Page 49 of Snatched By the Sandman

“Fires at Midnight” by Blackmore’s Night

I’ve followed the trail of Morpheus, tracking him to this twisted carnival dreamscape—one I know was woven into being—when the temporal storm hits.

The softened edges and raw scent of Zenya’s essence linger everywhere, but the storm overthrows her energy and scent with its insanity.

I set my hounds upon the surroundings, commanding them to sniff her out. Far too dangerous for a dream walker and a weaver to be caught in a temporal storm. Sometimes it will ripright into someone and tear them into the vortex, ricocheting them against its walls.

Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, I glance up at the sky to find Morpheus battling the storm, attacking the maelstrom with everything he has.

When my hounds howl from a hundred yards away, I dream-trek, closing the distance to my dogs who pace back and forth before a canyon caused by the storm. And there is the little dream weaver.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, we can’t have this, can we?” I say, approaching the edge of the precipice while smiling down at the young woman.

She throws a look at me that could cut right through ice. I’m already admiring her strength, her spirit.

“Whoever you are, it’d be nice if you didn’t leave me hanging,” she hurls out, grating her nails into the sides of the cliff. Grit crumbles beneath her fingertips.

With an amused chuckle, I toss my long braids over my shoulder and send a gust of wind beneath the girl, raising her, and setting her on firm ground. I look to the sky. In the distance, the temporal storm energy is withering thanks to Morpheus.

Turning back to Zenya, I tilt my head and eye the weaver as she lies on her back, breathless, trying to refill her lungs. My hounds sniff the edges of her body. I examine her tattoos and smile at the duality. No wonder both dream daemons are attracted to her.

She is both magic and demons. Life and death. The addiction and the cure. Passion and vulnerability.

I could easily picture her nude, dancing around a fire while holding crystals and chanting spells to the wind. This little weaver would gladly spill her blood for the next adrenaline rush. Who better to offer than the Goddess of Magic?

Zenya tilts her head at me but does not rise yet. Hmm…I like how she is comfortable on her back before me. She does not cower beneath my shadow eclipsing her. She settles inside it. Not rising to any defense. But her eyes sparkle, and her cheeks flush. How lovely.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she remarks with a smirk, then nods while sizing me up, her eyes roaming. “Are you my guardian angel?”

I set one hand on my hip and match her smirk with mine twisting more. “Would a guardian angel look like me?”

“Oh, mine definitely would.”

She blushes more, and a warmth unfurls in my chest. A possessive desire arises. Not my first time, but it’s been quite some time since a human did more than make me want their worship. Zenya has piqued my interest. She captivates me. No simple feat for a human.

“Well…” she sighs with a shrug and starts to get up. “They say the view from the edge of sanity is pretty spectacular. But as much as I’m enjoying it, I think I’d rather not take a chance on falling again.” She nods to the cliff, her face paling.

I lock eyes with her and arch a brow. “Depends on whom you’re falling for, dream weaver.”

Her eyes widen. I grin more. “But you are quite right. Take my hand, sweet girl.” I beckon her, extending my palm with its multiple crystal rings.

Zenya doesn’t hesitate. I appreciate her trust, and while I could easily dream-trek us to Morpheus’s castle without pulling her close to me, I still do.

Gods, I forgot how luscious, mortal heat beneath my fingers feels. Her heated flesh. Her soft skin in the small gap between her top and her skirt.

With Zenya pressed against me, her head falling at my shoulder, given how I’m a few inches taller, I shift us throughspace and time until we arrive at the God of Dreams’ castle suspended in a mass thicket of golden clouds. Its countless white spires tower into the sky, and the fortress seems to go on in infinite directions to dominate the expanse. A Realm of Dreams without number. A portal for every door.

When we arrive in the center of the throne room, Zenya has buried her face in my shoulder, breathing me in. I do the same, appreciating her dark floral scent like blood roses.

I don’t let her go, but one of my dogs approaches her, sniffing the air around her and nudging his snout against her leg.

Zenya glances up at me before flicking her eyes down at the canine. “Can I?”

I nod with a gracious smile. “Of course. Thank you for asking.”

First, she places her palm before the great spectral hound. He takes a moment to sniff before swiping his tongue in a playful lick. Zenya giggles and kneels before my dog, burying her fingers in his fur and rubbing his belly. When she’s kneeling, he’s a good head taller than her.

All the other dogs, save for Hecuba, approach Zenya, curious and intrigued.

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