Something inside me stilled.
He kissed me again, slow, claiming, and desperate. And for a heartbeat, I gave in. I had waited so long for this, for him. But when his hand slid beneath the edge of my robe, I noticed the faintest tremor. It did not feel like gentleness, but rather restraint.
My body screamed recognition, but my heart faltered.
His voice changed. “Your heart is so lovely, Lucy… I think I should like to keep it in a jar.”
I blinked through the fog glazing my mind, confused, unsure if I heard him correctly.
He stilled above me, a slow smile unfurling that seemed wrong and wicked. “It is unfortunate that I won’t be able to keep you.”
The words fell like ice against my skin.
The illusion cracked. His eyes weren’t Sylum’s warm brown but something darker. They were almost obsidian and burning with a hunger that didn’t belong to my husband.
“Wait,” I gasped, struggling weakly against the weight of his body. “What—”
He hushed me, brushing a finger against my mouth before his lips found mine. Soft, gentle at first, then hungry with a maddening need that was so unlike Sylum. Despite the way my mind fought to wrap around his words and the unease slipping down my spine, my body betrayed me. My lips parted on their own accord, seeking more of him.
He broke the kiss almost forcefully, a groan escaping him as he raked a shaking hand through his hair.
“Soon,” he whispered, leaning close until his breath burned against my ear.
The warmth in my blood turned fever-hot. My thoughts unraveled. My body grew heavy and unresponsive. The room began to spin and everything blurred together.
“I don’t… feel right,” I slurred.
He laid me back gently, almost lovingly, smoothing my hair from my forehead. “Let it take you.”
The sound of feathers rustling and Poe’s agitated voice was the last thing I heard. And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
And then the dark swallowed everything.
When I surfaced again, the night had not changed. It hung thick and colorless around me, a velvet weight pressing softly upon the room. For a fleeting moment I could not tell what had woken me—the faint brush of wings perhaps, or the scrape of talons tracing the grain of wood.
Then I saw him.
Poe perched neatly upon the bedside table, a small sentinel wrought of shadow and midnight sheen. The embers in the hearth cast a dim glow and it caught along the curve of his feathers, turning them briefly blue, then silver. His black eyes, unnervingly human in their stillness, were fixed upon me.
“Poe?” My voice was rough, uncertain. My head still swam faintly, my mouth dry with the aftertaste of honey and something oddly metallic.
The raven cocked his head, his small body puffing slightly as he regarded me. Then, with a curious tenderness, he leaned forward and brushed his beak against my outstretched fingers.
“A dream within a dream,” he crooned dramatically, voice low and mournful. “Oh, my Lenore…”
A tremor threaded through my breath. Shadows clung to the edges of my thoughts. A latch turning, footsteps measured and deliberate, a familiar voice curling close to my ear. Heat on my skin. A hunger that had not been Sylum’s.
A nightmare.
It must have been.
My pulse steadied as I reached out, my fingers grazing the sleek curve of his neck. His feathers were soft and cool, like silk left out under the moon.
“It was only a dream,” I said, more to myself than to him. “Just a dream.”
The bird tilted his head again, eyes gleaming with strange intelligence. “Oh, my Lenore.”
“Lucy,” I corrected weakly, though even to my own ears the protest sounded thin. “My name is Lucy.”
