Chapter 15: Dreams of White and Red
That night, as Liana slept in her bed, she found herself in a dreamscape.
She stood barefoot on a surface that was neither floor nor earth, but a cool, resilient mist that swirled around her ankles. She wore a lace, sheer white gown that looked almost sexually angelic. The delicate fabric did little to conceal the curves beneath, and the gold accents threading through the bodice and along the hem sparkled in the golden white light which bathed the dreamscape. It was a light without source, emanating from the air itself, warm and honeyed.
The centerpiece of the impossible room was a bed, vast and inviting, draped with silver, white, and gold satin. The fabrics pooled and cascaded like liquid metal. Draperies of gold and white lined this strange space, hanging from nothingness, moving in a breeze she could not feel. White mist clung to the ground, tendrils of it curling upwards like shy, searching fingers.
It was beautiful. It was hers. She could feel the architecture of it in her marrow—the subconscious vanity, the latent desire for something soft and precious, a stark contrast to the starch of her scrubs and the bleach-scented corridors of her life.
“Astonishing,” a voice murmured, rich and familiar, from the shadows between two flowing drapes. “The clarity of it. Most dreamscapes are murky with unresolved tax paperwork or childhood embarrassments.”
Matthias emerged from between the drapes.
He seemed to be bathed in his own light, a crimson aura tinged with an ethereal darkness that clung to the sharp lines of his shoulders and the lean muscle of his torso. He was shirtless, wearing only low-slung pants of black and deep red silk that caught the strange light, and he moved with a predator’s quiet grace through her mist.
Liana’s breath hitched, her hand instinctively moving to the neckline of the flimsy gown. “Is this a dream?” she asked, her voice echoing slightly in the vast, soft space. “Or is it real?”
“Both,” Matthias said, his smile a slow, knowing curve. He stopped a few feet from her, his red eyes absorbing the details of her crafted sanctuary. “It is your dream. I am merely a guest.”
“How?”
“A… residual talent,” he explained, his gaze finally meeting hers. “Vampires can visit the unwaking minds of those they’ve fed from, for a time afterwards. The connection is fleeting, but it can be navigated.” He tilted his head, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. “I only do so with permission. Your subconscious, it seems, permitted me entry.”
She remembered the press of his fangs at her throat in the quiet of his penthouse, the dizzying blend of pain and pleasure, the profound intimacy of it. This was a part of that. A secret aftereffect.
“What can we do here?” Liana asked, the question leaving her in a rush of curiosity and trepidation.
In a motion too swift for her human eyes to track, he closed the distance between them. The heat of his body, a paradox for a creature of his nature, radiated against her skin. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, and his whisper was like velvet over stone.
“Anything,” he breathed, the word laden with a thousand possibilities. “I can do whatever you want me to do to you in here. Your mind sets the rules, the limits, the physics. Or lack thereof.”
He drew back just enough to watch her face, his expression both patient and hungry. The golden light of her dream and the crimson of his aura mingled where they stood, painting them in hues of fire and gilt.
Liana’s heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. This was a test, another one, far more dangerous than addressing the Council. This was about her own desires, stripped of pretense. She thought of his hands on her in the waking world, clever and demanding.
Here, there were no prying eyes, no political complications. Just the truth of what she wanted.
Just the truth of what she wanted.
And she wanted him. She wanted the pleasure he’d shown her before, in the dark sanctuary of his penthouse, the memory of which now felt etched into her skin. She wanted more—more of his clever mouth, his impossible patience, the shocking depth of a connection that felt both new and ancient.
She leaned into him, the sheer gown whispering against the silk of his pants. Her lips found the cool column of his throat, and she inhaled the scent of him, a clean, dark aroma like a storm over stone. “Then make me glow,” she whispered, the words a secret pushed into his skin.
He went very still for a heartbeat, the only sound the rustle of the endless drapes. Then a low, appreciative rumble vibrated through his chest. “Oh, darling,” he breathed, the endearment a promise and a challenge. “With pleasure.”
He kissed her. It wasn’t like before. This was fierce, a claiming that started at her mouth and traveled like lightning down her spine. His hands came up to cradle her face, his thumbs stroking the high arches of her cheeks as his tongue swept against hers. The dream amplified everything—the slick heat of his mouth, the cool press of his rings against her skin, the sheer, dizzying rightness of it.
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down her jaw, to the frantic pulse at her throat. “Your power is in your passion,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a dark caress. “It’s not a switch to flip. It’s a fire to stoke.”
He was relentlessly, exquisitely slow. His hands mapped her through the fragile lace, learning the weight of her breasts, the curve of her hip, the sensitive dip of her waist. Every touch was calculated, a gentle friction here, a lingering pressure there, building a rhythm that had her arching against him. He kissed the slope of her shoulder, his fangs a faint, thrilling scrape.
A warm, golden tingling began deep in her core, unfurling outwards. It was a feeling entirely separate from arousal, though intertwined with it—a building luminescence. She looked down at her own hand where it gripped his arm. A soft, ethereal light was indeed beginning to emanate from her pores, a gentle radiance that kissed the edges of his darkness.
“That’s it,” Matthias coaxed, his red eyes fixed on the phenomenon with rapturous intensity. He lowered her onto the bed of satin, the mists curling around them. He followed her down, a shadow adorned in crimson light, and continued his worship. He kissed a path down her sternum, his tongue tracing the lace edge of her gown.
The glow within her brightened, responding to every nip, every suck, every drag of his clever hands. It wasn’t just her skin. The room itself began to answer. The draped fabrics shimmered, the golden threads pulsing in time with her quickening breath. The mist on the floor gleamed like scattered diamonds.
The mist on the floor gleamed like scattered diamonds.
His fingers found the delicate straps of her gown. With a slow, deliberate pull, he drew them down over her shoulders, the lace yielding without a sound. The cool, perfumed air of the dream touched her skin, raising goosebumps, followed by the searing heat of his gaze.
He freed her breasts, his pale hands a stark contrast against her flushed skin. He cupped their weight, his thumbs circling her nipples until they tightened into aching peaks. He bent his head, his mouth closing over one, and the shock of warmth, the pull of his tongue, drew a ragged moan from her throat.
“That’s it,” he whispered against her damp skin, his voice thick. His hands roamed her sides, her stomach, possessive and thrilling. “Here, you don’t need to hold back. There is no one to hear, no one to judge. This place is yours. Let yourself go.”
His hand slid lower, finding the long slit in the gown’s skirt. The fabric parted silently under his touch, revealing her legs, the curve of her hip, the thatch of dark hair at her apex. The cool satin beneath her, the warm mist around them, the intensity of his eyes watching her—it was an overload of sensation.
He kissed her navel, the hollow of her hip, his dark hair brushing her inner thigh. Then his fingers found her, already slick and eager. He stroked her, once, twice, a slow, maddening exploration that made her hips jerk off the bed. A second finger joined the first, sliding deep, and his thumb pressed against her clit in a tight, perfect circle.
“Matthias,” she gasped, her back arching. The golden light within her flared, bright enough to cast his focused, hungry face in sharp relief.
He watched the light play across her skin, his expression one of pure, unguarded fascination. “Beautiful,” he murmured, the word leaving him like a confession. Then his hands, those elegant, pale hands, slid beneath her, and he lowered her fully onto the satin with a reverence that made her breath catch.
He followed her down, covering her body with his, and kissed her again. This kiss was deep and claiming, a slow conquest of her mouth that left her dizzy. His hands never stilled, dancing over the curves he’d revealed—the swell of her hips, the dip of her waist, the full, sensitive weight of her breasts. Each touch was deliberate, worshipful, and devastatingly thorough.
His own crimson aura, that signature darkness edged in blood-light, began to pulse in time with her golden glow. It flared brighter, wrapping around them both, as his arousal pressed insistently against her thigh. The contrast was breathtaking: her light, his shadow, both growing more vivid, more real, with every shared breath.
He broke the kiss to trail his mouth along her jaw, down the column of her throat. He took his time, his lips and the occasional, careful graze of his fangs painting a path of fire across her skin. He moved lower, over her collarbone, and she felt the satin slide further as he pushed the ruined gown completely open.
“So perfect,” he breathed against her sternum, the cool air and his hot words making her shiver. His hands spread over her ribs, holding her as if she were something fragile and immensely precious. Then his mouth closed over one nipple, and his tongue did something clever that made her cry out.
The sound echoed in the vast, misty space, and the draped fabrics shuddered. Her glow intensified, casting long, dancing shadows. He switched his attention to her other breast, lavishing it with the same devoted attention, his hands now sliding down to grip her hips. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, a silent request.
She was melting, dissolving into the light and the sensation. “Matthias,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
“Yes, my dear?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her stomach. He didn’t wait for an answer. He continued his descent, his kisses burning a trail down her quivering abdomen. He nudged her legs apart with his shoulders, his hands firm on her thighs.
The cool, mist-laden air touched her most intimate skin, followed immediately by the scorching heat of his gaze. He looked at her there, exposed and glistening, with a focus so absolute it felt like a touch. His crimson light washed over her, highlighting every detail.
“Absolutely breathtaking,” he whispered, and then he lowered his mouth to her.
The first touch of his tongue was a lightning strike. It was slow, a long, languid stroke that had her back bowing off the bed, a broken sound ripped from her throat. He held her hips down, his grip unyielding, and did it again. And again. He explored her with a scholar’s precision and a sinner’s devotion, learning every fold, every hidden spot that made her gasp.
He settled into a rhythm, his mouth a wicked, perfect instrument. His nose brushed against her as he worked, and she could feel the faint, dangerous scrape of his extended fangs against her sensitive inner lips. It wasn’t a cut, not even close, just the ghost of a threat, a promise of sharpness amid all the soft, wet heat.
The dual sensation was unbearable. The bliss coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, and that razor’s edge of danger so intimately placed. Her magic reacted wildly, her golden light flashing like a strobe, illuminating the entire dreamscape in bursts. The satin beneath her felt electrified.
“Please,” she heard herself sob, her hands fisting in the bedding. She was teetering on a precipice, and the only thing she could think of was the sharpness. She wanted it to tip her over. “Matthias, please.”
He lifted his head, his chin glistening. His red eyes were nearly incandescent. “Please what?” he asked, his voice rough, dragging the words over gravel. He delivered another slow, torturous lick, his fangs dragging lightly this time.
It was too much. The coil snapped. “Bite me,” she begged, the words torn from her, raw and desperate. “There. Please, just… bite me.”
A shudder went through him, a wave of pure, dark need that made his crimson aura blaze like a bonfire. He didn’t hesitate.
His mouth returned to her, but this time with a predatory focus that stilled the air. He took a moment, his breath hot against her, a final second of suspension. Then his head dipped, and he sank his fangs into the flesh on either side of her pussy.
Ecstasy exploded in her.
It wasn't pain. It was a piercing, perfect clarity that detonated every nerve ending she possessed. Her hips bucked violently towards his face as a scream tore from her throat, a raw sound of pure, shattered delight. The dreamscape itself seemed to rupture with light.
The golden glow blazing from her skin became a supernova. It flooded the room, bleaching the satin white, burning away the mist in a shimmering wave. Even her vision turned gold; she could feel the heat of it behind her own eyes, her irises surely glowing like captured suns.
The sensations in her pussy were indescribable. It was more than physical. It was as if he’d tapped a live wire directly into her soul. Every pull of his mouth, every draw of his vampiric thirst, translated into a wave of paralyzing pleasure that crested but never broke. Pure pleasure as he feasted.
Their auras went wild. Her golden light and his crimson radiance didn’t just mingle; they wrapped around each other in frantic, luminous strands, a double-helix of power twisting above the bed. She felt a distinct, pulling sensation deep within her core, a thread of that brilliant gold light leaving her, flowing into him with the connection.
Simultaneously, a cool, dark ribbon of his red essence seeped back into the twin punctures. It was a whisper of winter and old wine entering her veins, a shocking contrast to the inferno he was stoking.
The exchange lasted only a few heartbeats, but it stretched into an eternity of feeling. Then, with a final, slow lick that made her entire body convulse, he finally pulled back.
He moved up her body, his weight settling over her, and kissed her on the lips. She could taste herself, salt and copper and light, on his tongue.
The kiss was soft, almost shockingly tender after the violence of the pleasure. She was boneless, trembling, every cell humming. As he pulled away, she looked down, her gaze swimming.
There, on the delicate skin of her inner thighs, were two perfect sparks of red light where his fangs had been. They pulsed softly, like embers, tiny tattoos of the encounter.
“What…” Her voice was a ragged scrap. “What is that?”
“You gave me a taste of your light, your vitality. I gave you a taste of my darkness. And now,” he said, leaning down so his lips brushed hers as he spoke, “we open a gateway to even greater pleasure.”
He kissed her again, deep and languid, as his hands slid under her knees. He spread her legs wide, the motion effortless in the dream-mist. The cool air touched her everywhere, a sharp contrast to the heat building between them. He shifted his weight, one hand guiding himself as he positioned his cock at her entrance.
He looked into her eyes, his own glowing like banked coals. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” she breathed, the words barely a sound. It was all the permission he needed.
He sank into her folds in one slow, sensuous shift.
The feeling was profound, an overwhelming fullness that was both foreign and deeply, intimately familiar. He began thrusting, first gently, a series of shallow, testing motions that made her gasp. The stretch was exquisite, the friction perfect. But it was more than just physical.
Somehow the pleasure felt even more electrified.
As she ground against him, urging him deeper with a lift of her hips, she saw it. With each thrust, tiny sparks of his crimson light would detach from his aura and leap across the small space to her inner thighs. They jolted into those two red marks he’d left, which flared brightly upon contact.
Brief currents of red electricity seemed to pulse through her then, flickering through her golden light like bolts of lightning arcing through a storm. Each spark traveled up her nerves, a sizzling echo of the pleasure coiling in her core, amplifying it until her thoughts blurred into static.
“Oh, god,” she choked out, her head falling back into the satin. Her hands scrambled for purchase on his back, her fingers pressing into the hard muscle there.
“Watch,” he commanded, his voice strained with his own restraint.
She looked down between their bodies. The visual was impossible, mesmerizing. His dark form moved against hers, and with every inward stroke, a visible cascade of red energy would travel from him into her, following the path of his cock. Her own golden light rose to meet it, and where they mixed in the heart of her, it created a volatile, brilliant white flash that she felt in her teeth.
She stopped trying to think. She gave herself over to the rhythm, to the shocking visual symphony their bodies created. Her heels locked behind his back, pulling him deeper with each drive. The bed of satin, the dream itself, seemed to vibrate with the force of their joining.
“That’s it,” he whispered. His thrusts became harder, more decisive, each one aimed to bury that scintillating energy deep within her. “Let it in. Let it mix. This is what you are, Liana. A conduit.”
His words fragmented in her ears. Conduit. Gateway. Storm. She was all of it. She was the lightning rod and the sky. A raw, powerful sound tore from her throat, part sob, part scream, as the strange circuit of pleasure and power completed itself inside her.
The white flashes behind her eyelids became constant. The red currents raced up her spine. The golden light poured out of her pores, flooding the chamber until the very drapes dissolved into pure, shimmering radiance.
He was right there with her. His movements lost all finesse, becoming a frantic, driving pursuit of his own end. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, a harsh, broken word—her name, or a curse—hot against her skin.
Then the storm broke.