The incubus grins. Or I believe it grins. The corners of the hole where its teeth are slotted tilt up, revealingmoreof those sharp teeth, and it hisses right at me.
I shiver, fear locking up my muscles. Then, in a flash, it’s next to the bed—my side, thankfully—and leering down at me.
“Julian—” Atlas is cut off as the incubus reaches down and wraps its large hand all the way around my throat, picking me up off the bed and dangling me in the air in front of it.
I’m so close to it that I can smell the heavy scent of smoke; I can see the drool escaping from between its canines. The skin on its face and stretched over its chest is so pale it borders translucent, showing no veins.
I can’t breathe anymore. I’m flailing and kicking and punching as best I can—and I’m a big, muscled man—but it’s making no difference. The incubus sneers, shaking me wildly.
I’m a glorified rag doll.
I think I’ll die here. Right in this moment, I’m certain that this monster will choke me to death and take Atlas.
My vision begins to darken. The damned thing shrieks.
Suddenly, I’m being dropped to the floor, gasping and coughing as I claw at my neck. Relief floods through me, but it only lasts a few seconds, as I hear:
“No! S-stay back! Stop!”
My eyes lift from where I’m lying on the floor, massaging my tender flesh, to see Atlas tumbling off the bed and backing away, toward his mirror, absolutely petrified.
The incubus takes another step toward him, turning its back to me as if I’ve never once been a threat.
I want to get Atlas away from here. He should never have been subjected toseeingthe wretched thing. He’s too soft, too sweet to handle it.
Tears fall over his cheeks in a consistent stream, his hands trembling as he grips the standing mirror behind himself.
If I were unsure originally of what I must do, I am, without a doubt, completely positive of my next move now.
I have to protect him. I have to preserve what is mine. The person I care for and cherish in a way I never have before.
I like him. And I won’t let this fucker take him from me.
On shaky legs, I stand, each inhalation I take sounding raw and broken around the bruising I can feel forming over my throat.
I can see my own reflection in the mirror behind Atlas, how terrified yet determined I look. My dark hair is a mess, my skin marked—and it appears I’ve also been crying. I wasn’t aware.
Without a second thought, with no time to chicken out, I slide myself between the demon and Atlas, shoving its hard chest with all the strength I can muster.
It does not move an inch.
Over the sound of my own heartbeat, I can hear Atlas speaking.
“Julian, run,” he says, and I can hear the terror in his voice.
I shake my head. “No. I’m going to protect—”
A flash of hot pain registers in the flesh of my face, and I’m airborne. Atlas is screaming again.
A loud crashing noise resonates around the room, and more of the searing pain shoots throughout my entire body as I crumble to the floor.
I peel my eyes back open, but half of the room is painted red. I groan, attempting to adjust my own limbs but unable to move. There is so much pain, so much fear, that I’m locked in place.
I wanted to protect him. I wanted to take him away from this place, from this bastard. But I am weak. I am useless. I am crumpled on the floor and half-conscious.
“A-Atlas,” I murmur, using whatever strength I have left to reach out to him.
And as I do—and I see the blood coating my outstretched fingertips—the world around me starts to fade.
