms follow in quick succession. Then two more build and crest and roll across my battered shore. Each flick of my pleasure center, each thrust of soaked fingers in my greedy snatch prolongs the release: the agony. Shrieked relief is absorbed by the pillow, and I fall, again and again, to its lure until even the radiating heat cannot combat my body’s sheen.

With one final toe-curling spasm, my muscles finally unclench, and I melt into the mattress. My breathing’s still irregular, but I slowly regain control of my wrecked body. Sleep’s coming at last, and I close my eyes.

~ooOoo~

When I wake, it’s the middle of the night, and my thoughts race to the new object of my carnal cravings: Landon.

I tell myself that if I see where he lives, it will sustain my curiosity. Another lie.

I quickly dress, slip a white tank over my head, pull on panties and cotton shorts, and set off into the night.

It’s pitch black as I creep along the edge of the swamp, careful not to get too close. I’d be a tasty snack for an alligator, although the gnarly tree roots I keep tripping over might be more dangerous.

The full moon makes for a decent flashlight, but the darkness still unsettles me. I slowly continue to pick my way through the underbrush and low-hanging branches.

After I round a turn, I pause, straining my eyes, looking for his house amidst the twisted trees. That’s when I hear it—paws pounding the ground. I jump back when a large shadow appears in the distance, coming at me quickly.

Run! is my only thought.

I spin, slipping in the mud, then find my footing and take off, but the barking draws nearer and nearer. It becomes obvious I can’t outrun him, so I scan for a tree to climb. Luckily, there’s one ahead with a low split in its trunk, perfect for me to get my foot in and propel myself up to a higher branch. The dog or wolf, I’m unsure which, reaches the tree seconds after I’ve swung my legs up. He’s gnashing his teeth, jumping against the trunk, clawing at the bark as if he wants to eat me.

I’m screaming and scanning the tree for a way to climb higher when a shrill whistle pierces the atmosphere. Instantly, the dog disengages and trots off in the direction of the whistle.

Now’s my chance. I try to lower my legs but miss the foothold I’d used earlier and tumble to the ground, landing flat on my back, temporarily winded. Searing pain hits my bicep and right shoulder.

Before I can stand, a bright light shines on my face, and the man from the other night, Landon, towers over me alongside the animal who tried to eat me.

He’s naked except for cutoff jean shorts he must have hurriedly thrown on. The top button’s still undone.

“Are you alright? Mary Lou didn’t bite you, did she?”

I find my voice. “Mary Lou? You named that beast Mary Lou?”

“She’s more bark than bite.” He extends his hand, “Here, let me help you up. I’m Landon, by the way.”

Oh, I know who you are. You’ve been burrowed inside me since yesterday. 

What would he think if he knew? I wondered. 

I accept his hand. “I’m Amelia, and that animal shouldn’t run free.”

“Well, Amelia, it’s my property you’re on. She was just protecting her territory. Now that she knows your scent and I’m here, she won’t bother you again.” 

I sigh, realizing this is my fault. “I’m sorry. I was just out for a walk and didn’t know this was your property.”

“A walk at two in the morning?”

“I have trouble sleeping.” It isn’t a lie. I just omitted the part about how he’s consumed my every thought until I could find out more about him. 

“So, you live around here?” Even in the dark, the whites of his eyes and teeth shine against his tanned face. It might help my aches if he wasn’t so handsome. 

I swallow hard and point to the left with my finger, “Just around the corner.”

“That’s the old Harrison cabin. You must be the one I heard had moved in. I came ‘round the other night,” he pauses before continuing, “but I guess you weren’t home.”

I’m not liking all his questions and turn my attention to my arm. I touch where it hurts and discover blood on my hand.

He reaches for me and gently turns my arm backward for a better look at my wound. “You’re bleeding—your arm and through the back of your shirt.”

I shake free of his grasp. “I’m alright.”

“No, you’re not. You can easily get an infection in this environment. Not to mention, mosquitoes will eat you alive on the way home. Come inside and let me clean and bandage you, then I’ll walk you home.”

It's a bad idea. I know it is. Nothing good can come from being alone with this guy in his house, and I'm unsure if I'm more fearful for him or me. It's only the latent tails of my earlier climaxes that prevent me from pinning him to the tree, tearing down his shorts, and engulfing his cock. But if it's a choice between that or bleeding and mosquitos, well, it's no choice.

I sigh, nod, and let him lead the way.

His place is a similar style to the one I'm using. Dilapidated exterior yet homely inside. Wooden floors. Open fire, ever-present smoke particles staining the air. We thread past the couch covered with a tasseled throw down a short corridor, his bedroom door ajar. His scent is more potent here—much more robust as if I'd interrupted him masturbating—and my pussy reawakens fully. Heat spreads rapidly from my core over the next few steps to the bathroom, where he flicks on the pull cord. I blink in the light.

As he rummages through the cabinet, need grows. My panties bear the brunt. His muscles flex as he tears micropore tape and snips a bandage, and I crave to tear our clothes off and fuck him, wounds be damned. My body responds to the heat, and I nearly faint, steadying myself on the edge of the towel rail.

Landon places his hand on me. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?” I'm numb with desperation to fuck him. “Here…” he guides me to perch against the sink. Upends a bottle of alcohol rub in a cloth. “This is going to sting.”

I don't even flinch; such is the power of unrelieved sexual tension. Landon furrows his brow and wipes away the excess drying blood to assess the wound beneath. “I think your back needs cleaning, too.”

Our eyes meet, and I reach for the tank top hem. Lift. Higher. Pushing off from the sink, I turn to face the cabinet mirror. Unrepressed sexual torment is etched between the freckled map of my cheeks, and I pause only momentarily before removing my top and shaking out my hair.

Landon stifles a gasp, attention flitting to my breasts before realizing I'm watching him in the mirror. “Sorry, I—”

The alcohol swabs the gash beneath my shoulder blade. I grip the sink, an immovable anchor that is the only thing preventing me from ravaging him. Focusing on my reflection and the fire behind my eyes, I let him work. Patch me, his fingers brushing as he secures the gauze and tape.

“You're burning up. Let me get you some painkillers.”

“No, it's fine, honestly.”

“I insist. It'll take the edge off.”

He's not wrong but is unaware which edge it dulls. As the pills are absorbed, the ache in my loins fades. Enough that I can turn to face him and accept the clean T-shirt he offers. It swamps my tinier frame but helps cool my skin in the short term.

Turning out the light, we head to the door and step outside. He gestures to one of the rocking chairs on the porch, and I sit down, thankful because my legs remain unsteady.

“I’ll be right back with a glass of the best sweet tea you’ve ever tasted.”

I nod, smiling. My throat is bone dry, partly from screaming in the tree and partly from becoming overheated in the bathroom.

He soon returns and hands me the cup, and I take a sip, followed by several gulps and a louder-than-intended satisfied sigh. The pain medicine is kicking in further, dulling my wounds and, thankfully, my arousal. In fact, all my senses dull. It’s as if I’m suddenly my long-forgotten former self again.

I glance at Landon, and he’s intently watching me, his expression a mixture of worry and attraction. An awkwardness hangs between us until he says, “My shirt looks better on you than me,” and winks at me.

I smile at his compliment. “I promise I’ll bring it back. Maybe.” It’s comforting to me, knowing that something of his is wrapped around me. 

At first, we don’t say much, just enjoy our tea. I take the opportunity to get my first really good look at him. He has a sharply edged nose, chin, and cheekbones, but his blonde hair waving messily around his face softens his appearance. I’d love to run my fingers through his hair. If we fucked, I’d probably yank it. I can tell he doesn’t spend much time on his appearance. Doesn’t need to. He’s gorgeous as is, and I think he knows it.

He studies me while I study him, and when our eyes meet, we both grin. The fluttering butterflies in my stomach are a welcome change from the raging inferno of lust usually wrecking my body.

We turn our gazes to the night sky. Tonight, the full moon is quite spectacular. I comment on it, and the conversation easily flows from there. He tells me he hunts gators with his dad. That explains the rippled muscles covering his body. In addition to the obvious outside power, I sense there’s inner strength too. I feel safe around him. 

Mary Lou plods across the porch to flop down at my feet. My guard drops, and my tongue loosens somewhat, but I limit the information sharing to my younger days when life was boring—before everything changed.

We talk for several hours, and during this short time, I feel almost normal. My heart isn’t beating out of my chest. I’m just breathing and sitting on a porch with a nice, handsome man under the stars. 

Postcard picture perfect.

He half turns in his chair to face me and speaks with a softer tone. “May I ask you a question?”

I nod, and he continues, “Are you running from something?”

I’m immediately defensive and look away before snapping back. “What makes you think that?”

He doesn’t respond until I meet his gaze again. “Most who live here were born and raised. We don’t get any from New Orleans choosing to move out here unless they’re hiding from something… or someone.”

I don’t know what to say, but thankfully, he keeps talking.

“It’s funny. There have always been rumors about monsters in the bayou, but I know the real monsters have always lived in New Orleans. Something about that city just draws them in."

I sit upright and tighten my grip on the wooden armrests. I need to change the topic. “I just came out here to be alone. Isn’t that alright?” It’s mostly the truth, anyway.

“Sure, I like living alone too… need my space. Well, I used to, anyway. Now I’m kinda wanting to settle down… fall in love.” He flashes his white teeth, punctuating those last three words, disarming me. “Have you ever been in love, Amelia?”

“Once,” is all I can say. Ronan flashes in my mind. The words ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ didn’t do him justice, but good looks can only cover what’s inside for so long. I quickly push him back into a dark crevice.

“Didn’t work out?”

I laugh aloud at the innocent simplicity in his words. If he only knew. I can only shake my head no.

He smiles, mistaking my laugh to mean my one love was inconsequential. You have no idea, Landon, and I’ll never tell you.

“Well, maybe we can be alone together sometimes.” His smooth tone is laced with innuendo.

He is adorable—the perfect mix of sweet and sexy. But he’s getting too close for comfort, and the pain meds are losing their effect, so I stand up from my rocker and stretch.

“I better be getting home,” I say, pointing to the sun peeking above the horizon. “Sorry, I’ve kept you up all night.”

“I’m okay. I enjoyed it.” He sits his cup down on the table and stands. “I’ll walk you home.”

I wave him off, “No need, but thank you.”

Trudging into the dawn through the wetlands, my mind is a tangled mess, along with my warring emotions. I liked the way we were together on his porch.

More importantly, I liked me.

Before I know it, I’m home and exhausted. For the second day in a row, I believe sleep will come for me, so I peel off my panties and shorts and climb underneath the cool sheets—but his T-shirt stays on.

~ooOoo~

I bolt upright, gasping for air with my hand cupping my pussy. Beads of sweat cover my body. As the brain fog clears, I see the blackness through the window and can’t believe I’ve slept all day. Before I can overthink, my throbbing sex grabs my focus once again.

His smell is all around me. I ball the bottom of the garment and lift it away from my tummy up to my nose. Inhaling deeply, I wipe the fabric around my mouth. “I need you.” I speak the words aloud, knowing he can’t hear me. If only he had my hearing.

I rip the T-shirt off over my head and roughly rub my breasts with the soft cotton, pretending it’s him. By closing my eyes, I see him in bed with me. He’s above me, crushing me into the mattress, groins grinding. I shove his top between my legs to temper my swollen labia. Wrapping two fingers in the thin fabric, I thrust them inside my pussy, wetting the shirt, then tug it out and slide the material up and down my slit. It’s infused with both of us now.

The cotton absorbs my need. I rub and plunge, writhing on the mattress as wanton thoughts flit, imagining us rutting and snarling and cumming; bucking together, clutching at one another as he fills me, and I pulse around his powerful cock.

My orgasm peaks when I add a third digit and plow fingerfuls of his T-shirt inside my sopping cunt. We become one, my legs clamped around my hand, drizzling nectar, gasping to the wooden rafters.

It ought to end there, but as I drag the garment from my sensitive slit and it brushes my nub, desire surges again. I drape his T-shirt over my face, widen my legs and shove fingers into my dripping pussy, breathing us in. My thumb connects with my clit, and I build from tender circles to grinding it hard as I spill over again and again, calling out, “Fuck me, Landon, oh please fuck me.”

My body is still twitching when I hear, “Hello, you home?” coming from inside the cabin.

Fuck!

I scramble upright, yanking the garment from my face to breathe cleaner oxygen.

“Just a minute,” I answer, struggling to regulate my breathing.

I’d missed his approach due to my senses swamped with the T-shirt still tinged with our combined scent. Fuck, fuck. What if he heard? I color at the thought, yet the butterflies return. Maybe I wanted him to hear.

Grabbing his shirt and throwing it on like a nightie, I pad down the hallway and round the corner into the living room and entryway.

Landon’s standing just inside the screen door, holding a pot of something, steam gently curling from beneath the lid.

His eyes widen as they roam over my attire, or lack thereof, lingering at the hem of his shirt, touching me mid-thigh. “Umm, hi. I knocked, but no answer, so I let myself in to check you were alright.” He extends the pot toward me. “Gumbo. I caught crawfish today.”

“Wow, I uhhh. Thank you.” I finger comb my tousled bed hair, the act stretching the top so my nipples form two peaks in the fabric.

His eyes flash to my breasts. “You’re still wearing my shirt.”

I smell the anticipation on his skin. “Landon, thank you for the dish, but… we can’t,” I shake my head and step back from him. “People get hurt around me.”

He steps forward, “Look, I know we’ve just met, but I’ve been thinking ‘bout you all day, and as it turns out, I’m not afraid of you, pretty girl.”

“You should be.” I cross my arms in a show of resistance but am quickly losing the battle.

Placing the pot on the table, he steps closer still. “Why? All I see is you’ve brought a prettiness to my world that I just… can’t… resist.” Another step, his shadow casting across me. My senses spin, going haywire at his proximity. Doubly so when he possessively wraps an arm around my waist so I can’t retreat again. “And I’ve wrestled gators, remember, so I’ll take my chances.” He brushes a thumb over my lower lip and gazes at me for permission.

My eyes dart between his eyes and lips. I can almost taste him. “If you kiss me,” I sharply inhale, “I won’t be able to stop.”

“Then you better hold on tight, ‘cause I am gonna kiss you.” He pauses just long enough for his words to reach full effect, and then he crushes his mouth against mine. 

All my senses light up at once. I know I should push back, but I'm powerless in his embrace. My tongue finds his. I’m quickly pressing for more. Our lips continue to mash together in urgent need. The taste of him… I can’t get enough.

He breaks our kiss and whispers, “I heard you calling my name. You were touching yourself when I walked in, weren’t you?”

I look into his eyes and no longer want to lie. “Yes.”

The air around us vibrates with our sexual energy. The bulging outline of his cock through his shorts tells me he feels it too.

He thumbs a nipple through the shirt, making me squirm against him. “You know, I’m going kinda crazy thinking ‘bout all you’ve been doing in my shirt.”

I lift it over my head and press the wet spot against his nostrils. He sharply inhales and takes the shirt from my hands.

My trembling hands tear at the button and zipper on his shorts and tug them down below his knees, where he steps out of them. I cast my eyes at his crotch; oh my, another powerful muscle on display.

Landon drops the garment and pulls me against him, and we grind against each other. His cock is rigid and throbbing against my mound. He abruptly pulls away and sweeps me up in his arms. 

He carries me to the bedroom and tosses me on the bed, wasting no time covering my body with his, like a warm blanket. He sucks my nipples and then moves lower, and I yank his head up by his hair. “No. Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

He cocks an eyebrow in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d want this to be a quick thing.”

“I can’t wait,” I beg. “I need you inside me.” I spread my legs and dig my nails in his back.

“Mmm, you’re something else,” he moans, then maneuvers up between my legs.

I grab his cock, tugging him to my opening. He takes over and thrusts—deep.

Ahhh! I cry out and clench, strangling his cock so he can’t pull back. Finally! A blood-filled cock in my cunt.

“Christ!” he growls, kissing my neck, and roaming his hands everywhere.

I wrap my legs around his waist and buck my hips, taking him deeper. “Fuck me hard.”

He pulls back, then heeds my pleas, filling me, stretching me, plunging my depths. We passionately fuck, fueled by the sounds of our bodies slapping noisily together. He slides one hand under my bottom, and the other grabs my hair. He’s holding me in place, forcing my cunt to absorb the full force of his cock. His eyes glaze with arousal, and I’m held captive by them.

“You feel so good to me,” he whispers with ragged breath.

I tangle my fingers in his blonde locks and pull his face against mine. We kiss and moan in each other’s mouths.

Indescribable warmth flows from his cock to my pussy. Raw heat radiates from him. I’m on fire, bucking my hips to meet his every thrust. We’re animals. Smashing our lips together. Sucking each other’s necks. Consuming one another.

I’m finally full. Enflamed. Engulfed by my own libidinous need, and it spreads to him. Every part of his body is slick as his hips continue their feverish thrusting.

Landon raises his head from my shoulder and parts his lips, but before he can speak, black fingernails curl into the flesh of his neck and fling him across the room. His body lands in a crumpled mass on the floor.

Shock steals my scream, and I can only whimper as tears pool in my lower lids. “No… no… no.”

Ronan grins; his forked tongue licks Landon’s blood off his fingers. “You really thought the stench of this place could mask your scent from me?”

“You didn’t have to kill him. He did nothing!”

“Use your senses, darling. He’s not dead… yet. How long he stays alive depends on you.”

I quiet and pick up Landon’s faint heartbeat. Relieved, yet still terrified.

Ronan’s smile wanes, “You still don’t seem to understand. You are mine… forever. And he took something that was mine.”

The choking sobs erupt as my mind catches up with what my eyes have witnessed. “I don’t want this. Please, let me go.”

He pounces, trapping my hands over my head, snarling. “I gifted you with supernatural senses and heightened sexual desire. And this is how you repay me?”

My eyes bravely meet his, as black as his soul. “I don’t want your gifts! I didn’t know the darkness within you!”

“Oh, but didn’t you? It’s what drew you to me, remember? You were fragile and passionless. Frigid. Inhibited. Alone.” He reaches his hand down to grasp my sex, and I gasp but don’t pull away. “And look at you now. Even wallowing in misguided tears, you want me to fuck you.”

And, God help me, I do. But is it him I want or the wretched curse calling the shots?

Long fingers snake inside me, their coldness stark compared to the molten core of desire that boils within. I shamelessly hump into his grip, head lolling as the interrupted magma of my orgasm reflows. He detects the change, curls up into me, and I lose myself under his expertise.

Despite the revulsion, despite everything, I find myself begging. Begging to finish me. Begging to complete me. So when he withdraws sticky fingers, licks them, and his dead eyes roll back in ecstasy, I'm aching for the cock he plunges into me.

His ferocity takes what little breath I have away. I gasp under his power. His might. When he releases my wrists, I grip his shoulders and use the leverage to buck against him.

We're a rutting, tangled mess of darkness that even my first orgasm can't illuminate. Only the onset of the second offers a glimmer of light that grows as each successive series of tremors rack my frame.

I lose track of how many climaxes buffet me. They roll and merge into an endless sea of rapture until, with a throaty roar, he buries deep and pulses, filling me. Rewarding me.

We lie, bodies twisting and twitching with the remnants of our orgasms. Ronan finally calms, sated, and the carnal fog clears enough for me to hear the agonal breathing from the corner. Landon!

I wiggle out from under Ronan and roll out of bed, falling on my knees with a thud. Too weak to walk, I crawl across the floor to reach him. Death hovers over him. I smell it.

I glide my hand over the tiny hairs on his body, afraid to touch him. He looks broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” is all I can whisper while I lightly caress his face, cold to the touch.

His eyes flutter but don’t open completely.

“Don’t die,” I sob. “Please, don’t die.”

A large hand passes my line of sight, grabs Landon’s throat, and hoists him into the air. Landon hangs like a ragdoll. I shriek, “Don’t!”

I find my legs and throw myself against Ronan, but he ignores my cries, singularly focused on Landon.

He finally turns his ominous eyes to me. “You picked well. I like this one. Landon, is it?” Ronan lifts Landon’s thick but flaccid cock in his free hand. A sadistic growl rolls up from his belly as he thumbs his longest vein.

I grab his arm with both hands, desperate and reduced to patches of words. “Save him. I’m yours. Forever. No more running. Save—“

“Enough, woman!” Ronan shushes me, pressing his wickedly long fingernails to my lips. “I'm tired of your pleas. You begged me to free you before, remember?” His tone unexpectedly softens. “Yet now you promise to stay forever?”

The muscles in his arms relax. He lowers Landon so his feet touch the ground. I witness a moment of tenderness—the Ronan I used to know—when he gently palms his throat and thumbs a crescent across Landon’s cheek.

There may be a chance, a shred of humanity left in him, that I can appeal to. “I ask that you save him and free me, but I will stay if I must. Be yours.” My voice turns to a throaty whisper. “Please let him live.”

For a brief moment, hope returns, but there’s little time. Only a faint pulse remains. “Please,” I beg again.

Ronan regards Landon, still held by the neck, and a peculiar smile curls on his lips.

He reaches his free hand toward me, and I resist the urge to flinch, allowing his fingers to squeeze my neck. “Ronan, please.” I mouth the syllables, my voice trapped in my emotions. My eyes alone make the final plea, imploring the darkness within him to move toward the light.

Ronan has Landon and me by the throat, each within his grasp. Each needing something from him. I watch his eyes dart between us before settling on me.

“Others had dismissed you. But I recognized your potential,” he says. “I gave you what you longed for. And more.”

I reach for him and flatten my palm against his chest, feeling a beating heart.

“I know. But this isn’t me, Ronan.” Something I first saw in you must be real. “Back then, I was young and naïve and didn't know what I wanted. Now I do. I want to be free from this curse. Please.”

He sighs heavily before a doleful smile flickers at the corners of his mouth. “As you wish.” He pierces my artery, pulling fingertips dripping in crimson liquid away.

I blink slowly, struggling to comprehend what’s happening, and look down at my own bloody hands that had just clenched my neck. No explanation comes from Ronan, who turns his head away, grimacing. Growing dizzy, I swoon, then collapse to the wooden floor.

Death tiptoes around me for a few moments, my life ebbing with the growing pool of blood in which I sit. The stillness allows me to witness a haze of the blackest dark, swirling, unhurriedly, seeping from my pores. It drifts towards Landon, languorous, yet with terrible purpose. His skin is no barrier to the shade permeating and eventually swallowing his being. I should shudder in horror, but instead, as all sensations whisper away, peace envelops me.

Empathetic Death grants me one last vision: Landon’s eyes flash open—flaming with need—and mine close.