heath 1

The Warning

1

Heath was all about good vibes.

He believed in energy, in the cycles of the moon, in karma coming back threefold. He burned sage in his tiny apartment to ward off bad spirits, read tarot for friends, and kept a rose quartz in his pocket to attract love.

So when he stepped into The Den that Friday night, he immediately knew something was wrong.

The energy of the place was off. Normally, The Den had a steady pulse of joy—men laughing, flirting, grinding against each other with unburdened pleasure. But tonight, it felt… dense. Heavy. Like the air was thick with something unseen, something hungry.

Heath shivered.

Maybe it was just him.

Maybe he was overreacting.

But then he saw Tank.

Tank was hard to miss—a thick, muscled bear with a commanding presence and a beard that could make even the most confident men weak in the knees. He was standing at the bar, whiskey in hand, looking even broader than usual.

And next to him was a massive man.

Heath’s stomach dropped.

The guy wasn’t just big—he was unnatural. His muscles were so thick they bordered on impossible, his presence magnetic in a way that sent every instinct Heath had into full alert. His aura wasn’t human.

It was dark.

Not just dark—void.

Heath gripped his necklace, the pentacle warm against his chest. He didn’t know what this Atlas guy was, but he knew he needed to warn Tank.

2

He wove his way through the crowd, brushing past sweaty men and avoiding reaching hands. By the time he reached Tank, the energy had only gotten worse.

“Tank,” Heath said, voice urgent.

Tank turned, eyebrows raising. “Heath?”

Heath barely spared a glance at the giant beside him. Atlas was watching, calm, almost amused.

Tank’s eyes were already a little hazy—too much whiskey, maybe, or maybe just the pull of whatever dark presence was next to him.

“You need to be careful,” Heath blurted, keeping his voice low. “This guy—” He hesitated, lowering his tone even more. “He isn’t normal.”

Tank blinked at him, then barked out a laugh. “Seriously, dude?”

Heath’s jaw clenched. “I’m not kidding. There’s something wrong with him.”

Atlas finally spoke. “I get that a lot.” His voice was deep, smooth—like molten metal cooling into something unbreakable.

Heath ignored him. “Tank, listen to me.”

Tank sighed, rubbing his beard. “Heath, I get it. You’re into all that energy shit—”

“This isn’t a joke.”

Tank downed the rest of his drink and clapped Heath on the shoulder, his grip warm and firm. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m good.”

Heath swallowed hard, stomach twisting.

Atlas met his gaze, eyes gleaming under the low bar lights. For a brief second, Heath swore they flickered black.

Then he smiled.

Something cold skittered down Heath’s spine.

“I’ll see you later, Heath,” Tank said, already turning back to his conversation.

Heath opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.

There was no point.

Tank was already too far gone.

The thing next to him had its claws in deep.

And if Heath stuck around too long, it might notice him too.

3

Heath left the bar, heart pounding.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Something wrong was happening, and no one else could see it.

He needed to clear his head, to shake off the energy clinging to him. The night air was crisp, but it didn’t help—the darkness felt alive, pressing too close.

“Heath, right?”

The voice made him stop in his tracks.

A man leaned against the alley wall just past the bar’s entrance, smoking a cigarette. He was big—thick and strong, not quite Atlas-level, but still imposing. His beard was neatly trimmed, his eyes dark and gleaming in the streetlight.

Heath hesitated. “Yeah?”

The man smirked. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I saw you talking to your friend back there. You seemed pretty worked up.”

Heath swallowed. “It’s… nothing. Just a bad feeling.”

The man exhaled smoke, tilting his head. “I get it. Some nights just feel wrong, you know?”

His voice was warm, reassuring.

Heath’s muscles relaxed just a little. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The man smiled. “I’m Clay.”

Heath nodded slowly. “Heath.”

Clay took another drag, exhaling lazily. “You wanna get out of here?”

Heath blinked. “What?”

Clay grinned. “I saw you inside. You’re cute. And you look like you need to shake something off.”

Heath hesitated.

Everything in him screamed to be careful—but he needed to do something, to push away the feeling of failure from Tank blowing him off.

And Clay was attractive.

He wasn’t Atlas.

Heath bit his lip, weighing his options.

Then, finally—

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

4

Clay’s apartment was downtown, a sleek place with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. It smelled like cedar and leather, warm and expensive.

Heath stepped inside, feeling oddly lightheaded. The air felt… thick, like the bar had.

He turned to Clay. “This place is—”

Before he could finish, Clay was on him.

His hands were strong, gripping Heath’s waist, pulling him in. His body was hot against Heath’s, his mouth hungry.

Heath gasped into the kiss, his mind swimming.

It was too much.

Clay’s strength, his heat—it wasn’t just arousal. It was something else.

Something wrong.

He tried to pull back, but Clay’s grip tightened.

“Relax,” Clay murmured against his lips. “Let it happen.”

Panic flared. Heath shoved at Clay’s chest, but it was like pushing against stone.

Clay’s eyes met his.

And they were black.

Not the way pupils dilate in dim light. Not a trick of the shadows.

Just black.

A void.

A reflection of something old.

Something hungry.

Heath’s breath hitched. His entire body went cold.

Clay smirked.

“Atlas sends his regards.”

Then—

Darkness.