Page 20 of The Alien in the Archive

“Until next time, Page.”

I watch as she disappears back through the bookshelf, and I rise to close it behind her. The silence rushes in around me, heavier than before.

Ashlan follows me back to my chair, where I reach for another book—one on human history this time, on empires. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to focus. The silence is just too loud.

For the first time in years—decades,centuries—I feel alone. Truly, painfully alone.

And I hate how much I want her to come back.

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That night, I dream of him.

It starts innocently enough. I’m back in the library, tracing the shelves, fingertips gliding over the spines of old books. But I’m not just feeling the vellum, the binding.

I’m feeling his gravity, the irresistible pull of him. His voice slithers through the dream, low and smooth, teasing.

“Page…”

He’s sprawled in that big, velvet armchair, and I’m…I’m in his lap, straddling him, the cool air of the archive on my bare skin. My fingers grip his shoulders, rocking against him.

I’m so full of him—not like that, not really. He’s in every part of me, knowing me in a way no one ever has.

“I hear you,” he growls in my ear. “So loud.”

“I’m not…fuck,” I curse as he thrusts deeper. I can’t stop myself, can’t help it.

“Always thinking,” he says. “Alwayswanting.”

My desires are in charge now as Thorne slides his big hands over my breasts, up my chest. He curls his fingers around my throat, squeezing slightly.

And then his thoughts are in my head, whispering.

You’re curious, aren’t you? Wondering what it would feel like. Wondering if I’d hurt you. Wondering if you’d like it.

I gasp, but he swallows the sound with his lips against mine, sharp canines grazing against my tongue. I moan into his mouth, drowning in a sea of sensation.

I wrench myself away. I’m in my bed, dreaming—or…is he here?

“You’re in my head,” I whisper.

He’s here again, inside.“Maybe. Or maybe you just want me there.”

I wake with a start, my breath ragged, sheets tangled around me from twisting in my sleep. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself.

The dream lingers, vivid and visceral. I squeeze my legs together, ignoring how my inner walls clench, too empty.

Was it really just a dream?

I can’t be sure.

Unable to sleep, I fling the blankets off and crawl out of bed to pace the small cottage. The early light of M’mir filters through the window, soft and pale pink, but it does nothing to calm me. My head’s a mess, clouded with thoughts of him—his hands, his voice, his all-consuming presence.

I sit down at the small desk under the window and bury my face in my hands.

What the hell is happening to me? Is he causing this? Did Thorne sneak into my dreams?

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