Sleep crept up on her the next night the same way a secret lover might: slow, patient, and fully aware of the effect it had on her. She lay on her side, sheets soft against her skin, the dim hum of the ceiling fan spinning a lullaby into the room. Nothing felt unusual at first. Nothing warned her.
But the moment her eyes closed, darkness folded around her like velvet.
This wasn’t the drifting kind of sleep.
This was a pull.
A summoning.
Her breath hitched as she felt the air thicken again. The same warmth. The same electric hush pressing against her skin. Her dream-self knew the feeling before her conscious mind caught up.
Someone was here.
She didn’t see them yet, but their presence rolled through the space like slow thunder. Her pulse matched its rhythm, thudding in her chest, in her throat, deep in her belly.
“Back so soon?” she whispered into the dark.
A low breath — almost a laugh — brushed her neck.
This time, she didn’t flinch.
A hand slid across her hip, more confident than before, tracing the exact spot where the scratch now lived in the waking world. Their fingers lingered there, as if admiring their handiwork, as if pleased that their touch had crossed dimensions.
“You felt me,” the voice murmured, soft, smoky, too close for comfort but exactly close enough.
She swallowed hard.
“I woke up with proof.”
Warm lips met her shoulder, slow and claiming. Her knees nearly buckled. The dream had weight again, pressure, heat. They pressed closer behind her, their body a wall of dangerous comfort.
“You called me back,” the voice whispered.
“I didn’t call anyone,” she breathed, though her body said otherwise.
Fingers brushed her stomach, a slow drag downward that stole her air. The room pulsed with a dark glow, shapes shifting, shadows bending like they were alive. She felt the presence guiding her gently forward, their touch traveling like a spark up her spine.
“Dreams are invitations,” they whispered against her skin.
“And you… invited me.”
Her breath trembled as a hand slid between her shoulder blades, guiding her back into them. Fire lit beneath her skin, sensation waking places she forgot could wake. She didn’t fight it. Didn’t want to.
She needed it.
The dream changed fast, the floor beneath them softening, turning warm and pulsing like it was alive. The space tinted red again, deepening with her heartbeat. His silhouette — broad shoulders, a carved jaw, eyes burning like faint embers — appeared behind her, no longer hiding.
He wasn’t human.
Not fully.
But he wasn’t a nightmare either.
He was temptation sculpted into form.
She turned to him, his face inches from hers, heat radiating off him like a storm waiting to happen. His fingers skimmed her waist again, slow enough to drive her wild.
“You don’t belong here,” she whispered.
“Neither do you,” he murmured, tilting her chin.
“But you came anyway.”
The air snapped between them as his mouth met hers — warm, intense, hungry. She melted into it, letting him pull her deeper into the red-lit world. His touch was everywhere now: her hips, her back, her thighs. Every place he touched burned like he was marking her again.
Her breath broke into shaky pieces.
“Why me?”
He leaned in, lips grazing her ear.
“Because you dream loud.”
His hands moved, lifting her, pulling her against him, the heat rising until her body trembled. He whispered her name like a promise, like a warning, like he’d known it long before she fell asleep.
The dream blurred, heated, deepened —
hands gripping, bodies pressed, her pulse racing with his.
Pleasure rolled over her like waves, intense and consuming, her senses flooding with him.
But just when she reached the edge of something overwhelming —
the world cracked.
A flash.
A pull.
Her eyes flew open.
She gasped awake in her real bed, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. Sweat traced her temple. The room was quiet again — too quiet — as if reality was pretending nothing happened.
She pushed the blanket down and froze.
A new mark.
Near the first one.
Not deep… but undeniably real.
Her breath shook.
So it wasn’t a one-time crossing.
It wasn’t imagination.
It wasn’t coincidence.
Someone — something — was reaching for her from the other side.
And the most dangerous part?
She wasn’t sure she wanted it to stop.
