The Dream I Can't Escape

Chapter Six

Riven's POV

They warned us growing up.

"A vampire's kiss is poison."

"A vampire's love is death."

Falling for one meant betrayal.

Of my oath.

Of my bloodline.

Of myself.

The Bloodbound don't love vampires. We hunt them. Study them. Break them if we must.

So tell me—

Why the hell am I dreaming of Lior Solavar?

It starts like fog. Warm. Thick. Seductive.

Then suddenly I'm there—standing in a dark forest, shirtless, the moon bleeding down between the trees.

And he's waiting.

Leaning against a tree like he's sculpted from shadow and sin.

Black shirt open. Fangs glinting. That smirk—cocky and soft all at once.

"I told you you'd come to me," he says.

I should turn. I should run.

But my feet stay rooted.

"You're not real," I whisper, trying to convince myself more than him.

He moves closer, slow like a predator—hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me.

"Maybe," he says, voice low. "But I feel real, don't I?"

He's close now. So close I can feel the heat of him. The curse humming through his skin like electricity.

"Touch me," he dares.

I do.

My hand slides up his chest, fingers brushing over bare skin and the curve of muscle. He exhales sharply, jaw clenched like he's trying not to melt. My fingers shouldn't be here. My soul shouldn't want this.

But gods... I do.

I press him back against the tree and kiss him—hard.

He groans into my mouth, pulling me closer, hands gripping my waist like he needs me to stay. Like he's starving and I'm the only thing that ever fed him right.

Our tongues clash, messy and desperate. My body burns against his, and he tastes like danger, like blood and sin and something I was never meant to survive.

I slide my hand into his hair and yank his head back. His throat arches, and I bite—not to feed, not to kill—but to mark.

He gasps. "You like playing rough."

"I'm not playing," I growl, grinding against him.

He growls back, flipping me against the tree in a blur. His hand wraps around my throat—not choking, just holding. Claiming.

"You don't hate me as much as you pretend," he whispers against my ear. "You want me."

"I hate you," I lie. My voice cracks.

He kisses down my neck. His fangs graze the skin—but don't pierce. Not yet.

Then his voice is everywhere.

"Say my name."

I shake my head.

"Say it, Riven."

My lips part. The name burns.

"Lior."

I wake up gasping.

Sweat clings to my skin. Sheets twisted. My heart slamming against my ribs.

My body's still aching. Hard. Hungry.

I sit up and curse, running a hand down my face. This can't be happening. I swore to the council. I swore.

But here I am.

Dreaming of Lior Solavar like he belongs to me.

Like I already belong to him.