In my dreams.
1159 Words
Time flew by and just like that, weeks went by.
And somehow… peace settled into the little cottage at the edge of the forest.
Scarlett still wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened.
One moment she had been living alone, balancing deadlines and editing manuscripts at her tiny kitchen table.
The next—
A dangerously beautiful vampire had quietly inserted himself into every corner of her life.
And stayed there.
At first, coexisting with Tom had been awkward, terrifying even. But over time, they had fallen into a strange rhythm neither of them acknowledged aloud.
During the day, Scarlett worked.
Most mornings began with coffee, exhaustion, and Tom silently watching her from across the room while she typed furiously on her laptop.
“You frown at that thing often,” he remarked one afternoon from the couch.
Scarlett didn’t look up from the screen.
“This ‘thing’ pays my bills.”
Tom frowned slightly.
“You are paid to stare at glowing words?”
Scarlett snorted softly.
“I’m an editor.”
The silence that followed led Scarlett to believe her vampire guest did not know what an editor is or does.
“I fix mistakes amongst other things.”
“You seem irritated while doing it.”
“That’s because people don’t know how commas work.”
Tom had stared at her for a long moment before saying:
“Perhaps they should be executed.”
Scarlett had nearly choked on her coffee.
Now comments like that barely surprised her.
Tom spent most of the daylight hours sleeping.
Not because he was weak anymore.
But because his body was still recovering.
And because vampires, apparently, sleep all day and play at night. Who would’ve thought?
Scarlett learnt quickly that Tom slept like the dead—completely motionless, stretched across her bed like some dark, ancient creature pretending to be human.
Their sleeping arrangement went by smoothly thanks to that. He sleeps during the day and she gets the bed at night, with freshly changed sheets and a nice subtle warmth.
Then there were the feedings.
Twice a day, as soon as he wakes up and right before bed, ten minutes at most.
Tom had become disturbingly disciplined about it. He drinks very slowly, pausing whenever her pulse weakened.
He always watches her carefully afterward to make sure she ate enough and rested properly.
The first time she had gotten dizzy while washing dishes afterward, he appeared behind her so quickly she almost screamed.
“You are pale.”
“I’m alright,” Scarlett muttered, “I’m only a little dizzy.”
His eyes had narrowed dangerously.
“You should have told me sooner.”
Since then, he monitored her relentlessly.
“You need more iron.”
“You need sleep.”
“You are overworking yourself.”
“You have not eaten enough.”
It was absurd.
A vampire lecturing her about self-care.
And somehow…
It had become comforting.
That was the dangerous part.
Not his fangs.
Not his strength.
Not the way he could pin her against the wall with one hand if he wanted to.
No.
The dangerous part was how naturally he fit into her life.
Like he had always belonged there.
Like the cottage had been waiting for him.
And every night…
The dreams came.
Scarlett never spoke about them.
Never.
She would rather throw herself into the river behind the cottage than admit them aloud.
At first they had been vague.
A feeling.
A voice.
A pair of crimson eyes watching her through darkness.
But over the weeks, they became clearer.
Warmer.
More intimate.
And Tom was always there.
Every dream began the same way.
White curtains.
White walls.
White sheets.
A massive bedroom wrapped in soft glowing light.
And her.
Standing barefoot in a thin, silky white dress.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
For him.
The first time it happened, she thought it was a coincidence.
The fifth time?
Not anymore.
Because in every dream—
Tom came to her like he already knew where she was.
Like he belonged there.
Like she belonged to him.
Tonight was no different.
Scarlett shifted softly beneath her blankets as sleep pulled her under.
The cottage faded away.
The cold night disappeared.
And white surrounded her once more.
The bedroom materialized slowly around her, impossibly beautiful and eerily silent.
Soft curtains drifted in a nonexistent breeze.
Moonlight spilled across polished floors.
Scarlett looked down.
White silk clung softly to her skin.
The dress again.
A familiar warmth spread through her chest.
Then—
Footsteps.
Her pulse fluttered instantly.
Tom emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room.
His crimson eyes locked onto hers immediately.
And something inside her melted.
He crossed the room quickly.
Purposefully.
Like a man starved.
Scarlett barely had time to breathe before his hands were on her waist.
Strong arms pulled her against his chest.
A soft sound escaped her as he buried his face against her neck.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
The deep sound of his voice wrapped around her like velvet.
Scarlett’s fingers slid into his dark red hair instinctively.
“This is a dream,” she whispered.
Tom lifted his head slowly.
“No,” he said softly.
“You are mine.”
The words should have frightened her.
Instead, heat curled low in her stomach.
Tom’s hand slid up her back possessively as lowered his head to taste her lips.
He kissed her, slowly at first.
Then deeper.
Scarlett melted against him with a soft gasp.
His mouth was cold, demanding, addictive.
Every kiss felt consuming.
Like he wanted to devour her slowly.
“Tom…”
Her voice trembled.
He kissed her again.
Then again.
His hand slipped to the thin strap of her dress, slowly dragging it down her shoulder.
Scarlett’s breath caught.
His gaze darkened at the sight of her bare skin.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against her throat.
Then suddenly—
BANG.
Scarlett jolted awake violently.
Another loud crash shook the cottage.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
For a moment she was disoriented, breathless from the dream, her skin still burning from sweet phantom kisses.
Then a drunken voice slurred outside the front door.
“Scarlett!”
Her stomach dropped instantly.
No.
Not him.
“Scarlett, I know yer in there!”
Another violent bang rattled the door.
Tom was by her side in an instant.
She felt it immediately.
The room had changed.
It has gotten colder, darker and, save for the i***t at the door, dangerously quiet.
Scarlett sat up quickly, rushing to get out of bed and get rid of said i***t banging away at her door before something tragic occurred.
Once out of bed, she ran face first into Tom’s well built chest.
His crimson eyes met her wide blue ones, glowing faintly in irritation.
He was like a beast, a calm, calculating terror.
“Who,” he asked quietly, “is that at the door?”
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