Chapter 7

Tink tink tink

The sound of a hammer hitting nails created a haunting melody in the darkness as I slowly stirred back to consciousness. I couldn't say when I'd fully lost my awareness, but it had come back with renewed clarity.

Relief flooded me at the immediate realization that I could hear again. I could also feel the dryness in my throat, smell the earthy scent of wet stone, and taste the bitterness of my mouth after a long rest. I didn't detect any pain from where the worms had bit me. Maybe they'd been an illusion, or perhaps my mind had been playing tricks on me.

It was either that, or I'd died and my senses had been restored in the afterlife. It was debatable which was the superior outcome.

But then, if I was no longer in the forest, where was I?

I blinked and blinked, hoping to catch enough light for my night vision to come into focus, but there was nothing to latch onto in this cool, dank chamber in this strange world. I couldn't say with absolutely certainty that my vision had been restored, and the possibility that the room wasn't dark at all—that I was simply blind now—was something I was actively pushing out of my forethoughts. The blackness was so pervasive, the only confirmation I had that I was awake was in the small, steady, lukewarm drip splashing on my forehead.

Though the drops were little more than a light, soft tap on my skin, the inconsistent rhythm was slowly starting to give me a headache. Probably a leaky pipe from the ancient plumbing in this medieval mess of a place.

I rolled my worthless eyes, as the building liquid started sliding down my forehead in a warm stream, and I slowly tried to find some part of my existence to latch onto beyond the mind numbing migraine that was rapidly settling in. At best, I acknowledged the chill of the cold, smooth surface I was laying on, and something restrictive against my wrists and my ankles. Maybe getting my senses back wasn't such a gift after all.

Tink Tink Tink Tink

The tapping got louder. Closer. Just feet away from my right ear, if I were to guess. I couldn't say for sure it wasn't an echo disguising the true location of the noise, but wherever it was, it certainly wasn't getting further away.

I flexed my fingers and rolled my wrists. The restraints on my wrists and ankles were loose enough to allow for comfortable circulation, but firm enough that I was fairly secure. The looseness of my bindings almost felt like something you'd use to temporarily hold something in place before you secured a more permanent solution. Like holding a poster up with your hand, while you tore off a piece of tape with your teeth.

I attempted to roll my knuckles inward, tucking my pinky and thumb under my index finger, shaping my hand like I was trying to slip off a tight bracelet without undoing the latch. Tugging softly and rotating my wrist was slowly starting to work my knuckles through the band.

A little more. Just a little more.

I tugged my right hand free, and resisted the need to yip with excitement, lest I catch the attention of whatever was making tapping noises in the darkness. With the same patience, I started wriggling my left hand free. I held my breath so as not to make a single sound as I cleared my knuckles on my other hand.

Very slowly I exhaled, assuring the highest degree of stealth by timing my breathing with the banging sounds. I held my breath until I absolutely had to draw in another slow and near inaudible inhale.

Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink

It was louder again, but now on my left. Were there multiple monsters with hammers? Was there a small village being built? Maybe someone was just trying to repair that goddamn drip.

With excruciating care, I stayed in place on the hard wood as I felt along my body. I needed to verify there were no restraints around my waist that I hadn't noticed through my clothing. I was pleased to feel the smooth fabric of my t-shirt with all ten of my fingers, confirming I'd not lost any.

I filled my lungs fully to assure there was nothing I'd missed around my chest either. Once I was confident I could sit up, I inched my way to a seated position, mitigating the rustle of my own clothing as much as possible while I repositioned.

Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink Tink

It was behind me now. The volume hadn't changed this time.

I thanked the morning yoga classes that helped me touch my toes, and I used this mediocre flexibility to assess the bindings on my ankles. They were a touch more snug than the ones on my wrists, but with the right flexing and pointing of my toes, I was fairly confident I could squirm my way out of these restraints. I had this. Nothing to be afraid of.

Jericho probably thought I'd be too terrified to move. He probably just assumed he'd won the moment I'd fallen into whatever this trap was. But he didn't know me. He certainly didn't know how much I would endure for my Fluff Pumpkin.

One more controlled breath, then I scooted forward so I had enough bend in my knee to better maneuver, and I started inching my right ankle free. The constant tinking hid the little sounds I made as the leather strap dragged over the top of my foot. But with enough shimmying, I had one more limb free. Just one to go.

Having just managed it with my right foot, it was easy to figure out how to move to free my left. A sense of relief penetrated the anxiety that had been swirling through my gut, and my heart rate almost started to slow as freedom was on the horizon.

Not that I knew where to go. The floor could be lava for all I was aware. But figuring that out while free was much easier than while bound .

I wriggled loose, one millimeter at a time.

Come on. Come on!

The thickest part of my ankle cleared the gap, and I near giggled in pure elation. A wide grin covered my face, and I was so ready to get out of this dark box and back to Pumpkin.

What a pathetic attempt at a trap.

I started drawing my knees to my chest, when a rough, calloused palm wrapped around my right ankle. With a sudden jerk of force, my assailant tugged my foot back down to the bottom lip of the wooden table, and violent pain shot through my entire body as a nail was plunged straight through the skin, flesh, and bone of the top of my foot. I was pinned back to the surface, now much more brutally and permanently.

I heard a scream, and it took several seconds to realize it was my own. It tore from my lungs and echoed back through the chamber in a vicious symphony. Three more nails broke through the top of my foot. I didn't have time to gather my wits before this monster had my other ankle nailed down too.

They secured each foot with four more well placed bangs of a hammer. My legs were forced wide, while my knees were bent just to accommodate for the awkward position of my feet.

Tears stung my eyes that still couldn't see a damn thing, before that same rough palm was around my neck, shoving me back down to the platform.

"Please. Stop. Please don't kill me." I heard pathetic sobbing, only to realize that was me, too. "I just want to get my cat back. That's all. Then you can do whatever you want." Bargaining. Pleading. Begging.

The game had felt winnable up until now, when it had been my wit versus Jericho's, or my will against the forest, but I wasn't facing off against him this time. I'd already felt the Devil King's soft fingers to know this was someone or something else entirely.

The figure climbed on top of the table with me, and I could feel their intense warmth as they settled in between my open legs and tightened that hand more roughly around my neck. The direct contact radiated overwhelming heat down to my core, while a material that felt something like denim nudged my legs fully apart so they could position between my thighs. I forced breaths through the stranglehold on my esophagus, sweat bloomed from every pore on my body, and I trembled as the monster fit their pelvis against mine. They hiked my skirt even higher past my hips, and I heaved sobs from my lungs.

Without a word, they released my neck, and they grabbed hold of my right hand. I fought with my left, banging on the monster's back with a closed fist, but this rock hard, muscular creature on top of me was completely unaffected. They raised their hammer and sent another nail down through my forearm.

Tink.

TiNk.

TINK.

I screamed and pounded harder against their shoulder as they continued their descent. The monster punctured my flesh with long, sharp nails in a lateral line right between the bones. They created a pattern of violence from my inner elbow to my upturned wrist, splitting my radius and ulna with the pressure of steel, and trapping me with one metal stake at a time. It took no effort for them to pin my left hand afterwards, finishing the job with loud clangs. My throat was raw and sore from screaming by the time they were through.

When the assault finally eased, I held my trembling lip between my teeth and tried to find some semblance of dignity again, even if it was fake and temporary.

"Your voice is beautiful, Butterfly." A deep octave purred on top of me, and my whole heart stopped in my chest. "Don't stop singing for me."

With a flick of his finger, a small candle's flame ignited on each side of my head. At last I'd confirmed my sight had returned, though I was no longer thankful for it as I took in the terrifying view of the man on top of me.

A masculine figure with thick platinum hair, swept back between rounded black horns, examined my expression. Scars that extended beyond the corners of his mouth carved a permanent smile on his face, adding an edge of viciousness to the real smirk that was already there. His eyes were an electric blue, divided by slits, with a glow that was impossible to miss even in the low light. Black jeans hugged his hips, and a heavy red scarf was draped around his neck, dangling over his bare chest and thickly defined muscles.

I could only make out those simple characteristics in the heavy shadows, but I could certainly see that much.

Gaining a visual forced me to notice the drops splashing down on my forehead again, and now I could tell all too clearly that the water leak wasn't water at all. No, it was deep red, dripping down from the torn flesh of an unidentifiable head hanging from the roof above me. With another snap of his fingers, torches lit up the room with bright flames, illuminating both the rows of headless bodies nailed to blood stained walls at even intervals, and the sheer number of dangling, decapitated, and gasping faces swaying from chains on the ceiling.

I couldn't breathe now, even without his hand on my neck, and I was fairly certain my heart wasn't beating anymore. No air cycled through my lungs. No blood reached my face. No images translated through my eyes.

Pure, visceral fear was the only thing I could feel as this psychopath nailed me to a table like I was an insect in his collection.

"Fuck, that expression is satisfying." His voice, so rich and smooth, barely registered in my ears. He bit his lip and adjusted himself in his pants. "Won't you sing for me again?"

He slipped his fingers beneath my shirt, and he slowly pushed the fabric up my abdomen, dancing his fingertips just over my skin as he exposed me to his gaze. The feeling of cotton sliding along my rib cage sent a shiver down my spine. When he reached my bust line, he paused for only a second, before he nudged my shirt up and over my breasts.

He cradled the cup of my bra in his hand, and he stroked the lacey edge with the rough skin of his thumb. His idle movements tugged at the delicate fabric with the coarse callous on his fingertip as he followed the swirls of the design. The light pressure felt good even through the padding, and I couldn't discern which shivers were fear and which were my body's reaction to his gentler touch.

"Beautiful." He hummed as he danced along the top of the cup. He skimmed my breast with that warm touch, and he following the contour down to the small bow in the center. "Has anyone ever told you you're flawless, Butterfly?"

My breathing hitched as he hooked a finger beneath the band and lifted the material away from my ribs. I dug my teeth harder into my trembling lip, trying to swallow down my own whimper, as he tore the delicate material effortlessly with his strong grip. The cups fell away, exposing me fully, and he stopped to admire my pert nipples.

A slow grin lifted the corners of his lips as he brushed the backs of his black painted fingernails over each stiff peak. I jolted slightly, though he was toying with me gently, and I latched onto this small comfort.

My nipples were firm in his hand as he rolled them between his fingers, and every small rotation sent unwanted pleasure down through my core. I was breathing again, and I could hear the ragged arousal in every one of my barely controlled exhales. My thighs twitched and my clit spasmed the more he played with my breasts. He chuckled when he felt the shake of my knees tap against each side of his waist.

"How am I supposed to hold back when you react like that?" He spread his hand down my abdomen, then he tapped lightly on my naval. "And I promise I'm trying to hold back."

A wicked grin flashed across his face as he reached behind his back and came up with another nail. He continued to play with my nipples with one hand, while he used the other to balance the nail on my stomach. He rolled his finger around the flat end, while pivoting the point just above my belly button. The sharp tip broke skin, and red bloomed around the metal.

I whimpered, at a complete loss for words, as he added pressure with his finger tip.

"Do you like pain?" He nudged the tip in deeper still, and the gasp that followed was involuntary. So were the tears burning my eyes. "Have you ever been fucked until you bled out?" His low chuckle was enough to make me sniffle back my whimpering. "The pain and pleasure as muscle tears from bone, and your body is forced to orgasm in spite of it all. What a fucking feeling."

When I couldn't make myself respond, he continued. "I can show you." He licked his lips, eyes fixed on mine. "The most terrifying orgasm you'll ever know, and the last one you'll ever crave. My hands on your neck, my nails in your flesh, and my cock deep in your pussy, while every movement sends you reeling in a different direction, until you're soaking me with everything that you are. You've never felt anything like it, have you?"

I'd always seen myself as tough, no nonsense, and able to defend myself. But that was just a dream. Something I told myself after the fifth self-defense class, pretending I could pull off those maneuvers in the real world. Or any world. Certainly not this less real one.

Fucked. I was so fucked.

"Did you imagine it?" He leaned down until I could feel his breath on my lips. "Did you die in your dream, Butterfly?" He lifted his chin, brushing the tip of my nose with the softest kiss. "Did I kill you?" He moved downwards, slowly fluttering those short breaths down my chin, my neck, then over my collar bone. "Tell me, was I your perfect nightmare?"

He leaned in closer still, until he was grazing my collar bone with a tender peck. He followed that tap with a slow stroke of his tongue, climbing back up the side of my neck. A warmth tingled through me at each gentle movement. "You're so fucking wet right now, aren't you, Butterfly." A statement, not a question. One he confirmed when he dipped his fingers beneath my skirt and nudged my panties to the side. Somehow, his touches had all been careful and delicate enough to distract me from the pain.

Wait.

Pain.

Pain?

Why couldn't I feel the pain anymore? I'd not felt anything but his caress from the moment he'd started exploring my body.

He ran his other hand up my pinned wrists, sliding through my blood and painting my whole arm red. Yet, pain wasn't what I was feeling at all anymore.

My arms were tingling at every point of violence, and my ankles were oddly warm. I must have hit a point of shock where my body had completely shut everything out.

Everything but—

The devil moved down between my legs, and he lifted my skirt. He left my panties in place this time as he lowered his mouth to the delicate lace. "You're just like me, aren't you?" His chuckle was a soft vibration. "The pain gets you off, doesn't it?" He pulled down the material, needing an extra tug to free the cloth from my own damp arousal. His tongue slipped between my exposed lips, and he pushed against my clit with the tip. My body jerked in surprise as he started drawing circles in a consistent pattern, flicking me with his tongue at the top of every rotation.

I forced my attention back to the nails in my skin and the blood that was now staining my clothes, trying to conjure the brutality again. But I couldn't. The way my body honed in on the only feeling that wasn't killing me was a survival instinct that would either save me or be my death. Even as I stared at my brutalized body, still I could only register that skillful tongue and the crescendo he was building in my core.

"I can be more of a devil than Jericho could ever be, you know." He licked me from my center, back up to my clit, eliciting another full body shudder. "I can fuck harder. Give better head. Play to all your fucked up little fantasies." He stopped talking long enough to suck on me roughly, and I hitched a breath at the sheer explosive sensation of it. He sucked and nipped and licked me, while he spread his fingers over my bloodied palms, as if he wanted the extra intimacy of holding hands. The way he squeezed my hand filled me with an unearned sense of security and comfort. My eyes watered as he took me higher, and no amount of disassociation could deny how incredible it felt. "You don't have to be the king's tribute. Say you'll be mine, and I can help you, innocent little Butterfly."

My body was reacting to him whether I wanted to or not, and the more he pushed me, the more some fucked up thoughts in my head told me I wanted him to. My once echoing screams had softened to involuntary moans, pathetic whimpers, and heavy breaths, and I found myself clawing at his fingers, like I needed to hold onto something before I fell off a satisfying cliff.

He must have sensed my nearness, because he smiled that wide, scarred smile when I pushed my hips into his face.He answered aptly, when he grazed my clit with his teeth before taking me with a constant and sudden suction.

The blood loss must have drained me of my sanity. How much blood did I even have left? How much longer before I blacked out and died? Maybe he really would kill me through orgasm. That wouldn't be the worst way to go.

Crazy talk.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die?

I don't want to die.

"I don't want to die!" I cried out the words as he sent me over the edge. My toes curled, and I shook through the explosive spasms, nails and all, knowing I was only making the wounds worse. Even if I couldn't feel them anymore, I could see them.

I wish I couldn't see them.

"Really?" He climbed back up my body, and he touched his forehead to mine, so we were eye to eye and nose to nose. He smelled like cinnamon hot chocolate, while his electric blue gaze was mesmerizing. I was too high to think straight, which was the only reason I found myself thinking his face was far more inviting than anything else that could fill my vision right now. "I already told you my conditions. It's entirely your choice." He undid his belt, while keeping that eye contact, so close and unrelenting. I swallowed deeply, not wanting to look as he freed himself. "Say it, and you'll live. Don't, and you'll join the bodies on the wall and the heads on the ceiling."

"I-I—" The pressure of his cock teasing my entrance arrested my words. Now that was the only thing I could feel, and fuck, it was a lot.

"Or maybe you want me to fuck you first." He pressed in the first inch, while he caressed my cheek with his hand. A sense of reassurance spread through me like a warm hug, and I cursed that confusing conflict that denied violent reality. "You want to feel it for real, don't you?" I closed my eyes, while my mouth fell open both from the pleasure and agony of his intrusion. "You want the devil inside you." He slid in slow, filling me entirely with his girth, and my body fit perfectly around him. "It's only fair that you know how well we fit together before you commit." The secure nails tugged at my skin from the motion, yet still all I registered was the way his head rubbed that perfect spot. "Sweet Butterfly, what's gotten into me? I'm being so gentle with you. That's not like me." He snickered against my lips, but he didn't kiss me. I… I didn't want him to. "But then again, maybe I like you, too."

He slid out slow, then he slammed in hard and fast, shoving my whole body back. The nails tore through skin, and I screamed again when the pain returned all at once. Somehow it hadn't been as excruciating as before, but… maybe I was getting used to it. The intensity of the agony faded in and out, and I thanked whatever internal mechanism was numbing me where I needed it, while letting me feel only the best parts of his touch.

"I love the way you drench me." He pulled out, and ran his hand along his slickened shaft. He licked my arousal off his palm as he pressed in again, slower and less roughly this time. The pain now was little more than a dull pinch, while the pleasure was brilliantly hot and explosive. "Paint me in your blood and cover me in your come, Butterfly."

"Why are you doing this?" The once free flowing tears had dried on my cheeks, and now my words were hitching for an entirely different reason. I couldn't help shifting my hips in some insane bid for more of him. I just wanted more of that feeling. Anything to stop the pain from ever coming back .

"Because you want me to." He responded, evenly and matter-of-factly. "If you want me to stop, just say your safe word." He drew out again, and nudged in slow. He shuddered on top of me, like he was reveling in our connection even more than I was, and I hated the fact that the way he enjoyed my body so much was a turn on all its own. I was supposed to be scared, and I was supposed to hate this monster. Good dick didn't excuse torture. "Tell me you're mine, and it all ends." He muttered between his own ragged breathing.

As much as I didn't want to say that, the nip of pain on each thrust served as a constant reminder of my predicament, and my brain was a muddled and confused mess. I was filled with both the knowledge that I should be suffering and the betrayal of those intense, compounding, internal explosions.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be lost in the endorphins.

"Look at me." He demanded, just as I'd started to enjoy myself. When I didn't listen, the sensation of the nails pounded through me returned in an excruciating burst.

"Fine. Fine, Fine!" My eyes shot open and the brutality ceased again. When I turned my head to the side and looked away, it flared until I met his gaze.

Was he… controlling my nerves? Was the reason the pain disappeared his will?

Why would he do that?

As much as I wanted to ponder the situation, his perfect cock stole my focus. He grazed my clit with that calloused thumb, and I found myself buckling under that sort of gentle roughness. I was already reeling, and the overstimulation of yet another cresting climax was going to drive me mad all its own.

All I wanted now was to be numb. I was sick of feeling. Sick of all of it. It was too much. Too much.

"Say it." He purred, his voice raspy with his own madness. He sunk his weight down on my chest, and that warmth only amplified the intensity. "I need you to say it, Butterfly."

The next thrust was the one that did me in.

"I'm yours." I cried out as he forced my body to peak and spasm on his cock yet again. I couldn't take another orgasm, and now the tears that streamed down my face were of an entirely different nature. I almost missed the pain, needing it to ground me. Remind me that this man was evil and cruel, not ecstasy and salvation. "I'm yours. I promise I'm yours. Please."

"That's my good girl." He lifted himself off me and supported himself with a hand beside my head, making enough distance between us to offer relief from his scent of charred cinnamon, and his soothing body temperature. He was still penetrating me fully to keep us connected, but the space between our gazes brought unexpected calm. He gripped my waist, assuring the rest of my body didn't move, then he started fucking me slower and more gently. The new angle was purposeful and dangerous.

His cock slid in and out of me effortlessly, while the cool sensation of his drenched pelvis hitting against mine confirmed everything I was most ashamed of. My body adjusted perfectly to his size and movements like he was made to be there, and I couldn't find enough anger left in my mind to latch onto .

All I registered now was the way he was hitting that perfect fucking spot.

I closed my eyes to lean into it, deciding there was no use fighting anymore, and I trembled every time he shifted the angle of entry. The way his smooth hips rocked against mine was unexplainably intimate, and the firm grip on my hips was the sort of possessive dominance I'd never let myself crave.

He'd taken and controlled me completely, and I was ready to submit to anything he wanted if he kept making me feel like this.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I accepting this?

I stopped breathing entirely when his cock subtly pulsed against my inner walls. I knew he was about to give, and I couldn't resist looking, wanting to see him lose himself inside me. I tugged at my pinned wrists, illogically wanting to hold onto him as he finished me—finished in me—and my lungs arrested as I watched him bite his own lower lip and sink into his own release. He closed his eyes to focus on the way my body held him, while his sharp incisors drew his own blood, and his grip bruised my hips.

He filled me with liquid heat that spread pleasure through my every nerve, from my head to my toes to my fingertips. His come was electricity, climbing through my spine, while my pussy pulsed, and my knees shook uncontrollably at his side. I'd all but completely forgotten my violently secured ankles.

My head was empty of everything up until I recalled that nagging and building terror at the realization that I'd truly just become his .

"That was beautiful. You might be the closest they'll ever let me get to heaven, Butterfly." My assailant was still catching his own breath as he hovered over me. He was shaking, his eyes were half lidded, and he appeared as out of sorts as I must have been.

He looked away and covered the lower half of his face with his hand. "I can't…" His words were clipped by his own heaving. "I've never felt anything like that."

He didn't make eye contact again as he dragged his hand down his face, his neck, and down to his scarf. He gripped the material like he was holding on for dear life.

Without another word, he shook his head like a dog trying to expel water, and he grabbed his hammer. My eyes widened again, having let myself believe the horror was finally passed.

He lifted the mallet high above his head, directly in line with my own skull. I couldn't watch. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away, preparing for the impact to come.

Like it was all happening in near suspended motion, I heard the sound of the displacing wind as he swung, then I felt the impact of the hammer head connecting with the nail in my right hand. He started pounding his way up the nails once more, like he needed to better secure me.

Tink, tink, tink, tink, tink.

Still no pain.

No, I felt a warm spread of bliss that could only come from death, as that blunt weapon pounded into every piece of metal that had been speared through my skin. He took one last nail and positioned it over my heart. I waited for the swing .

The nail broke clear through my sternum, and punctured my heart with a horrifying pop. There was neither pain nor pleasure nor anything in between. I mentally prepared myself for that moment the world would go black: when I would watch my life play out before my eyes, and then run towards a tunnel of white. I waited and I accepted that this was the end, dead before I'd even started living.

And I hoped Jericho would take the best care of Pumpkin.

And then I opened my eyes, and I sat up on a table under the bright, warm sun. It was a perfect summer sunset, the sky still swirling with warm colors, and the clock still ticking with only six hours lost. Behind me, intricately carved violet stone walls, decorated in a cloak of ivy, created an imposing backdrop. In front of me, I was but a few hundred yards from the cursed forest. It seemed I was back outside the Labyrinth, as though I'd died and returned to my living hell.

My gaze followed along every point of impact on my skin, where a small black dot now rested on the surface like a tattoo. The markings were a story that could describe my death to anyone who should ask about it in this afterlife. No blood. No pain. No injury. Just a subtle reminder of my mistakes.

The only question was… was this life or was this death?

"Did you like that?"

My whole body jumped when his voice sounded in my right ear. I turned slowly and wide eyed, towards the demonic man sitting next to me on the table.

I was too stunned to speak, so he answered my questions for me.

"You're not dead, if that's what you were wondering." He placed an arm around my shoulder like he was in any way my friend, then he leaned in and whispered. "But it was a fascinating illusion, wasn't it?" The light chuckle that followed instantly took me back to the horror I'd just experienced. "Who knew one of your greatest fears was to be bled out on a table. Most people imagine drowning or falling, but no. Your imagination is something to aspire to, Butterfly." Though he spoke clearly, I struggled to fully register what he was saying. "I'll admit that even I was a bit uncomfortable with the level of violence and pain you were looking for though. I hope you don't mind that I switched sensations midway. It would have been a shame if you had blacked out in your own nightmare."

"That was an… illusion?" My voice sounded hollow in my ears, while my body was still shaking, and my brain was struggling to keep up. "What do you mean you switched sensations?"

"I mean exactly what I said." He rolled his eyes like the question was absurd. "You can call me Theron, or you can call me the Dream Weaver. Before you ask, if that's also somehow confusing, I control dreams. Your mind provides the building blocks, and I use those tools to craft the story that you see, experience, and feel. So when I say I switched sensations, I mean I switched sensations." His tone was laced with just enough snark that it felt a bit like he was mocking me. Theron placed his open palm atop my forearm and pressed a line of steady, massaging pressure down my dotted skin using the heel of his hand.

When he reached my spread, upright palm, he interlaced our fingers and closed his hand around mine, wrapping his rough fingertips around my knuckles. I was still too stunned to return the gesture.

Theron softly drummed his fingers on the back of my hand, then added, "Ordinarily I let the subconscious play out on its own, but occasionally I have to intervene. You're welcome for that mercy."

"That was a dream." I parroted for further confirmation, my tone still numb and void. I wasn't comprehending the rest of his explanation.

"Yes. Just a dream. How many times are you going to make me repeat myself?" His tone lost some of its teasing, settling on something neutral and almost bored. He sighed with an exaggerated disinterest. "It wasn't real. You're okay now, Butterfly."

"Then why do I still have marks on my skin from where you pounded in the nails?" And why can I still feel those phantom sensations of having you inside me?

"That is odd, isn't it?" He squeezed my hand with his, and it felt disturbingly intimate and comforting all over again, while I continued to slowly process the shock and trauma of the visions. "The images were all your own deepest fears, played out in a lucid dream. The damage to your body never happened, but it seems your mind was so deeply entranced that it manifested your words and your wishes into reality. Those marks will tie you to me so long as you're in this realm. If you're lucky, that claim might be enough to chase away some lesser demons." He shrugged as if that was somehow acceptable. "You'll thank me later."

"The pain was just in my head? What about the way you…" touched me . I couldn't vocalize those words, nor admit how good it had felt in spite of everything else. Everything about the dream had been a violation, and him being gorgeous, the sex being the best I'd ever had, and the vision not being real did not excuse the brutality.

"You want to know if I've been inside you?" Theron's snort was mocking, yet confirmed nor denied nothing. He tapped his finger to his chin before he answered. "Hard to know, really. It all depends on if that desire was part of your imagination or mine…" The way he ruffled my hair without finishing that sentence sent a chill down my spine instead of providing comfort. He let it sink in to the point of anguish before he finally whispered, "You're a human toy. I have higher standards than that, I promise." He rolled his eyes as he dropped his hand to my back and gave it a pat. "It seems you don't though."

My expression flattened. My annoyance apparently rapidly sped up the mental healing process, because now all I cared about was putting him in his place. Were all devils this arrogant?

"Then how about you explain what happened to my bra?" I squeezed my breasts through my shirt, to emphasize the fact that they were noticeably no longer secured by underwire. This V-neck was way too thin to be going bra-less.

Theron shrugged. "When something is destroyed in a dream, it doesn't come back in the real world. That's probably why your marks are where they are, but also why you still have 90% of your clothes."

He hopped off the table without another word, and now in the light, I could see him clearly. The small black horns that hooked straight back with his wind swept platinum hair, the innumerable, barely visible scars on lightly tanned skin that formed a vague pattern on his otherwise flawlessly muscular back, and the noticeably larger and sharper incisors that placed danger in his smile. His eyes were still that devilish blue, but in the sunlight, small lightning bolts swirled in their depths, while his scar stretched smile was truly something wicked.

He rested a hand with black painted fingernails on his hip, hooking his thumb through the leather belt that held up his black jeans on his perfect frame, then he tipped his chin and offered me a hand to usher me to his side.

Theron, the Dream Weaver.

"Enough of this stalling. You're coming, aren't you, Butterfly?"

"It's Sela. Not Butterfly." I couldn't explain what compelled me to introduce myself properly, yet I took his hand and let him help me to my feet. I cursed every flawed trauma response in my brain that told me it was okay to trust him. That he would be my ally and not my next living nightmare. Somehow he'd just shown me the most horrifying illusion of my life, yet I knew he wasn't lying when he said he'd built it from intrusive thoughts in my own head. I wished I could say he had been.

"SEE-luh," he repeated awkwardly, like my name tasted spoiled on his tongue. He scrunched his nose and shook his head. "That doesn't work for me. I like Butterfly better, so I'll stick with that."

I pursed my lips in irritation. "You can't just rename someone for no reason. What if I decided I didn't want to call you Theron?"

"Your soul has only been known as Sela for something like .0004 seconds on a cosmic scale. I've been Theron for as long as the cosmos have been ." He laughed at me as if I was a petulant, spoiled child. "We are not the same, Butterfly."

Is he for real? "So that gives you the right to rename me at your discretion?"

"Correct. Any human that exists today has already been known by ten thousand different names across all their past lives, you included, so I don't see why you're so attached to this terrible one."

I made an exaggerated point of sighing, having no honest way to argue with that, and Theron was completely unbothered. The logic was probably sound for an immortal god, and I couldn't totally fault him for it. At least butterflies were pretty and generally well liked, so I could take it as a compliment, really.

Terrible. I was forgiving him way too quickly, and I didn't like that one bit. I still had to hold him accountable for what he'd done. Even if the content of the dream was somehow allegedly my fault, that still didn't excuse a damn thing. My simple fantasy of wanting to be held down and forcefully pleasured— CONSENSUALLY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH— was heavily perverted by that nightmare. He was the one who painted the picture, even if he used my own acrylics to fill in the shadows.

I almost smiled at the ridiculous thought that this made him at least as disturbed as I was, but I was quick to cringe that away. This man was not a kindred spirit, and I would not be thinking of him as anything other than a fucking menace.

Right. He was the menace. Not me.

… Maybe I do belong here.