Whitely sat up in bed suddenly, his broken ribs crying out
in pain. He bit back a scream, and
clutched his side.
He wasn’t alone.
He glanced around the room, using his free hand to clear the
tears from his eyes. He couldn’t see
anything in the pitch dark. He could
here something, though. There was the
sound of low, deep breathing.
“Came back to finish the job?” Whitley spoke softly, his
voice seeming to vanish in the darkness.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” The voice was a deep,
masculine grumble. “No such luck,
Whitley, my boy. I haven’t gotten to
taste you yet.”
Whitely tried to move, to get out of the bed, but he found
his legs pinned down. The tentacles, wet
and slick as they moved up his calves towards his thighs, made his skin prickle
with gooseflesh.
He couldn’t fight.
How had that thing gotten in here? Charlotte should have been back by now, and
she…
“Wondering where your friend is,” asked the voice. “One of
my… associates has taken care of her.”
Whitley choked back the sob that suddenly burst out of his
throat. Charlotte was dead, and now he
was going to be Mythos fodder. How had
this gotten so out of control? How had
they let this thing get so strong?
A tentacle whipped around Whitley’s waist, and he howled out
in pain. The two tentacles on his legs
moved higher, one slipping under him, entering him. In a moment he was overtaken, the Mythos’s
essence working its magic quickly.
“I won’t kill you.” It whispered in his ear. “Not yet, at least. “
Whitley was so lost in the hellish pleasure being brought on
him that he could barely comprehend the words being spoken to him.
All he knew was that it was all up to Cherry now, and then,
as more essence entered his system, even that was lost.
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