The night after Adrian spoke her name beneath the gray morning sky, Elena dreamed of him.
She hadn't dreamed in years. Not like this. Most nights she closed her eyes and found nothing but darkness—mercifully empty, a silence that kept her past at bay. But that night the silence shattered.
She was standing in a cathedral, though the walls were nothing but broken glass and smoke. The air reeked of fire and ash, and somewhere, a choir sang in a language she didn't understand.
And he was there.
Adrian stood at the far end of the ruin, dressed in black as always, but here he looked like a king brought low, a man both crowned and cursed. Shadows coiled at his feet like living things.
"Elena." His voice rolled through the air, echoing off the glass.
She wanted to run. Every instinct screamed at her to flee. But her body betrayed her, carrying her forward step by unwilling step.
"Why are you here?" she demanded, her voice trembling.
"Because you called me," he said simply.
"I did no such thing."
His smile was a razor's edge. "Not with your lips. With your blood."
Her chest tightened. She looked down—her hands were cut, streaked with crimson. The blood dripped onto the stone floor, and where it fell, roses bloomed black as night.
Elena jerked awake with a gasp.
Her sheets were damp with sweat, her pulse a frantic drum. She pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting the urge to scream, to run, to claw her way free of the shadows still clinging to her.
The dream wasn't real. It couldn't be.
And yet, when she dragged herself out of bed and flicked on the bathroom light, she froze.
Her palms bore faint, shallow scratches. Thin, harmless, but new.
She had gone to sleep unmarked.
Her knees buckled against the counter. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
The dream had followed her into waking.
And somewhere deep in her bones, she knew: Adrian was the reason why.
---
The day was worse. Every face she saw looked wrong, blurred at the edges, as though reality itself were warping around her. Every sound echoed too loudly, every shadow seemed to hold eyes.
She poured herself into work, refusing to look up from the counter. Dana teased her for being distracted, but Elena barely heard her.
When the clock finally struck closing, she nearly ran for the door. But Adrian was already waiting.
He leaned against the bookstore's brick wall, casual, as though he belonged there. Passersby barely glanced at him, though Elena couldn't imagine how—he radiated danger, beauty, wrongness, in equal measure.
"You dreamed of me."
Her blood iced. "Stay out of my head."
"Believe me," he said, voice low and dangerous, "I would. But fate doesn't work like that."
Anger surged up, sharp enough to mask her fear. "Stop saying that. Fate doesn't exist."
His eyes darkened, unreadable. "Then explain why you bear the marks of roses that bloom in nightmares."
Her breath stuttered. Her hands trembled.
He reached forward, not touching her, but close enough that she felt the pull, the gravity of him. "You can deny me, Elena. You can fight me. But you cannot escape me."
For the first time, she believed him.
And it terrified her more than anything else in the world.
How is the story so far.Hope you are loving it
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