Page 173 of Lost in the Dark
Running a final check on my wards to make certain that all is how it should be, and the rented house is as secure as I can possibly make it, I return to my desk. I work for a time until I become too tired to focus on it and start streaming a movie to keep me occupied. Normally, I might have had a taste for some sort of thriller, but not lately—not when every rustle seems to call my name or hint at a presence stalking me. I’m jumpy enough without any help.
Selecting a romantic comedy, I settle in the middle of my bed and drag my plush mushroom into my lap so that I can comfortably curl around it as the movie starts. From there, I move onto porn, hoping to divert my rising lust into something more natural as the hour grows later and I become more aware of him, my body reacting to his proximity.
Though I have been aware of him all day, circling my house like a buzzard scoping out its prey, he is closer now. I can practically feel his breath on me. As unsettling as it is, a yawn rolls through me, cracking my jaw as I succumb to it. There is a distant sensation of a claw dragging lightly down my spine, and I straighten, immediately checking my wards as I do so. They are secure. There is no one here but me, but I hear the echo of a chuckle from outside the barrier. Defiantly, I lift the remote and turn up the volume, the moans from the writhing couple filling the room.
It does little to replace the lustful growls and snarls of my “visitor,” and at the very least distracts me. But it’s not distracting enough. My body is hot with arousal, and not from the scene on the screen in front of me. It is because of him and the depravity that has come to life deep within me, excited and needy with his presence despite the rebellion of my mind against it. As monstrous as my visitor is, it doesn’t stop my thighs from pressing together as I writhe where I sit on my bed, longing to be pinned and filled. The darker it gets, the more my need grows and the more I cling to the panting coupling of different men and women coming together as I whimper with my own growing need.
An inhuman growl of satisfaction rumbles far too close, as does the breathy sound of the creature scenting my desire. The sound crawls over my skin as my clit throbs with unfilled desires, enflaming me further even as a chill sinks into my heart. It isn’t healthy or natural that I am reacting to that instead of the humans unapologetically doing filthy things to each other that I normally heartily approve of. Ignoring the on-screen action, I glance around. There is nothing there, but of course there wouldn’t be. I am enclosed almost completely in darkness, my skin washed out from the pale glow of the TV screen. Although that light does nothing to reveal what is contained in the shadows, logically I know that he can’t be in the house. The sounds of coupling fade, even the light of the TV dimming entirely until it cuts off, leaving me in total darkness.
Stifling a scream behind the fist that I press to my lips, I tremble for a moment before reluctantly lowering my hand. I crawl to the edge of my bed, my breath panting between my lips. Has the temperature suddenly dipped? I stare down at the breath fogging in the air in front of me, my pants becoming shallower and faster by the moment.
“What the hell?” I whisper.
There is a movement outside of my bedroom window, and my muscles spasm with fear as my head snaps toward it. My heart jumps, attempting to battle its way out of my chest at the sight of a glowing eye and the carved cheekbone visible in the parting of my curtains. The dark pupil slits and expands, and the growl is so deep that the walls around me seem to shake.
I scoot away from the window, drawing my plush mushroom with me, squeezing it tighter in my desperate search for self-comfort. He draws closer, and the wards on the walls that should have kept him out peel back as the walls themselves part to admit my nightly visitor. His dark cloak swirls around him, the upper part draped in such a way that an expanse of an inhumanly pale, heavily muscled chest is partially visible. It expands as he takes a deep breath, drawing my scent into his lungs. His rumble of pleasure makes my skin prickle with what I wish was nothing but complete horror, but I cannot ignore the fact that I remain transfixed, staring back at him like the stupidest prey beast on the planet.
Though his hood casts much of his face in shadows outside of the one sculpted cheekbone, his eyes glow from within the shadows in such a perfect shade of pale silver that they appear as twin moons cutting through the darkness. The rest of him is a complete mystery, the black hood and robe covering him fully, aside from the ghoulishly dark claws curling from the fingertips of the hand he reaches out toward me and the dark horns that push up from his brow to curl back like a cap over his hood.
His wings unfurl slightly, and I shrink back, certain that now he would finally attack. To my surprise, he pauses and cocks his head, his silver eyes dimming and brightening again as he blinks at me. His wings fold again to press against his side, and he stalks around the bed at a distance, his gaze never once leaving me as if he’s already familiar with the layout of my room.
Then again, he probably is. How many nights has he intruded in my nightmares? No doubt he knows the lay of my replicated home within my dreamscape as well as I do. And with the way the wall opened up, I am certain now that this is another dream. The walls and floor ripple, and I drop my hands, my entire body pressing against the bed with alarm, but he steps back from me and settles in the chair at the far end of my room instead as the world around us calms and adjusts to some form of stability.
I realize then that the light, as faint as it is, comes from him. His pale body gives off a subtle illumination that probably wouldn’t be noticeable with any other light on, but in the deep shadows of my room, it is a faint beacon promising warmth and safety.
And I’m sure that’s what any victim of an anglerfish thinks too.
I nearly choke with a nervous laugh as his wings twitch, and he continues to silently observe me as if I am something of great interest. Though I can’t fathom what or why.
“You do not need to be afraid,” he finally rasps, his voice cutting through the distance separating us with a dissonance that makes my blood run cold.
Though he has spoken to me before, it has usually been amid chaos. I never noticed how broken he sounded, as if something had damaged his throat and things did not mend quite right.
“Said the spider to fly,” I rejoin, and to my surprise the corner of his mouth curls as he flashes me a smile filled with sharp teeth.
“Very well,” he murmurs. “It seems that I must prove myself.”
He says nothing more but remains seated in that chair, watching me. I inch further away from him, but he makes no move to stop me so that after a while, with my butt planted on my pillow and my back flat against the wall, I stop trying to escape and return his calm regard. I don’t know what to think of this sudden change in mannerisms when before he was always trying to get closer and reach out to me.
I run my tongue over my lips. “Why are you not saying anything? Why are you just sitting there?” I blurt out.
His dark eyebrow, the only color contrast on his pale face, rises at my words and the corner of his mouth twitches, but this time in a faint amusement.
“Because it seems that we are at an impasse,” he replies.
My brow furrows. “I don’t understand. How? You’re clearly stronger than I am for you to be here.”
His wings shrug with a rustle of motion. “I am here because here is where I must be. But I do not wish to frighten you. So we are at an impasse,” he clarifies.
I peer back at him, searching for some sign of subterfuge, wondering if he will spring from that seat at any moment to attack. But he does not. He continues to stare back at me with those unnerving silver eyes and one visible brow raised as I stew.
I scoot off my pillow and back into the center of the bed where it’s more comfortable, my eyes never leaving him as I stare at him in challenge. If he had any intention of attacking me, I have given him the perfect opening, one that he ignores. Instead, he settles back into his chair and begins to sing under his breath as he plucks a paper from my desk and carefully begins to fold it with his strong, graceful fingers. A claw presses a seam, and my eyes track its movement with wonder as I watch him gradually fashion a flower.
I still, my head tipping slightly as I regard him. Though his voice is ruined so that the song itself can’t be considered beautiful, there is a comfort to its rasp like the tumble of sand was put on a track to the sound of water rushing over roughened stones. There is something almost comforting to the broken, raspy tones.
I don’t know if the paper got bigger, or how it managed to happen within the fluid dreamscape, but he had added more and more paper, ever increasing folds to the bloom. When he finally stands, I feel time catch up as if the dawn is pushing faint ribbons of light into this space. Walking back to the wall, he pauses at the foot of my bed and looks down at me inscrutably, his eyes cold and distant. I wonder if now is when he will attack, but all he does is drop the flower on my bed and depart, the wall sealing back up behind him.
Staring at the wall, my fingers slide over the bed and brush against the paper-formed petals. Though this is a dream, it feels so real. I clutch it between my fingertips and lift it to my face, catching the hint of a perfume. I drink it in and pause at the notes of rose, musk, and leather. Perplexed, I drag it in deeper, longer, noticing that it intensifies around the creases.