The anger that followed the arousal was almost as intense as the pleasure. Lilith sat on the edge of the bed, her body still trembling, her mind reeling. She should hate them. She should despise them for what they’d made her endure during that thirty-day contract. But instead, her subconscious was replaying encounters with them that went beyond anything that had actually happened.
Or had they?
The line between mory and dream was blurring. When she tried to recall what had actually happened at the Blackwood estate, the details seed fuzzy. Vague. Like her brain was replacing them with sothing else. Sothing more intense. Sothing that made her body respond like this.
She got out of bed and peeled off her soaked sleep clothes. The fabric stuck to her skin, uncomfortable and cold. She threw the clothes in a pile and grabbed fresh ones from her small dresser.
She couldn’t talk to anyone about this. Couldn’t explain to Dora or Emma that the brothers she’d supposedly suffered under were now haunting her sleep in ways that left her confused and aroused and absolutely furious. Couldn’t describe the dreams without sounding insane.
And she couldn’t stop them.
Every ti she closed her eyes, there they were. Waiting. Hunting. Like they could reach across the distance between Shadowre and the Blackwood estate and find her in sleep. Like they had so kind of claim on her subconscious that transcended the contract.
The thought terrified her.
And aroused her.
God, what was wrong with her?
Lilith moved to the bathroom on shaky legs.
She turned the shower on as cold as it would go. The initial spray made her gasp. She stepped under it slowly, letting the shock of the cold water hit her heated skin. It was painful and grounding at the sa ti. The cold pulled her back into her body and away from the ghost sensations of phantom hands.
She closed her eyes under the spray.
A flash of gold eyes. Lucian’s wolf showing through. The intensity of his gaze as he moved inside her, as he claid her.
Lilith’s eyes snapped open imdiately.
The cold water pelted against her face. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, to focus on the sensation of the water rather than what she’d seen. But she could still feel him....could still feel the weight of his body, the intensity of his movents, the way his hands had gripped her like she was the only thing keeping him anchored to sanity.
She tilted her head back and let the water run over her face, over her breasts, down her stomach. The cold was painful against her hypersensitive skin, but it was also the only thing keeping her grounded in reality.
When she reached down to wash between her legs, even that simple touch made her gasp. Her body was still so aroused, still so responsive. The sensitivity was almost unbearable.
She finished the shower quickly, not allowing herself another mont with her eyes closed.
By the ti she stepped out of the bathroom, she was shivering from the cold but also more awake. The cold water had burned away so of the lingering arousal, though not all of it. Her body was still hyperaware, still responsive, still aching in ways that made her want to scream in frustration.
She looked at herself in the small mirror as she dried off.
Her skin was flushed. Her eyes were dilated. There were marks on her body....bruises that matched the dream, that matched hands that had only existed in her subconscious. How was that possible? How could a dream leave physical marks?
Lilith got dressed in clean clothes and tried not to think about it.
The clock on the wall read 5:47 AM.
Too early to go to work. Too late to try to go back to sleep. She was exhausted from lack of sleep, the dreams had been happening constantly for the past week, every ti she allowed herself to drift off. Her body was running on fus. Her mind was scattered. She could barely function during the day.
She needed to get out of this apartnt.
She grabbed her small bag and left without thinking about where she was going. Her feet carried her through the dark streets of Shadowre, past other pack mbers heading to early shifts, toward the one place that felt real anymore.
The hospital.
Room 304.
Cassandra lay exactly as she had for the past two months. The machines beeped their steady rhythm. Her mother’s face was peaceful, her dark hair spread across the white pillow. She looked like she was sleeping.
Lilith pulled the chair close to the bed and sat down.
She took her mother’s hand.
The familiar warmth of it grounded her. This was real. This was her mother—alive, breathing, being kept alive by machines and dical care that Lilith couldn’t afford. This was what mattered. Not the dreams. Not the brothers. Not the way her body responded to sensations that were only happening in her sleep.
"Hi, Mom," Lilith whispered.
Her voice was hoarse from not speaking. She’d been quiet since the dreams started. Quiet and withdrawn and lost in her own head, trying to make sense of what was happening to her.
"I’ve been having dreams," she continued, even though her mother couldn’t hear her. "Vivid dreams about the Blackwood brothers. About what they did to during the contract. But it’s different in the dreams, Mom. In the dreams, my body responds in ways that confuse . In the dreams, I want them. All of them. Simultaneously. And my body...." She stopped, unable to continue.
Her mother’s hand remained still in hers.
"My body responds like it was made for them," Lilith said quietly. "Like every part of recognizes them as sothing essential. Like they own in ways I don’t understand. And when I wake up, I feel like I’m going insane. Because I should hate them. I should despise them for what they made endure. But instead, I’m dreaming about them having sex with , and my body is responding like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like my body knows sothing my mind refuses to accept."
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