CRIMSON DESIRE

Chapter 3: The Blood Connection

Jane Pov

i hadn’t slept well since the night of the attack. every time i closed my eyes, it was the same dream: darkness stretching endlessly, a cold wind whispering my name. a shadow of a figure appeared—tall, silent, unnervingly still. and always, just as i was about to reach out, the dream ended.

i woke up drenched in sweat, my heart hammering so hard it hurt in my chest. my hands shook as i reached for my phone, though there were no missed calls, no messages—nothing. just the usual morning notifications. yet the unease lingered, curling around me like smoke.

i tried to brush it off. maybe it was just the adrenaline from the attacks, the fear still clinging to my skin. maybe it was just my imagination. but deep down, i knew something about me had changed.

even as i sat at my kitchen table, sipping lukewarm coffee, i felt it—the prickling, the heightened awareness that made every creak in the apartment, every shadow across the walls, seem sharper, more pronounced. i turned slowly toward the window. nothing. just the city waking up, the dull hum of traffic, the smell of rain-soaked pavement rising from the street below.

but i knew. i knew i wasn’t ordinary anymore.

i hadn’t thought much about him yesterday—not until that rush of protection, that precise, unnatural force that had saved me again. i tried to piece together what i’d seen: the way he moved, so fast, so quiet, almost like he was everywhere at once. the way his eyes scanned everything, calculating, analyzing. the way he seemed… to know what was coming before it happened.

it terrified me. and somehow, i couldn’t stop thinking about him.

i had given him no name. i didn’t know his name. i didn’t know his intentions. yet, there was a strange pull, a curiosity that i couldn’t ignore.

and then came the dreams again.

this time, they were different.

i was in a dark forest, but not the kind you could see in a park or a hike—this forest was impossibly deep, trees towering above me, their branches twisting into shapes that shouldn’t exist. the air was thick, heavy with something i couldn’t name. every step i took made no sound, yet i could hear breathing—my own? no, something else.

and then i saw him.

he wasn’t moving, yet he was everywhere. his presence filled the clearing, the shadows bending toward him. he turned his head slowly toward me, eyes glowing faintly. not with light, but with an intensity that cut through the darkness.

and then i felt it—like a pulse, a warmth deep inside my veins, spreading through my body, making me tingle from fingertips to toes. i tried to speak, to call out, but my voice wouldn’t come.

and then a voice—soft, deep, impossibly old—echoed in the clearing.

“you’re marked.”

i woke up screaming.

my sheets were soaked with sweat. my heart raced so fast i thought it would burst. i didn’t know what it meant. marked? by whom? by what? and why did it feel… right, in a way that both terrified and excited me?

i tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just a dream. yet, the strange sensations in my body persisted. my senses were sharper, more alert. i could hear the neighbors moving through their apartments, smell the faint scent of someone cooking across the hall, even feel the subtle shift of air as a car passed by outside.

and it wasn’t just that. i had this… instinct, an unexplainable pull toward certain people, certain movements. i caught myself staring at a man across the street for no reason, feeling an irrational sense of danger—or protection—without knowing why.

by the time i got to work, i was already on edge. every shadow in the office seemed to hold a secret, every glance from a coworker made me tense. and yet, part of me felt alive in a way i had never felt before, as if a hidden part of me had woken up.

lunch passed in a blur. i tried talking to my friend lisa, hoping to anchor myself. but when i started to describe the dreams, the sensations, her face went pale.

“wait… are you saying—” she hesitated, swallowing. “have you noticed… strange things happening around you? things no one else sees?”

i frowned. “what do you mean?”

she leaned closer, voice low. “like… shadows moving differently, people acting off, noises no one else hears. i… i think someone’s been watching you.”

my stomach twisted. i had suspected it, but hearing it confirmed made it real in a terrifying way. “but… why?” i whispered.

lisa shook her head. “i don’t know. but it’s not normal. and i’ve been trying to tell you for days.”

i didn’t know what to say. part of me wanted to laugh it off, to convince myself it was coincidence. part of me wanted to scream at the world: you don’t understand! something is happening to me! something I can’t control!

but deep down, i knew it wasn’t coincidence. i had felt it last night. i had felt it the night before. the pull. the protection. the danger.

and then i remembered him. the stranger.

the one who had saved me.

i couldn’t stop thinking about him. the way he had moved, the way he had looked at me. the way he… had somehow known.

after work, i decided to take a different route home. the streets were quieter, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows across the pavement. my heart thumped in my chest with every step.

and then i saw him.

he was standing across the street, just out of reach, almost blending with the shadows. i froze. my pulse hammered in my ears. he didn’t move. he didn’t speak. he simply… watched.

i wanted to call out, to run, to do something—but my legs refused.

he lifted a hand, just slightly, and then—disappeared.

my breath caught. had i imagined it? no, i was sure. i felt it. the same pull, the same pulse that had haunted my dreams, that strange warmth in my veins.

that night, i didn’t sleep.

i lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the sensations, the dreams, the inexplicable draw to him.

and then my vision blurred, colors twisting. i felt a sharp pang in my arm, like something beneath my skin was stirring. i sat up, gasping. my veins felt alive, humming with energy i had never felt before.

and then the memory of the mugger, the shadowy figure, the attacks—everything clicked. it wasn’t just danger. it was more. it had always been more.

something about my blood… something unique, something rare.

and i realized—terrifyingly, thrillingly—that this stranger, this man, was drawn to it.

he wasn’t just protecting me because he was kind. he was protecting me because he had to. because whatever I was, whatever my blood contained, it mattered.

and i didn’t know if that made me lucky… or cursed.