Page 38 of Snatched By the Sandman

Grim vengeance stirs within me, and I savor the moment of it served up bone-cold.

“Feel the silence, brother,” I hiss.

I tighten my shadows around the hyoid bone, isolating it from its surroundings. Nyxion stirs slightly, sensing discomfort but is unable to wake. Constricting the shadows, I sever the connections, wrench the hyoid bone from its place, and hold it in my dark grip, black dust curling around it.

His mouth moves, but no sound emerges. Voice stolen—silence as esoteric as his nightmares. And beautiful, agonizing pain.

Twisting my lips into a smirk, I hold this victorious trophy aloft. My wings shiver with violence…and triumph.

Grinning, I clutch the bone in my hand with his godly flesh, blood, and muscles still coating it. “You took my Eye, Nyxion. Now, you will never speak again.”

Closing my fist around the hyoid bone, I leave Nyxion to his deep, dreamless slumber. Heavy oppression weighs down on my heart as I consider the raw enmity between us—worse than ever. We cannot die. But this could leave us forever severed. Forever at war.

Heaving a sigh, I slowly issue out of the bedroom, knowing what must come next. And how much more cautious I must be, following my brother’s former actions.

She is his little killer. But she is my weaver, my wonder.

Once I step out of his bedroom, I roll my eyes and bite back a groan at the sight of the hourglass suspended in midair. Its sands have frozen in their fall, signifying a moment of halted time and impending doom.

“Phantasos.”

He shifts, wearing a rather somber and dramatic black reaper robe with the hood propped ominously on his brow. Fucking drama queen.

“You here to join my team?” I chuckle darkly.

He waves a dismissive hand. “I prefer to be…New York, abstaining from taking any side.”

“Figures.”

“I know what team I’m on!” chirps Ivy, darting around his robe to take his hand, squeezing it sweetly.

I arch a brow. “His?”

She shakes her head. “No, silly. I’m Team Zenya!”

Yes, Zenya.

Bidding them farewell, I dream-travel until I arrive once again in that hospital room where her comatose body lies.

If it were not for my Eye, she could not dream walk, or weave. This strange and wondrous force keeps her body hanging in this world while a mirrored one forms in our world, granting us power over her flesh.

I have every right to her as my brother. If not more so.

I remember that long night. And all the sweet dreams I gifted her for her to endure.

She remembered him more. For the mark of dreams is a warm tingle compared to the scar of nightmares.

Concealed in the shadows, wings throbbing with my need, I approach her bedside and let my greedy fingers roam along every inch of her. The hairs along her skin prick to life.

“Yes, little weaver. You can sense my touch, can’t you?” I purr, wings instinctively curving toward her.

I trace the tattoos along the right side of her body, roving over a purple moon and rosy pink stars, intricate lotus flowers, scattered little butterflies. A balloon animal here. A flock of birds there. Dandelions with half their fluff in flight.

With the darkness folding all around us and my shadows absorbing all light, I mount her bed, spread her legs, and take myself out. Harder than ever.

I take a few moments, kissing along the right side of her body, thrilling in the gooseflesh sprouting there. Later, I will have more time to explore. My brother could awaken any second, roar his silence, and disturb her. She needs to sleep in both realms for this to work.

The soft hum of the machines provides a hauntingly peaceful ambiance. Zenya lies motionless on the bed, her form bathed in the pale, sterile glow of the overhead lights. And the soft glow of the moonlight. Her chest rises and falls with the rhythm of her shallow breaths, proving a thin thread of life still keeps her in this world.

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