GTS Syndrome Vol 2 Ch 15: The Playful Berserker!

I took a few steps back, the sand shifting under my boots, as I stared up at Penelope.

Her red eyes glowed like dying embers in the fading dusk, and though she was still, just watching me, I could feel the pressure in the air like a storm waiting to crack. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, each exhale a hot gust across my face. Her cheeks were flushed, her expression... off. Too soft. Too sweet.

"Braden..."

Her voice rumbled through me like thunder in my ribs—low, breathy, and absolutely not the kind of thing I wanted to hear from a towering woman currently possessed by her own primal instincts. There was a sort of... dreamy haze in her eyes, and for a moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, she still had enough control to fight it.

But then that haze shifted into something else.

A grin.

Not a kind one.

A wide, teeth-baring smile that spread across her face as if she'd just laid eyes on her favorite dessert. And unfortunately, I was looking a lot like said dessert.

"Braaa-den," she repeated, her voice thick with some strange blend of affection and hunger.

Without warning, she dropped onto all fours. The ground trembled under the weight of her limbs, and her face came low, much closer than I was comfortable with. Her lips curled back, eyes wide and locked onto me like a cat eyeing a mouse. She purred—actually purred—and that sound alone gave me a fresh dose of goosebumps.

"You're so cute all the way down there," she cooed, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Especially when you look scared."

Her eyes narrowed, her tongue darting across her lips. I backed up instinctively.

Oh. No.

"Come here," she whispered, voice husky, sultry, and way too sexy for someone currently stalking me like a predator. My face went hot. And not from the desert heat.

This was deeply awkward.

And terrifying.

I turned just as her massive fingers swooped toward me, sand billowing around them. She was going slow—on purpose—her long fingers curling with exaggerated care like she was playing with a doll. I leapt to the side, barely avoiding her grasp, tumbling through the sand as her fingertips closed in the spot I'd just vacated.

She gasped, delighted. "Ohhh! So you wanna play tag?"

Then came her laugh—loud, giddy, and so close to me it physically launched me several feet. I hit the sand hard, rolled, scrambled to my feet. My ears rang from the sheer volume of her voice. If she kept that up, I was gonna go deaf before she even caught me.

"Penelope! Come on, fight it! This isn't you!" I shouted, already knowing I was wasting my breath.

She didn't hear a word of it. Or maybe she did, but the Wanting had twisted her perception of everything—including me.

"Oh Braden," she purred again, "you're so fast. It's adorable."

She lunged again. I dove behind a ridge of sand, only for her hand to sweep over it like a bulldozer, scattering the dune into nothing. Her palm missed me by inches—on purpose. I could tell.

She was playing with me.

Taking her time.

Toying with the idea of capturing me slowly. Her giggles echoed through the open desert, and all I could do was run, dodge, and pray she didn't stop holding back.

Because that was the only reason I wasn't already in her hand.

The truth was, if Penelope wanted to catch me—really wanted to—she'd have had me in a heartbeat. I wasn't faster. I wasn't stronger. The gap between us wasn't just size—it was everything. I was a rabbit dodging the lazy paw swipes of a lioness who hadn't decided if she wanted to pounce or keep toying with her meal.

And gods help me, I didn't think I'd last much longer once she made her decision.

Still, I kept running. What else could I do?

"You're not very good at tag, Braden!" she called out behind me, almost sing-song.

"Probably because I'm trying not to die!" I yelled back.

"Die? Oh no no no, sweetie... I'd never hurt you," she said with a dreamy sigh, dragging her fingers slowly through the sand as she stalked after me on all fours. "I just wanna... hold you. Real tight."

I gulped, heart hammering.

This was bad.

Worse than bad.

She was fully in the Wanting now, and I didn't know how much longer her playful side would last. I needed to find a way to either snap her out of it or stall until the night passed. But how the hell do you reason with someone whose mind has been hijacked by raw instinct?

I dodged again, barely evading her fingers as they swept past me with a gust of wind and a playful little hum. Then I tripped—my boot caught on something in the sand, and I hit the ground face-first. Before I could get up, I felt the wind shift.

Her hand came down.

Fast.

And stopped.

Just inches over me, fingers twitching like she was deciding whether to grab or caress.

I looked up.

She was looking down at me, head tilted, red eyes glowing brighter than ever in the moonlight.

"Gotcha," she whispered.

And for the first time... I wasn't sure if I was going to make it out.

I couldn't move.

Not because I didn't want to—but because I literally couldn't. Penelope's fingers had wrapped around me with gentle, terrifying precision, locking me in place like a fly caught in amber. Her skin was warm against my back, soft but unrelenting. I kicked, struggled, shouted.

"Penelope! Let me go!"

My voice cracked as it echoed off her towering form, desperate and shaking. She didn't even flinch. Didn't blink. Just stared at me, her red eyes glowing brighter by the second like a furnace stoked from within. Her expression—gods, her expression—it was that of a girl seeing something too cute to resist. Wide, adoring, and manic.

Instead of responding, she did something I hadn't expected at all.

She stuck out her tongue.

It was slow. Like she wanted me to see it, take in every horrifying inch. Then, without warning, she dragged it across my body in one long, wet, agonizing stroke—from my feet all the way up to my shoulders.

"Ack—Penelope!" I sputtered, trying to shake off the saliva, trying to find some ounce of control—but it was useless. I was drenched.

She let out a moan, low and guttural, that rolled through my bones like thunder.

Then she licked me again.

And again.

And again.

Each pass of her tongue was hotter, sloppier, and slower than the last. It felt like being caught in a warm tidal wave I couldn't escape from, every nerve in my body completely overwhelmed. It was too much—gross, scary, and weirdly intimate. And I hated how utterly helpless I was.

Penelope giggled, her breath brushing over me like a humid breeze, and then finally—finally—she stopped licking and held me up to her face again. Her fingers tightened a little, not painfully, but enough to remind me that she was in complete control now.

Her pupils had narrowed slightly, her grin spread so wide it almost didn't look real anymore. There was a wildness behind that smile that chilled me to the core. A hunger. A craving.

And then, between shallow breaths, she said it.

"I think you're ready."

My blood ran cold.

Ready? Ready for what?

Her chest heaved, and she slowly, ever so slowly, began lowering herself to the ground, taking me down with her. The moonlight glinted off her sweat-streaked skin, her crimson gaze locked on me the entire time. She licked her lips, breath catching as if she could barely contain herself.

I didn't know what was coming.

But I knew this: whatever it was... it wasn't good.

And I was running out of time.