AkumaQuil

He inches closer, a single finger roaming her heated skin. Breath mingling with breath. 

A loud bang vibrates through the room, so thunderous as if god himself was furious.

Slowly he looks up staring out the large glass windows to the backyard, 

"You have a visitor." His rasps calmly.

"Who?" Rose quickly fires, feigning ignorance. She knew well enough who it was. Her nightly visitor has arrived.

Surprising, He only visits when she is alone.

"One who comes out at night. Lurking in the shadows, in the darkness... just like its intensions."

He looks down still leaning on top her, once more pinning her with his intense gaze.

"Are you afraid?" His voice dead serious, eyes going back to look outside.

And Rose lied, "No." 

But is it a lie when her fear was never really rooting enough to make her run the other way but instead often getting mixed with exhilaration.

"You should be."  

He leaves her staring wide eyed on the sofa and goes to stand before the glass panes.

"It's not happy to see me here. I can see the raging pits of fire in it's gaze. Ready to burn me right where I stand." he chuckled, sounding most sinister, "It definitely wants to rip my innards out."

"You should take off your shirt." He suggests casually.

"Excuse me?"

"Let's see if it riles him up even more to shatter instead of just slamming the windows like a wuss." He rouses under his breath, his excited provocative tone not escaping Rose's attention. 

What the hell is he up to?

"This isn't funny." Rose sputters out, standing up from the couch.

"I'm not trying to be." He faces her again, sporting a deadpan face. 

"Whatever. You think I'm one of your stupid fan girls to take my shirt off just because you want to rile someone up? Besides, there's probably no one outside and you're only making it up to see my boobs like a pervert."

His eyes roams her from top to bottom, there was distaste evident in his gaze.

"When he comes at night and leaves a little something for you, maybe then you take off your clothes for him... like a slut." Rome stared into her eyes with nothing behind those icy orbs to show for a lack of meaning behind his words. Because he means every single thing he says to her.

"Get. Out. Now!" Rose boomed furiously. 

"Whatever, I was leaving anyway. This has become boring." He walks towards her front door.

"Wait. How do you know he comes at night and leaves something?" her eyes narrow.

"Because I've seen it before."

"You saw him? It is a real guy?" Rose wanted to confirm, for some reason she thought otherwise.

"I never said I saw him. I've only seen it happening to someone else." 

"Whom?" 

"You don't need to know." He closes off.

"Then at least tell me what happened to her? Can I meet this person?" 

"You can't." Refusing calmly he was almost out the door when Rose pleads against hope.

"Please."

"You can't because she disappeared." Those were the words that finally did it. Brought her racing heart and buzzing head to a sudden halt. "Never to be seen again." 

 "When he stops visiting, that's when you should be most afraid." His words rang like a siren in the silence of her mind as he left.

Now she felt true fear for the first time.

==

In the embrace of her ancestral town, Rose seeks refuge from the echoes of her past. 

Little does she know, her return to her roots will awaken dormant shadows, shattering ordinary her existence. 

For when the darkness falls over the town, from the pitch black rises a shadowy figure that haunt her nights. 

In the darkness he sweeps her off the ground in terrible fear and the allure of sinister intrigue.

And once the sun comes, a man with a god awful attitude, haunts her in the broad day light. Causing her to swell with pure disdain. 

With each passing night, it draws closer to Rose, casting a chilling spell that both terrifies and exhilarates her.

Thrust into a labyrinth of mysteries can she navigate the treacherous path laid before her, or will her nightly visitor consume her whole?

He Comes At Night

I was engulfed in warmth, cocooned in a world of green, where the air itself pulsed with life.

The scent woodsy and ash wove into something intoxicating, filling my lungs with an essence so rich, it made my head swim.

It was the kind of scent that made me want to close my eyes and dance barefoot in the soil, surrendering to it's wild energy thrumming around me.

I turned, searching for the source of the allure. My gaze landed on a rose—no, not just any rose.

It was the most exquisite bloom I had ever laid eyes on. Its stem, a deep green adorned with razor-sharp thorns, stood in defiance, a silent warning to any who dared mishandle it.

And the petals curled over one another in intricate layers, lush and velvety, painted in the deepest crimson, as though they had been kissed by blood.

Drawn to it, I reached out, fingers brushing the delicate edges. But the moment I attempted to pluck it, a sharp sting pierced my fingertip.

A single drop of blood welled up, dark and glistening, before spreading into thin, twisting black veins. The sensation hit me like a wildfire igniting through my veins, a burning so excruciating it sent me reeling.

My body convulsed, and a wretched scream tore from my lips—

I bolted upright in bed, breath ragged, heart hammering against my ribs.

For a moment, all I could hear was the frantic pounding in my chest, the echoes of my own gasping breaths filling the space around me. Slowly, another sound trickled through the fog in my mind—

The voice rang clearer this time, pulling me from the haze of my nightmarish dream. "Rose, are you awake?"

I swallowed against the raw ache in my throat before rasping out, "Yeah…" My voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and dry. Clearing my throat, I tried again, forcing some strength into it. "Yeah, I'm up."

I kicked the sheets off my legs, my limbs heavy and stiff as I forced myself out of bed. My muscles protested, sore as if I had run miles instead of simply sleeping.

A deep yawn rumbled through me as I stretched, rolling my shoulders, blinking against the disorienting fog clinging to my brain.

I glanced around my room, searching for my phone out of habit. My brows furrowed. It wasn't on my nightstand. But that didn't make sense. I always kept it there.

What time was it? Better yet, what day was it? It felt like I had been asleep for days, not mere hours. My body ached with exhaustion, as if sleep had done little to revive me.

Ugh. My fingers pressed against my temples as a dull ache settled into my skull. I caught my reflection in the mirror—my hair a tangled mess, my white cotton nightdress slightly rumpled, my face pale.

Yup. Definitely disoriented. I looked like hell.

"Come down, I'm making my special breakfast!" Jake called from downstairs, his voice laced with excitement.

I shrugged. Must be the weekend. No sane person in this house would be making a "special breakfast" on a workday—not when we could barely manage to leave the house on time as it was.

Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders for warmth, I padded downstairs, my senses gradually awakening with the smell of rich coffee, melted butter, and something sweet drifting through the house.

Sliding onto the first barstool by the kitchen island, I watched as Jake maneuvered around the kitchen, looking oddly domestic in his pink floral apron. And adorable.

"Well, good morning to you too—" he started, then paused mid-pour, giving me a slow once-over. "—Gollum."

64. Kissed By Blood