Page 17 of Snatched By the Sandman

He breaks me, then puts me back together, remaking me.

How could I ever return to mortal life after experiencing this? He says I belong to him. Will I die here? Or will he tire of me and return me to the waking world, forever ruined? Unless…I don’t remember.

That seems even worse than having soul-shattering emotions for the rest of my mortal life.

I shove down the thoughts, always diverting myself from thoughts I don’t like.

Nyxion flares his wings that resonate through the place where we are joined. One more great thrust, and he rams me. Lightning strikes. I scream through the shock waves of my climax while he surges thick ropes of his cum into me.

Fresh oxygen engulfs my lungs. Some part of me is aware of how my bones are fusing, repaired by his will. One lick of his tongue along the edges of all my teeth confirms the enamel is all intact.

“This pain will stay,” he says deeply after coming out and palming my inflamed entrance. Everything inside is like fire and ice and the aftermath of orgasm—a hot humming and tingling.

“Zenya…” he whispers, curling frosted breath along my ear and chilling me to the bone. “Now, you are my slave.”

Chapter 7

“You steal all my toys, Morpheus.”

MORPHEUS

“Monster” by Skillet

“Not Gonna Die” by Skillet

Itake a deep breath and test the barrier to my brother’s world one more time. It still does not give way. Not so much as a shiver of the shadows and black bone dust that defines Nyxion.

For the past week in the mortal world, I’ve worked to bring down this impenetrable wall separating the realms of dreams and nightmares.

After returning to Zenya’s hospital room, I claimed more than a drop of blood. Now, I hold a small vial containing the blood, which shimmers with a faint, ethereal glow. My shadows dance around the vial, mixing with diamond-like dust that sparkles ominously in the dim light. They are drawn to her essence.

With a deep breath, I uncork the vial and let a single drop of Zenya’s blood fall onto my palm. Its warmth seems to spread an electric tingle into my skin. My shadows surge, coiling around the droplet and fusing with the glittering dust.

Chanting the ancient language of the Oneiroi, my voice a low, melodic hum resonating with my power, I sense the border shifting. Now, I channel her essence into my shadows, working her energy into a spiraling fusion with my dark dust and shadows until it eats at the barrier.

The dark barrier trembles and slowly begins to dissolve, creating a narrow path above the void dividing our worlds.

More evidence of what my brother has done. Once I get a glimpse of this dream walker, I will confirm my suspicions about Nyxion.

Stepping onto the invisible path, I drift above the yawning void, my senses tuned to every ripple in this ether world. Nyxion’s fortress is like a distant shadow land, its energy projecting like icy claws marking me as a trespasser.

Gaze fixed on the other side, I cross the threshold, sealing the barrier behind me.

I won’t leave without her.

It takes moments for my shadows to carry me closer to Nyxion’s royal territory. But I pause within the labyrinthine forest of bones and teeth. One of my brother’s many playgrounds.

Her presence is undeniable. Her aura slams against me like a burning tidal wave. She shines like a beacon, her essence aflame with vibrant life and radiant energy.

Zenya’s emotions waver between fear and determination. I hear the rustle of her bare feet as she runs past me, her scent thickening the air and giving me a trail to follow. Haunting but sensual with spicy hints of madness.

Bone crows and ravens screech, rattling their skeletal bodies against one another as they collide in mid-air. My brother’s stalkers hunt her.

Trees move, but nothing is ever as simple as a tree in Nyxion’s realm. No, they are crone-like creatures with gnarled, twisted limbs and skin like cracked leather. Their ragged shawls are woven from the nightmares of children, each thread pulsating with the lost cries of the young. They move silently through the shadows, their long, bony fingers seeking to ensnare and entangle their prey, drawing them deeper into the forest.

She tears past branches, not flinching at the sight of random body parts swinging from trees or translucent strips of skin decorating the branches like organic garland.

My concern for her tightens my chest, a rare emotion for me with mortals. Few rarely present a decent challenge for my art. But some canvasses present the opportunity for a masterpiece. Something my brother and I have in common.

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