Smithen was not asleep—at least, not in the slightest. His mind raced in the quiet room, overthinking his past actions. "Should I face her even in this life? Why does she always appear whenever I try to escape them all?"
His eyes remained closed, but his chest heaved with a torrent of guilt, irritation, and a strange, illicit pull. Suddenly, a puff of warm air brushed his right ear, as if an unseen form hovered intimately close. A husky whisper sent shivers racing straight down his spine:
"You dare send me those letters?"
Goosebumps erupted across his hands. He whipped his head to the right, then the left, scanning the room. Empty. Locked. No one.
"I'm losing my mind," he murmured, his voice husky with unease. He rechecked every corner, convincing himself it was a vivid illusion.
Then—a warm slickness grazed his neck. Smithen froze. What—what is that? Before he could pull away, an overwhelming supernatural force descended upon the room. A powerful, invisible aura slammed into him like an electric current, freezing his limbs entirely. It wasn't a physical hand gripping him, but a crushing magical lock that bound his wrists above his head, pinning his movements to the bed. He pulled hard to break the spell, but the invisible energy held fast, exposing his heaving chest and tension-filled frame to the empty room.
There's someone here. A phantom, a ghost perhaps... and I can't see them.
The mattress sagged under an immense, invisible weight bearing down over him. Smithen opened his mouth to shout for help, but an invisible force instantly captured his lips.
It was a breathless, intoxicating sensation that devoured his outcry unborn—a deep, invisible kiss that made his mind spin, ripping away the safety of his room.
He trembled uncontrollably under the heavy, unseen pressure. The phantom face nuzzled close to his ear, hot breath panting across his lobe. The voice was low, commanding, and terrifyingly familiar:
"Didn't you want me to do all this?"
Smithen's blood turned to ice. No. It can't be. That voice... from that night... under the blood moon.
"I couldn't stay away," the phantom whispered.
The invisible phantom trailed downward, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, its heat searing against Smithen's pulse point. Invisible fingertips glided lower, locating his heart-shaped birthmark. They circled it slowly, possessively, claiming its shape exactly as he remembered from the past.
Smithen's breath hitched sharply. A forbidden fire ignited in his veins. Why does my body recognize this exact touch? He wanted to fight the spell, but his pulse betrayed him, arching into the invisible warmth as a desperate need pooled deep within him.
The phantom's overwhelming power held him captive in the center of the bed. "Shh," the voice growled hotly against his ear, full lips ghosting over his flushed skin.
Then, the invisible form leaned down, deepening the kiss into something slow, deep, and intoxicatingly consuming. It tangled through his senses until his mind went completely blank, leaving nothing but the electric current racing down his spine and the heavy scent of rain filling the room.
Suddenly—the weight lifted. The spell snapped.
Smithen lay there panting, completely exposed to the dim light of the empty room. His skin still burned with the phantom imprint of lips and a possessive touch.
He slowly turned his head toward the nightstand.
The toy.
On the other side of the supernatural link, back in his private room, Viran slowly raised a hand, his fingertips tracing the curve of his lower lip. A dangerous, predatory smirk played at the corners of his mouth—a smile of absolute, possessive satisfaction.
"Sleep now, Jasmine," he murmured into the shadows.
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