Page 110 of Snatched By the Sandman

“You are my dream, Zenya…as I am yours.”

MORPHEUS

“Enter Sandman” by Metallica

“May I” by Trading Yesterday

My shadows swell with my need and hunger as we lead Zenya deeper into the thick grove of frosted trees. Tonight, the canvas of her new soul skin belongs to us. From this night forward, she will bear the marks of our essence, bonding her to us in a deeper way.

When we share eternity, the Gods of Dreams and Nightmares demand access to the soul we have anchored. A dark and mystical union.

In some ways, the marking will be more painful than a tattoo but also more intimate. I will create my own brand of fun in the process. And for the first time in all our centuries, Nyxion will observe and participate as I see fit.

“Hmm, yes, this will do nicely,” I observe the clearing deeper into the grove—dark and brewing with shadows to intensify my power.

By now, Zenya is panting, her cheeks aglow with a flush and a sheen of sweat. She must be baking beneath all those layers, and I know why she added so many. It’s adorable, really. Her vulnerability is endearing and palpable. For so many years, her tattoos were her protection and identity. Without them on her skin, she feels a little lost—even if they are the core of her soul.

Tonight, she will find her protection and identity in us. She is not alone anymore. Beastie will always be her shield. But we will be her new armor.

On either side of Zenya, Nyxion and I exchange glances, and I wink and nod at him. He raises his hand and manifests a familiar structure—long upright posts of fused femur bones. A crosspiece of more femur bones connects them. About four feet apart. He’s driven them deep into the ground. No need for a platform.

Zenya recognizes the structure. Her eyes widen, blinking in disbelief and awe.

“No ropes this time,” Nyxion gestures with a skeletal hand. “But if Morpheus permits…”

He forms a long spinal cord with a bone collar at the end. I’d initially planned to use my shadows as a dark collar around her pretty pale throat, but I believe the foundation of this will ground her more.

“I believe she is quite overdressed,” I hint to my brother as blood surges to my cock. First, I remove my outer robe, casting it onto the gray frosted ground.

Zenya shudders when I touch the fastenings on her fur coat. “Your surrender is not weakness, little wonder. Your vulnerability is a gift to be cherished.”

“It’s th-the f-first time in my new soul, m-my new skin,” she shivers, her pulse thrumming with fear, but the arousal andpheromones she’s unleashing are more than confirmation of her desires, her need—even if we must break her down first.

I push the coat off her shoulders, and it falls in a heap of fur behind her. Nyxion unwraps the scarf from her neck, baring her pearly throat to our eyes. A slight gasp leaves her lips when I cut through her multiple layers with my shadows, tearing them into scraps until she’s in nothing but sheer lace for her breasts and nether coverings.

No ink. No piercings.

Like unwrapping an angel. She is fair skin, quivering limbs, and lovely blushing cheeks with a flush spreading through her chest.

I approach her, my breath catching as I behold her with the moon streaming through the canopy, casting delicate shafts of silver upon her skin. The snow and glowing frost only enhance her beauty.

Her purple hair cascades over her shoulders, glinting with the faint luminescence of the grove. Her bright, tear-glistened, aquamarine eyes reflect the moonlight, sparkling with an intensity that mirrors the crystalline wonder around us. A profound sense of awe washes over me, captivated by her ethereal presence.

I hem her trembling form with my wings curving at the edges of her body, subtly trimming her in my shadows, which play across her skin. They do not dim her radiance. They couple, light and shadow dancing. Each breath we take is silent, reverent—as if we stand before a sacred altar.

“Breathe, Zenya,” I command her with grace and purpose.

She rubs one arm before arching her neck, lips parting with longing. Tremors still quiver through her. I love how she breaks down for me—in a far different way than for Nyxion, who stands off to the side, waiting and savoring her sight.

My midnight dark feathers absorb the moonlight.

“Zenya,” I whisper heated breath across her face. “Let me be the light and power to guide you through the shadows. In this grove of beautiful dreams, woven by your imagination, under this moon, I offer you my strength, my love, and my protection. Let my shadows keep you safe from the cold, and let my wings raise you up.”

A whimper escapes her throat, a symphony to my ears.

Feathers gently brushing her skin, I lift my hands to the lace covering her lovely breasts. Never faltering. She may take shelter in my possession. I undo the clasp and let it fall, baring her to me. “Let the dreamscape tangle our souls. In this moment, you are mine, and I am yours.”

Smiling at the fresh burst of arousal perfuming the air, I root my eyes on hers but lower my fingers to her nether regions, finding her wet and warm. She moans at my touch. I test her, ripping the lace from her, exposing her sex to the bitter air. With a gasp, she touches her palms to my chest, seeking me, not hiding from me.

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