Sleep deprivation can cause disorientation, impaired judgment, and memory loss. But suffer this ailment long enough, and it’s the strain on the heart which inflicts the most damage. Marlena liked to blame her disjointed conversation with the Roman and police today on her lack of quality sleep—but she has worked off of less; she knew what her body and mind could tolerate. 

She knew her breaking point. 

And the need for sleep had nothing to do with the palpitations attacking her heart as she watched John stalk toward her on the sidewalk right outside the ‘Brady Pub.’ Dressed in an all-black suit, his leanly cut form sliced the night like a razor. He was the cause of every ailment that came to inflict damage to her heart. 

This was the first time she’d seen him since his manic episode at the Mansion last night. And she was unsure if it was that episode or what came before that had her so unnerved. 

 

As he and Ralph approached the entrance of the pub, she touched her chest and clasped the CD, distractedly returning her attention to her laptop. 

 

She was the one who requested to participate in this mess. 

He was still her husband. 

Her responsibility. 

He was her problem to contain. And as his smoldering blue gaze dragged over her deliberately, stoking embers long ago doused, she knew it was not just the urgency of the situation affecting her and her ability to assess it better. 

Something was wrong with her. 

 

John glanced at the wooden sign above the worn door of the local pub and shifted his eyes to her. “This doesn’t seem like an ideal place to spend my time,” he said. 

“There isn’t much of a nightlife in town,” she replied. “This is the only place still open. I’m almost finished…” she toggled between documents on her laptop. 

Her finger hovered over the disc in her pocket. An ill feeling coated her stomach, and she felt as if her assessment was still off. 

She was tempted to watch it. 

She was tempted to watch all of it. 

She hit ‘Send’ on the email to Roman with the request to access the CD’s content. Then, with a resigned sigh, she tucked the laptop away in her bag. 

​

Turning toward Dr. Ralph, she held out her bag. “Could you please give that to Caroline?” she asked. 

At his perplexed expression, she lifted the hem of her dress to reveal the bandage around her ankle. “I injured myself yesterday while playing with the twins. I’d really appreciate the help.” 

He pushed his wireframe glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced at the kitchen. “Thank you.” 

When he accepted her bag, she thanked him. “We’ll wait for you here.” 

As she watched Dr. Ralph cross the restaurant, she felt John’s consuming presence pushing against her. 

 

She finally met his narrowed gaze, and a flash of something primal and starved registered there. “You lie so pretty,” he said with a crooked grin. Choosing to ignore the comment, she turned toward him. 

“Let’s go.” 

 

They had agreed that, in order to infiltrate the lab without drawing negative attention, they’d have to ditch Dr. Ralph and find a way to keep him out of sight. 

But that was before last night. 

Before his unhinged episode. 

Before his horrible headache.

Before he said what he said…and before she was even more wary of being alone with him. 

 

Despite her rational reservations, the temptation to unravel the mystery of his condition was too dangerously strong. She wanted to locate his missing memories before something extremely bad happened, yes—but beneath her desire to do good was the dark and seductive lure to unravel the mystery of this New John. She needed the answers only he could give her. 

As they entered the dimly lit interior of the bar across the street, they were engulfed in a smoky pit where a few pool tables crowded the center. The twang of folk music drifted through the sullen atmosphere. They passed the small bar top with a handful of people. Moving quickly, they made their way toward the back exit. Once they hit the street, John checked the directions she wrote down for the meeting location. She tossed a purposeful glance through the alley and into the ‘Brady pub's door. Without her need to point out the obvious, he said, “Don’t worry. Caroline will keep him occupied with her stories. She sure did bore me half to death.” 

 

The directions led them to an aged Gothic revival home with a steeply pitched gable roof and castle-like tower. The arched dormer windows had a touch of classic tracery, utilizing a swirled black, ornate design. It was gaudy and elaborate, denoting old money. 

Like every other house in this area of town, the siding was chipped and peeling. The worn appearance reflected the sad tone of the people that inhabit these houses regardless of status. The heavy thump of bass escaped the open windows as they drew near. 

Before she approached the slender columns of the wrapped porch, she bent down to remove the bandage from her leg. 

 

“We should start by locating Stefano.” She tossed the bandage in a shrub and started toward the house. “Forget about the party. Since you have been there too, you could—” 

“Wait.” John’s stark command was delivered in a deep baritone that resounded in her chest. She lingered near the concrete steps as he advanced, the sliver of the moon cast in the pale hue of his eyes. She braced herself.

“This is what you had decided to wear to sneak around old houses?” he asked, his gaze absorbing her. 

“The plan was to blend, Blondie.” 

Relieved, she glanced over her black maxi dress. It was the only semi-formal outfit she had, yet this was the first time she’d worn it since John died. 

“Let me guess,” he said, “you googled current fashion trends and found out funeral-chic was the most popular.” His words summon a blistering ache to her chest, snatching the breath from her lungs. 

An image of a funeral dress rose up from the trenches of her mind to try to drag her under. She forced her voice steady. “As opposed to your choice of goth-Vampire chic?” Marlena said, refusing to let him see his effect on her. 

John ran his tongue along the ridge of his teeth. “Vampires prefer to see a little skin.” 

 

She shook her head and turned away. “No one will care—” she made a single step before his hand wrapped her arm, drawing her to a stop. Her gaze dropped to where he touched her. Marlena’s heart flipped inside her chest as he grazed his hand down to the tapered hem of the sleeve. 

“What are you doing…?” A shock of fear strangled her breath as he rolled the sleeve to reveal an inch of skin. “Your part of the deal is to trust my methods,” he said, tone casual, as if he was not causing her heart to tear through her chest wall. 

“John, no, this was not what I-” She managed to free her wrist and shove the sleeve down. “Do you even know what you’re pleading for?” His question left her speechless, but he didn’t wait for the answer. “Either you hold up your end, or—” 

“Anything…else.” She swallowed the ache clogging her throat. He cocked an eyebrow, then raked his gaze over her dress. A sinful gleam alighted behind his gaze to make her regret her words, and then, with a groan, he dropped to his haunches. 

 

He grasped the flare of her hips, igniting a searing heat that threatened to burn her to ash as his palms traveled painstakingly slow down her thighs. His fingers bunched the fabric, driving any rational response from her mind. His hands stilled above her knees, and she felt the pressure of his fingers…then cool air touched her skin as John tore her dress down the seam. 

He grunted as he ripped the material, leaving her with half a dress. Mortification enveloped her as she stared down. He discarded the shredded lower half of her dress in the same shrub as he stood. Marlena grabbed the torn hem, a raw ache burning her throat. Features shadowed by the dark, he inspected his handiwork appreciatively. 

 

“You do care about me, Blondie,” he said. “And I care.” 

 

He moved in, and she was unable to escape him before he clasped the back of her neck. He pulled the hair tie free, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. Then, trailing his fingers up the curve of her neck, he touched one of the dangly earrings. 

“These distract from your eyes.” After he removed her earrings, he said, “Natural beauty should never compete with decorations.” He placed the earrings in her hand as he stepped around her. She stared at the sparkly jewelry in her palm, unable to move, feeling as if she had just been stripped naked by John—and her body was betraying her. 

 

Curling her fingers over the earrings, she gave herself a moment to let the infuriating mix of emotions sear through her veins, then she threw them in the bushes. By the time she’d caught up with John, he had the front door open and reached behind to grab her hand. A shocked second where his fingers laced between hers, then he pulled her over the threshold and into a throng of undulating dancing people. Multi-colored lights strobe and pulse with the beat of the raging house music. The dense body heat coated her skin in a balmy wrap, making her partially grateful she was not suffering the full coverage of the dress. 

Shouts and obnoxious laughter bled over the music, and as they headed deeper, the dim lighting obscured her vision. But none of the distractions were enough to remove the heightened awareness of her hand in John’s. 

As they weaved through the gathering in the main room, she was met with bloodshot eyes and slack features. Despite crashing into several intoxicated dancers, no one really noticed them. But she noticed a familiar face on the edge of the crowd. She tugged at John’s hand, and he looked back as she nodded toward Stefano. 

 

“I’m going that way.” Brow furrowed, he released her hand. “I’ll find drinks.” 

He won’t be ingesting anything from here. However, she refrained from telling him as much, using the much-needed space away from him to breathe, even if it was laced with vape smoke. 

Anna spotted her, regarding her curiously as she weaved a path toward her. She was wearing a very low-cut fancy dress. Her hair was pulled back in with too much gel. 

“Marlena, are you undercover or something? I’m not used to seeing you in this part of town.” She laughed. 

“Me? Oh no, I came here with John. He was looking for E.J. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice pitched over the music. 

“I came with Tony; this is one of his clubs. Someone called in a noise complaint.” Eyebrows arched, Marlena glanced around. “His presents don't seem to be working.”

 

Her throaty laughter made her smile. “This is the Tiger bar,” she said, implying a common local knowledge. “The owners pretty much do what they want, and so do their entitled asshole visitors.” She nodded to a tall blond guy. “I’m just here to make sure no one gets hurt and nothing burns.”  Her voice was playful, and when she laughed again, she held up the plastic cup in a mock toast. “To whatever gets us through the day.” 

As Marlena was empty-handed, she tapped her cup with her knuckles. It has been a long time since she was able to actually make a joke or be around anyone she wanted to joke with. 

A familiar twinge bloomed in the center of her chest, reminiscent of years past. Shoving the sensation aside, she cast a look around the scene. “I haven’t seen Stefano around town. Is he avoiding the feds?” 

Her friend wasn't even aware he was there. Good.

​

Anna lowered her cup as her features fell. “DNA results came today,” she said. “Came back a matching ID to his brother. John” 

“Oh, my god.” She shook her head, not knowing how to respond. She recalled John’s hostility earlier today, his reluctance to be at the DIMera Mansion, and she now understood why. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could manage. Marlena waved her hand, relieving her of the burden. 

 

Then, as an electric current zipped across her flesh, Marlena could feel his eyes on her. She could sense him drawing near, and like a droplet of ink clouding water, John’s presence permeated the air like a dark vapor.

"Want a drink?” Anna asked, but then she spied John circling back with a bottle in his hand. “Oh, I think he has you covered…in more ways than one. Damn.” Her voice dropped low as she made an obvious point to check him out.

“Well done, Marlena.” 

 

She should object, but her mouth went dry at the way his heated gaze trapped her. “You made her laugh,” he said to Anna, his eyes never straying from her face. “A difficult feat to pull off.” He then turned his attention to Anna. “I’m John.” 

“I know who you are.” Anna apprised him with a smirk. “I’ve heard the rumors regarding your return.” The panty-melting grin he pulled off should be illegal. 

“Anna!” Marlena tried.

“Well, rumors are entertaining, but only Marlena and I know the truth.” He winked at her, and the frantic need to escape and find fresh air assailed her. Before she could devise an excuse to leave, he leaned in and whispered, “You sound like a pixie when you laugh. It’s fucking adorable.” 

 

She put space between them and said to Anna, “Could you do me a favor?”

“Doctors and favors.” She tsk teasingly. “This time, you’ll owe me one. And tomorrow, I want a full update on how this new John is in bed.” 

“Anna…” She was embarrassed and went to grab her phone and cursed. Realizing she had left it in her bag, apprehension gripped her chest. 

She never forgot her phone. “Are you okay?” Anna asked, worry creasing her features. “Yeah…yes.” she shook her head. “I was going to send Sami a message, but I’ll have to send it later. “

“Nice to see you again, John,” Anna said to John, then touched her arm, leaning in conspiratorially. “I want intel tomorrow.” 

 

As she watched Anna clear a path through the mass, she pushed farther into the corner, trying to put distance between her and the bad boy of town. She leaned her back against the cool wall and dragged in a breath, letting her gaze roam the clustered groups. Every single person there was too young to be there. 

“Stop trying to force it,” John said, disturbing her thought process. He pushed in too close, his body blocking her view of the crowd. She had to angle her head back to see his face. “What am I forcing, John?” She couldn’t mask the panic bleeding into her unsteady tone. She hasn't thought about taking anxiety meds for months since he died, didn’t even take them when it was necessary, and suddenly she wished she had access to them. 

 

Something was wrong with her. 

 

“This is a small town, as you said.” He pushed in even closer, strangling her air. “Stefano will talk. Let the answers come to you.” This corner was suddenly too tight, his body heat an invasive touch against her skin. Her clothes were too binding. His clothes were too abrasive against her now-bare thighs. As if he realized she was about to flee, she felt the chilled glass of the wine bottle against her palm. “The Tiger’s owners have decent taste in wine,” he said, his deep voice carrying over the music. She dragged a hand through her hair, then pushed the bottle back toward him. 

“No thanks. I’m good.” 

“I can grab an unopened bottle,” he offered. “Open it right in front of you. But drugging you unconscious would hardly be any fun, Marlena.” This time, he forcefully placed her hand around the bottleneck, pressing the issue without verbally reminding her of their never-ending agreement around his condition. 

“Trust your methods,” she said beneath her breath. Trusting John’s methods was a deliberate descent right into his fucking madness…this CD and its content was madness too…and once she fell, she’ll never crawl out of the dark void. 

Not this time. 

She didn’t have the strength to crawl out twice.

She had already lost him once.

She won’t do it again.

Reminding herself that, Marlena brought the rim to her mouth. 

Fuck it. 

“And we’re drinking straight from the bottle, ay?.” 

“Just like Tigers.” 

She turned up the bottle and slugged back a generous sip. The red wine was bitter and robust, and went straight to her head. She breathed out the fumes to clear her teary eyes. The lights flashed with the swelling tempo of the song, and the crowd responded. Hands thrust into the air; bodies rolled in a seductive wave. 

 

John’s warm hand covered hers around the bottleneck. He drew closer to her, his proximity overriding her anxiety, his scent as intoxicating as the wine. Keeping her hand pressed to the bottle, he brought it to his mouth and drank. 

She watched the way his Adam’s apple dipped. It was entrancing. He then placed the bottle rim to her lips. 

“Tigers,” he said, eyes flashing in time with the pulsing beat. “Like the Maenads, let all your reservations go, Marlena.” 

 

She tilted her head back farther and let the wine flow over her tongue. Face flushed from the alcohol, she licked her lips, savoring the tingling effect. She decided wine worked well in place of anxiety meds. 

John removed the bottle from her hand and placed it on a side table. Then he slipped his hand around her waist and palmed the small of her back. The intensity of his stare pinned her to the wall. 

His other hand cupped the side of her face; his fingers rested along her jaw. He used his thumb to tip her face up toward his. 

She suppressed a shiver at the feel of his cool thumb along her skin. A roar filled her head as they stood still amid the heaving party. The music faded into the background, the flashing lights slowed to a hypnotic beat, inducing a trance-like state. 

 

“Relax, Blondie” he coaxed. 

His pinky settled over the pulse point in her neck, and, as he began to sway them away from the wall, her heartbeat throbbed violently in her veins. 

It was too dark, too loud, too crowded, and isolated all at once. 

And she was too aware of the feel of him—of every overstimulated spot his body touched hers. She was struck with the reckless impulse to push onto her toes and link her arms around his neck. 

Blinking hard, she turned her head away to break his hold. She placed her hands on his chest to force space. 

“I’m not feeling well,” she heard herself say. 

His hand covered hers, and the furious beat of his heart thundered beneath her palm. “I disagree. I think you’re getting better.” His statement clouded her thoughts as much as his inebriating, woodsy scent. 

“My jacket still smells like you,” he said, a lopsided smile slanting his mouth. “It tortured me all day.” 

“And where were you all day?” she asked, avoiding his remark. 

“Waiting for my muse to return,” he said without missing a beat. “You never answer my questions.” 

“I always answer them. You just refuse to hear.” Marlena released a strained breath and dropped her gaze. “And this isn’t accomplishing anything. Stefano’s gone. We’re not getting any answers.” 

“You’re too anxious.” A humorous laugh tore free. 

“And you’re too…close.” She pushed against his chest. “This isn’t what we agreed on when I asked your help in finding this place.”

When she met his eyes, a flicker of heat sparked amid that soulless darkness, and she was livid with herself for how easily she gave in to this new John. 

How easily he could charm and manipulate. 

She needed to regain control over this situation and her senses. 

 

John finally released her from his penetrating gaze as he lowered his mouth next to her ear. “Rolf doesn’t think there’s anything on that disc,” he said. 

It was an observation. 

“He’s lying.” She corrected his assumption. 

“I don’t understand it.” He confessed. 

“Then let’s make you understand it.” She shook her head. 

“Visualizing Stefano in the middle of this chaos—” she waved her hand at the raucous party “—holding the disc with all your lifetime memories.” 

“You’re imagining things, Blondie,” he said as he started to sway them. “Dance with me.” There was a moment of urgency, one second where she had control to stop the descent, but she faltered. 

She’d already stepped off the ledge. 

 

The sensation of falling pitched her stomach as John carved a path through the dancing throng, then he drew her against his solid chest. As he wrapped his arms around her, the gauzy feel of webbing coated her skin, and, too late, he caught her. 

And she was caught. 

​

******

 

If you dance with the devil, expect to get burned. John was fire and brimstone and every salacious dark dream. She was embraced by the arms of a soulless robot, and this reality should terrify her, his touch should repulse her—and somewhere below the heady rush of wine and intense chemical attraction, a kernel of logic fought for dominance. Only sometimes, a whisper was louder than a scream. The tendril seductively curled around them, the soft murmur luring them into the flames. As the slow and seductive music infused the overcrowded pub, every nerve in her body was lit up like a live wire seeking a grounding connection. The feel of John’s hand at the small of her back attacked her nervous system, and just the sweep of his thumb over her jaw sparked across her skin. 

His heated gaze held hers captive as he stared down at her, their movements so subtle they were barely dancing. 

His thigh eased between her legs, sending an arousing throb to her core, and she shut her eyes against the sensation. 

This was wrong. 

She was wrong. 

Her obsession to name this 'John' -her John has mutated into a gross form of transference. It was the only rational thought she could grasp as she fought to maintain a level of composure over her senses. 

 

As his hands wandered her body, exploring her like she was some precious artifact, an internal alarm flared. He continued to coast upward until he had her face between his palms. His fingers tormentingly sunk into her hair past the nape of her neck, his hold preventing her from escaping. Forced to stare into the void of his beautiful eyes, she sensed the floor shift beneath her feet, losing gravity. 

“How am I supposed to visualize the scene when you’re staring at me like….” 

She stopped moving, unwilling to hear the rest of his sentence. He licks his lips, savoring her unease. 

“If you starve an animal, that animal will make a mess of its meal.” 

“I’m not the meal,” she said, her voice edged in anger to control the tremble. His captivating smile sunk through her. 

He didn’t force the subject and instead said, “This is your need to know, Marlena.” He spun her around and brought her back to his chest, hands fastened to her hips. “Look around at all this wild debauchery. This is what you need to visualize, to see”—he ground obscenely into her backside—“to feel.” 

His fingers coasted across her pelvis, setting off a riot of tremors. “John—” 

“Can you still taste the earthy notes of the wine?” he cut her off, ignoring the plea in her voice. “The tawny mixture, thick and heady with tannins?” The taste of the cabernet still lingered on her tongue. 

Marlena swallowed and nodded against his chest. 

“Close your eyes. Hear only the drums. Envision the reeds. The dark trees. The night. How the moonlight spills over the marsh. It’s all a part of his sacrifice.” 

“Dance in Stefano’s footsteps,” she said, suspecting this was a very bad idea. 

She had nothing to lose. 

“Feel the heat of the fire on your skin,” John encouraged as he rocked them, their bodies fused together amid the strobing lights and pulsing music. “Smell the charred reeds. Taste the smoke. Let it infuse your body. Like the Maenads' ritual. The only way to connect with him is to give yourself over to the frenzy.” 

 

She knew what he was trying to do, making her submit to—and yet, being aware of his tactic didn’t make it any less effective. It was so tempting just to give in…to let herself fall away. She clasped his wrists, her heart drumming so hard in her chest she could barely breathe. John swayed them faster as the tempo increased, the music drowning out the frantic thud of her heartbeat. He overpowered her, his hand snaking across her belly, leaving a searing trail beneath her dress in his wake. 

She sealed her eyes closed, letting the wave crash over her. 

“Ritual? How do you know about it?” she breathed.

“I do read, Blondie.”

“Tell me about the ritual,” she said, succumbing to the feel of his hands manipulating her body. His forearm tensed around her waist. He swept her hair away from her shoulder, resting his mouth near the curved slope of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. 

“How deep do you want to go, Blondie?” His question infused her blood with a shot of panic. She was wilting for him so she could snare him like a spider in a Venus flytrap. Only, her body made her betrayal all too believable, even to her. 

She forced her words bold. “Make me feel it.” 

His low groan vibrated against her back, sending a shockwave of arousal through her system. “You wouldn’t be fucking with me now, would you?” 

Making John question her intentions bolstered her resolve, and she swiveled her hips provocatively, rubbing against him until she felt his stomach tense. 

Raising her arms, she linked her wrists around the back of his neck as she ground against him. “I want to know what you know,” she told him. 

 

The press of his erection along her backside ignited a flame in her belly, and a sliver of anxiety sliced through the carnal heat—but she pushed back against the uncertainty. “Be careful what you ask for, Blondie,” he said, his voice thick with restraint. Then his hands were touching her, testing her. His thumb skimmed the bottom of her breast, his fingers probed downward, tracing the seam of her panties along her pelvis. 

She swallowed the fiery ache, keeping her eyes closed against the flashing room. “Tell me everything,” she demanded. 

“Pay attention.” 

He clamped his hands to her hips, his fingers drawing the torn hem of her skirt upward. “To become as wild and uninhibited as the Maenads, one must pass an initiation.” 

“So Stefano was—” John threaded his fingers in her hair and tugged, effectively silencing her. 

“My job is to tell you about it. Your job is not to think, to only feel and let the answers come.” His mouth brushed over her neck, and her mind emptied, unable to grasp her previous thought. 

“They were feared yet envied,” he said, swaying their bodies to the rhythm. “They were the raving ones who lived fearless and donned fawn skin and adorned headdresses of bone and ivy.”

 

The mutilated stag appeared in her mind. 

“The Freemasons recorded that this aspect of the rites was passed down to the Dionysian mystery school,” John continued. “Initiates wore a purple robe and were crowned with ivy.” She tried to think past the distracting feel of his hands roving her thighs, rough fingers grazing too dangerously close to the inside seam of her panties. An uneven breath slipped past her lips. 

“I know that,” she said, making her voice firm. “Tell me what no one else knows.” His deep laugh thrummed through her chest, digging in with an itch she couldn’t scratch. The swarm of bodies infested the energy of the room, and her body hummed at a high frequency in response. 

 

John curled his fingers beneath the shredded fabric of her dress, his thumb scraping her skin and eliciting a shiver. “Possessed by the god’s frenzy, the initiates gave in to their base, carnal desires,” he said, his voice a husky rumble against her ear. “They danced freely, partook in wild orgies, gorged on wine, and entered a state of madness, where they reached an altered, primeval state of being.” His mouth pressed behind her ear. “They went mad with pleasure.” 

She mindlessly danced against John, lost in a sensory of images as she visualized the offender in the throes of a passionate ritual. It was evocative…primal. 

Like a beast, he let himself go feral. 

“Once this state was induced, they hunted. Animals…humans… In their frenzy, they tore apart their prey. They invoked and manifested Dionysus in the bestial form. They became the Horned Hunter, and they devoured and fucked like beasts.” 

 

Marlena’s core clenched, and she involuntarily rolled her hips, seeking friction. Each pass of John’s hands over her body stimulated every erogenous zone, wreaking havoc on her nerves. She suppressed a whimper as he gripped her inner thigh. “Then the initiates entered into the night journey, descending into the depths of the underworld. When they reemerged, when they ascended, they had been gifted the wisdom of the gods. Above man, above even the gods themselves, they possessed the clarity of the universe, empowered to obtain their every desire.” 

Immersed in the scene, the hoard of people disappeared, and she no longer cared about what they saw or any guilt or judgment.

She was all flesh and craving. She was a lightning rod seeking the flame of his touch, desperate to sate the throbbing ache between her thighs. “The frenzy is pure seduction,” he whispered near her ear, and she could feel the lure, the corruption, to be drawn into the hedonistic pleasure. 

 

Wrapped in John’s arms with the hypnotic music and raw, depraved hunger, it was the temptation to forget—to become something or someone else with no past or history. Stepping into someone else's shoes was always a form of escape. Wasn't that why she lost herself in the job? 

To escape…to feel something else… Yet, there was a line she couldn’t cross. John was too intelligent not to discern this. 

 

Somehow, he knew the precise buttons to push to entice her right over the line. Her head fell back against his chest, her mind drifted in a lurid haze, her body succumbing to his primal touch. As his hand coasted higher up her inner thigh, his thumb abrasively grazed the sensitive folds shielded only by the sheer material of her panties, and she sucked in a shocked breath. Her body pulsed in time with the flickering lights. She clamped her thighs closed, trapping his hand. 

 

“Keep going,” she said, her voice shaky and barely registering over the climbing music. She felt his growl rip from the deep trench of his chest. 

“You want me to keep going,” he said in a taunt. “Or keep going….” He parted her legs and splayed his fingers over her clit and lips. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus when you’re soaking my hand through your fucking panties, Marlena?” 

His admission did something dangerous to her, and she fed off it, lost in a heated tangle of lust and uninhibited yearning. Somewhere in the background of her mind, she registered a sprig of regret. But the atmosphere was too intoxicating, and John was too persuasive—and the desire for oblivion was too fucking irresistible. 

She thrust her hand between her thighs and cupped his fingers, undulating her hips to push against his palm with shameless urgency.

“Goddamn, Blondie.” 

His growl gathered her muscles tight before he sunk his teeth into the soft junction between her shoulder and neck. The sharp pain spiraled through her, and she moaned as it invoked emotions that had laid dormant, dulled by heartache. 

The piercing of his teeth overridden the blunt ache, and her body flared with the insatiable need to be touched—desperate for the fiery alchemy to meld pain into pleasure. 

 

John teased the frenzy from her soul, like a sorcerer cloaking them in a storm of licentious fury and madness, and as his fingers erotically kneaded between her thighs, she whimpered, pulled under by the salacious feel, her body starved for what she’d denied it for so long. 

His mouth touched the shell of her ear, breathed heavy, and sawed over the throbbing bite mark. 

 

“I’m going to tear through you like a ravenous animal.” His dark groan resonated in her chest, urging her hips to heave in the most tawdry taunt as lust burnt under her skin. She was so close to losing control. 

Surender the pain. 

Feeling pain was a choice. 

The realization came with a stark epiphany, the ability to choose to be lost to her pain or to surrender to pleasure. The maddening chaos delivered clarity.

 

 “Oh, my god,” she said, shuddering as John’s thumb swept over her nipple, causing her to almost break. Her core clenched, her lower back arched, and she sinfully spread her thighs as the intense pull stole her breath. But the fight to maintain clarity burnt through the haze. 

 

“I know why he’s hiding,” She said, “why he’s running away.” John’s hand winded into her hair and grasped at the roots, and the feeling was so seductive, the pleasure so addictive 

“Why suffer a painful ascension when you can fulfill every desire, experience every pleasure?” She asked aloud. 

 

As John rocked their bodies in sync, she mentally combed over her notes. “He’s been playing us all along,” She said, following the logic. “He knows exactly how to get your memory back. We weren’t meant to find the disc…” she trailed off at the sensual feel of John’s hand collaring her neck from behind. 

The eyes. 

The ears. 

The dissected body parts appeared in the marsh. He worked up to his ultimate sacrifice. John’s violent growl proceeded with the stab of his rock-hard cock against her ass. 

“Save it for your office,” he said, then he twirled her around, bringing her chest flush against his. His hand captured her face in a commanding grip. 

“I want to taste your frenzy.” 

Desperate to see his eyes, to see something past the bottomless abyss, she lifted her gaze to his. The room vibrated around them. As if in slow motion, their gazes collided. 

His penetrating eyes ensnared her, and she couldn’t hide from him—She couldn’t pretend what was happening between them wasn’t affecting her, changing her. John tipped her face up. 

 

The cool press of his thumb against her chin clashed with the searing heat beneath her skin, and when he thrust his hand under her dress and his fingers grazed the seam of her panties, her teeth sunk into her lip. The coppery taste touches her tongue, and a growl unleashed from deep within his chest. He smeared his thumb through the blood on her lip, then brought it to his mouth. An uncontrollable tremor attacked her belly as he pushed against the barrier of her panties and licked her blood from his thumb at the same time. 

“I knew your pain would taste sweet.” 

“You’re a monster,” she said. His tongue swept his lips, and the volatile intensity she glimpsed there—the insatiable hunger—nearly leveled her as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Whoever fights monsters should see to it they don’t become one,” he said, paraphrasing Nietzsche’s infamous line. “But in your case Blondie’s, I think you crave the touch of the monster as badly as the fight.” 

 

She pushed away from him, making it as far as staggering into a dancing couple before he seized her wrist. She resisted making a scene, letting him draw her back into his arms. Her breaths tore through her chest as she restrained the urge to claw his skin. 

Her nails sunk into his forearms, but this only brought a devious smile to his face. His arm bound her lower back, and he dipped her low. A gesture he used to use a lot when they went out dancing in ‘Tuscany.’ Holding her angled beneath him, his wicked eyes devoured her. 

 

Breath trapped in her lungs, the pressure built until she was forced to release it, a moan escaping as John’s hungry gaze consumed her. He brought his lips so close to hers, he inhaled her right along with her breaths. 

His eyes flicked over her face, tracing a fiery path over the contours of her neck, then he slipped his finger under the pendant resting against her throat. 

“Tell me,” he said, staring at the teardrop diamond. 

“Did ‘he’ made you feel this alive?” 

The air vacated her lungs. As if falling into a dream, the terrifying sensation prickled her skin, then suddenly, she woke up before hitting the ground. 

 

The party crashed around her, reality snapping into focus, vivid and clear. She pushed against John’s chest. 

“Let go—” 

“I can’t do that.” 

She wedged her knee between them, and before she actually hit the floor, John caught her and brought her upright. With a forceful spin, she windmilled her arms and broke out of his hold. She shoved through the crush of people, unsure of which direction she was going, but she got far enough away from people and music, and the panic ripped her apart. 

The hallway was dark and lined with locked doors. She tried three before she found an open room, where she slammed the door and pressed her back to the cool wood. She was able to steal two unobstructed breaths before the door drove her forward, and John’s towering form filled the doorway.