Chapter 5 Mira Sees A Stranger In Her Dreams

• Darkness curled around her like velvet smoke. Mira floated in a space not quite real, not quite void. The ache in her body, the fear, the confusion—they had faded into something strange and distant, replaced by a weightless drifting. Her breath was calm. The world beyond the dream had lost its grip.
• Soft whisperings echoed through the dark, like the flutter of wings. The shadows thickened, but they weren’t empty—they held something. Someone.
• A voice.
• Low, rich, ancient. Like rain falling on marble. Velvet laced with steel.
• “You are not nothing,” it said.
• Mira’s heart leapt at the sound. The voice vibrated through her, stirring something beneath her ribs—a forgotten name, a lost memory, a promise never spoken aloud.
• “You were never nothing.”
• She turned toward the sound. She didn’t know how—she had nobody here—but she moved through the dark like ink spreading in water.
• The darkness stirred. A figure stood at its heart.
• Tall. Broad-shouldered. Elegant.
• She couldn’t see his face—not truly. The shadows clung to him like loyal soldiers. But his eyes glowed, not red, not gold, but a haunting silver-blue, like moonlight reflecting on a frozen lake.
• “Who are you?” she whispered.
• The voice wrapped around her again, soothing and electric all at once.
• “The one who watched you when no one else did. The one who felt your tears when the world turned away.”
• Mira’s throat tightened. The weight of those words cracked something in her chest. Her knees buckled, and she began to fall—
• But he caught her.
• Arms strong as iron wrapped around her. Her body was suddenly solid, real again, and pressed against him. Her cheek brushed his chest. She felt the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat—impossible, if he was what she suspected. But somehow, it was there. Deep. Steady. Timeless.
• She tilted her head up. The shadows curled back just enough to reveal a glimpse of a chiseled jawline, lips drawn in an aching frown, and the glint of a single fang behind parted lips.
• “This isn’t real,” she whispered.
• “It is,” he murmured. “And it isn’t. But it will be.”
• He leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
• “You belong to me.”
• Heat flared through her, not from fear—but something deeper. Something primal. She should’ve pulled away. She should’ve run. But instead, her hands curled into his shirt, anchoring herself to him.
• “Why me?”
• He didn’t answer. Instead, he placed a hand over her heart, and she felt it—his warmth seeping into her skin. His voice whispered directly into her mind now, not just her ears.
• “Because your soul sings mine awake.”
• His head dipped, and her breath caught. His lips hovered just above hers. The air between them was thick with tension. Her eyes fluttered shut.
• “You’re dreaming,” he said, and the words danced along her skin like silk. “But I’m real.”
• His lips brushed hers—light as a whisper, yet it set her entire body aflame. Her toes curled. Her breath caught in her lungs. Every nerve lit up like stars exploding behind her eyes.
• “You will remember me.”
• And then—he was gone.
• Mira jolted awake with a gasp.
• Her body was drenched in sweat. Her hair clung to her skin, and the sheets were tangled around her like vines. She sat up sharply, clutching her chest where she could still feel the ghost of his touch.
• “What the hell…”
• She looked around. The room was unfamiliar—too elegant, too ancient to be hers. Dark velvet drapes blocked out any hint of sunlight. A gold-framed mirror stood in the corner. The bed was massive, carved from obsidian wood with blood-red sheets. She wasn’t in her apartment.
• The night came rushing back.
• The drug. The man at the bar. The alley. His voice.
• Cassian.
• She remembered his name now. She didn’t know how she knew it—it had never been spoken. Not aloud. But it pulsed in her blood.
• Cassian.
• It echoed with power. With danger. With something else too—something that made her stomach twist in a way that was terrifyingly... good.
• She stood, unsteady. Her legs trembled beneath her as she crossed the room to a tall window. Pulling the curtain back, she found no city skyline. No familiar lights. Just endless forest and moonlit hills, wrapped in thick mist.
• “Where am I?”
• Her voice cracked in the silence.
• The door creaked.
• Mira froze.
• A woman stepped in, silent as a wraith. Pale as porcelain. Hair the color of dark wine. Eyes like a cat’s—bright and predatory.
• “You’re awake,” the woman said. Her voice was musical, but sharp, like a blade hidden in silk.
• “Who are you?”
• The woman tilted her head. “Elise. You may call me that, if you like. I’ve been instructed to care for you until the master returns.”
• “Master?”
• A small smile touched Elise’s lips. “You met him already. You just don’t remember.”
• “Cassian.”
• Elise’s eyes glittered. “He rarely brings humans to the manor. You must be... special.”
• Something in her tone made Mira’s skin crawl. Like the word “special” was a curse, not a compliment.
• “Where is he?”
• “He left,” Elise said, turning to the tray she carried. She set down a crystal goblet filled with something dark and thick. “But he’ll return.”
• “When?”
• Elise’s smile widened. “He doesn’t answer to anyone. Not even his own kind. But if I were you, I’d stay in this room. You won’t like what prowls the halls after sundown.”
• Mira’s throat tightened. “What are you talking about?”
• Elise turned to her with something close to amusement. “The ones who will smell you. They’ll know. You’re not one of us.”
• “I didn’t ask to be here,” Mira snapped.
• Elise chuckled and walked to the door. “No, you didn’t. But he chose you. That makes you his problem—and ours.”
• Before Mira could ask more, the door clicked shut behind her.
• She stared at the glass. The goblet shimmered in the moonlight. Her stomach turned.
• Blood.
• It had to be.
• But she wasn’t thirsty. Not for that. Not yet.
• Still, the scent was oddly sweet, like dark cherries and spice.
• Cassian. He had brought her here. He had saved her. She remembered the alley now—just a flash. Teeth. Red eyes. Screaming. Then arms. Strong, cold arms. A whisper.
• “You’re safe now.”
• And that kiss—in the dream, or had it been?
• Mira pressed her fingers to her lips. They still tingled.
• You belong to me.
• No. That wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. She didn’t belong to anyone.
• But as she looked out into the mist-covered world, a chill slid down her spine.
• She didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t understand what this place was. But something in her bones told her—
• This was only the beginning.