PROLUGE
The forest was alive with darkness. Rain pelted her shoulders and ran down her back in icy sheets, soaking her thin clothes until they clung to her skin. She ran barefoot, mud sucking at her feet, leaves cutting at her ankles, and the stones beneath her threatening to twist them. The cold rain stung her face, but she barely felt it. Her focus was on the pounding of her heart, the sharp gasps of her breath, and the life inside her that she was desperate to protect.
She had left in haste, not even bothering to slip on slippers. Every second counted. Every second could be her last. Her legs were raw, bruised from the rough ground, and a jagged stone had cut into her foot. She stumbled once, her bare skin sliding across a wet branch, and felt the sharp sting as blood began to mix with mud. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not with him behind her.
She could feel him. His presence was suffocating, like a shadow stretched too long, like darkness given a heartbeat. He was there even when she didn’t see him, even when her eyes searched the twisted trees ahead. Always there. Watching. Waiting.
Her tears blurred her vision as she ran, and her sobs echoed between the trunks. She pressed her hands over her bump instinctively, feeling the tiny movements of the life inside her, and a wave of panic surged through her chest. She had to keep moving. Every step was agony. Every movement pulled painfully at her stomach, but stopping was not an option.
Branches whipped at her face and arms. Thorns tore at her skin. She felt a sharp scrape along her calf, blood mingling with rain as she stumbled. A small moan of pain escaped her lips, but it was swallowed by the storm. The forest seemed endless, a labyrinth of dark trunks and slick mud, and every step made her more aware of how fast he could find her, how close he was.
She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare. But the feeling was there the electric weight of his eyes on her, even when she couldn’t see him. It made her stomach twist, made her pulse spike. He was always there. Always following. Always waiting. And she knew, with a horrifying clarity, that no matter how fast she ran, no matter how far, he would catch her.
And then… he appeared.
She had rounded a bend between two massive oaks when she felt it. First, a rush of air. Then, a shadow. Strong, suffocating, impossible to escape. His arms wrapped around her from behind before she even realized he was there, and her scream tore from her throat. Wet hair plastered to her face as she tried to twist, trying to free herself from the iron grip, but he was unyielding.
“Stop.” His voice was a low growl, velvet and dangerous, pressing against the nape of her neck. “Don’t run from me.”
She cried harder, pressing her hands against his chest, sobbing into the empty night. “Please… let me go… I”
His arms tightened, just enough to make her knees buckle, but not enough to hurt her. Not yet. His forehead pressed against her shoulder, and she could feel his breath, uneven, almost tender in its madness. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the pulse of his heartbeat, and something twisted deep in her gut. Fear. Desire. Hate. All tangled together.
“You think you can run?” he whispered, voice trembling with something dangerous. “You think… I’ll ever let you go?”
Her tears fell freely, mingling with the rain. She clutched her stomach, sobbing through the fear and the pain. Her bare feet slipped in the mud, and she felt the blood trail behind her, soaking the forest floor. She wanted to pull away, wanted to escape, but he was everywhere. The forest seemed to shrink, every tree bending toward them as if the world itself had conspired to trap her.
And he smiled.
Not a kind smile. Not a loving one. But a smile that was all possession, all obsession, all dark devotion.
“You’re mine,” he said simply, and it was enough to make her shiver uncontrollably.
She tried to pull away again, but the grip around her waist was iron, unyielding. Her legs gave out beneath her, slick with mud, scraped and bleeding. She stumbled, her bare foot catching on a root, and she let out a strangled cry as pain shot up her leg. She clutched her stomach with one hand, tears mixing freely with the rain as she struggled to stay upright.
Before she could fall fully, he moved like liquid darkness, catching her with terrifying precision. In one swift motion, he scooped her up into his arms, holding her pressed against his chest. The sudden lift made her gasp, her body trembling with shock and fear. She could feel every hard line of him, every muscle tensed with control, every heartbeat synced with hers in a way that made her stomach twist.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmured, his voice low, rasping, almost gentle in its madness. “Let me carry you. You’re too precious… too fragile to hurt yourself.”
She tried to protest, weak and sobbing. “I… I can walk… I just”
“No.” He cut her off with a whisper that dripped with obsession. “Not alone. Not ever. You’re mine. And I will carry you. Always.”
His arms were strong, relentless, but careful in the way only a psychotic lover could be every motion precise, every movement calculated to protect, to dominate, to obsess. He shifted her slightly, brushing wet hair from her face, tucking strands behind her ear. He adjusted her clothes, wet and clinging to her body, pressing her bump gently against his chest. Every touch was terrifying, intimate, and obsessively meticulous.
“You’re cold,” he said, pressing a hand over her back, keeping her snug against him. “The rain… the mud… I won’t let it touch you. Not while I’m here.”
Her tears fell faster, but his presence was overwhelming, impossible to resist. He whispered her name over and over, low, obsessive, like a prayer and a threat all at once. Every syllable pressed into her mind, searing the terror and the twisted comfort deep inside her. She could feel his breath on her neck, hot and ragged, mixing with the cold rain, and it made her shiver uncontrollably.
Branches scratched at them as he moved, but he twisted and ducked expertly, never letting her touch the ground. His arms were everywhere secure, controlling, protective. He wiped mud from her cheek with a finger, brushed it from her damp hair, and adjusted the fabric over her stomach again, ensuring nothing pressed too harshly against the life inside her.
“You’re scared,” he murmured, voice trembling with something unhinged. “Good. You should be. Afraid of losing me… afraid of leaving me.”
She buried her face against his chest, shaking violently, sobs racking her body. Every instinct screamed to push him away, to run, to escape, but she couldn’t. He was everywhere. All-consuming.
“You’re mine,” he repeated, almost reverently. “Every thought, every heartbeat, every tear… mine. And I will protect you. My way.”
His hands lingered on her bump, adjusting, holding, pressing gently but with the weight of ownership that made her shiver. He shifted her closer when a low branch threatened to scratch her face, pressing her so tightly she could feel his chest rise and fall with his uneven breathing. His thumb traced the line of her jaw briefly, then lingered along her shoulder, memorizing her, marking her as his.
She whimpered, half in fear, half in helpless awe at how utterly overwhelming he was. The rain fell harder, turning the forest into a blur of shadows and streaked light, but he moved like he could see in the dark, his body a shield, his grip absolute. Every movement was deliberate every step, every turn, every adjustment of her hair or wet clothes was carefully, terrifyingly planned.
“You’re hurt,” he said suddenly, his teeth pressing against the shell of her ear as he bent slightly. “I can fix it. I’ll fix it. I’ll take care of you. Always.”
She gasped at the contact, trembling, sobbing. He shifted her bump against his chest again, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head briefly, his lips brushing through her wet hair. It wasn’t tender. Not really. It was possessive. Obsessive. Psychotic. But it was his version of care.
“You can’t run,” he whispered, tone jagged, almost desperate. “You never could. You never will. I will always find you. Always protect you. Always… love you.”
The forest stretched endlessly around them, dark and wet, alive with the storm. He carried her like that barefoot, bleeding, sobbing, struggling and yet utterly entrapped in his obsessive embrace. Every small motion, every word, every look was calculated to terrify and control, to nurture in his own dangerous, twisted way.
Branches scraped at their skin. Rain fell in sheets, soaking them both. Mud dripped from her hair and bare feet, but he never faltered, never wavered. He adjusted her position gently, checking her bump again, brushing the rain from her face, pressing her closer when the wind tried to bite. His whispers continued, psychotic lullabies of devotion and obsession.
“You’re mine,” he breathed again, voice shaking with feverish intensity. “Every tear, every sob… every heartbeat… mine. And I will keep you. Always.”
Her body trembled violently, part terror, part helpless surrender. He moved like a shadow through the forest, carrying her, protecting her, consuming her with the dark devotion that was his alone. And she realized, through the sobs, the rain, and the pain, that there was no escape
not from him, not from his madness, not from TOXIC DEVOTION.
Thankyou for reading
