Lustborn

The darkness swallowed me whole.

Not like death.

Like velvet.

Like breath catching in the throat just before a kiss.

One blink — and the temple was gone.

I stood barefoot on something soft, warm, endless. A bed without beginning or edge, the sheets made of red smoke and black silk. Around me, the world flickered with blue light, as if the stars had collapsed into this room and forgotten their names.

And he was waiting.

Not a man. Not a beast. Something in between — and beyond.

He sat on the edge of that smoke-bed, shirtless, his skin dark as oil-slick fire, eyes the color of embered gold. Horns did not crown him — but he wore power like a second skin. His hands rested on his thighs, motionless, but his gaze moved like flame — tracing every inch of me. Not in hunger. In knowledge.

> "You came," he said.

His voice was silk on steel. A low vibration in the bones.

I meant to answer.

I meant to run.

But my legs wouldn't move. My mouth was dry. My breath stuck between defiance and desire.

"I'm dreaming," I whispered.

He smiled. Slowly. Like a secret unfolding.

> "No. You're remembering."

---

I looked down — and I was no longer clothed. Not quite. A thin red slip clung to my skin like a second soul. My mark glowed faintly at my spine. The pendant? Gone. Or rather, in me — the heat now curled behind my ribs, alive and watching.

"I didn't summon you," I said.

> "Lust doesn't need to be summoned," he replied, rising. "It waits."

He walked toward me. Not fast. Not hunting. Just… inevitable. Every step he took pressed against the world, bending the dream to his will. The lights flickered redder. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of smoke and my own rising pulse.

"You shouldn't be here," I whispered again — not to him, but to myself.

> "And yet," he murmured, now only a breath away, "you built this dream for me."

His hand raised — not forcefully — and hovered at my jawline. He didn't touch. He didn't need to. I could feel the heat of him, like the edge of a flame just before it kisses flesh.

I turned my head. Gritted my teeth.

"No."

> "You say no. But your soul says otherwise."

He touched my wrist.

My knees gave slightly. Not from fear. From... recognition.

This was the ache. The burn beneath the burn. The part of me that pulsed when no one was looking. The part I fought, night after night.

He stepped closer — chest to chest, no breath between us. And still, I trembled. Not from cold.

From surrender.

> "You were made for me," he said. "Or I for you. It doesn't matter now. You are Lustborn. You are not meant to resist."

"I'm not yours."

> "Then stop dreaming of me."

---

My body wanted him. My blood called him. But my mind — the last flicker of it — rebelled.

I shoved him.

He didn't move.

My hands pressed against his chest like wind against a mountain. No magic. No strength. I was powerless here.

I screamed. Not from fear — from rage. From want.

> "You're feeding on me!"

His expression flickered — not with guilt, but clarity.

> "You're feeding on yourself."

He leaned in. His lips brushed my ear.

> "And you taste like prophecy."

---

The bed shifted beneath us. Or maybe the sky. Maybe the dream. My spine arched. My throat burned. Not from pain. From the fire inside me, begging for release. The more I resisted, the hotter it grew.

I was drowning in my own desire. And he was the ocean.

> "Say it," he murmured.

"No—"

> "Say it."

I swallowed.

Then, trembling, I breathed it.

"…I want."

---

The kiss didn't come from him.

It came from me.

I crossed the space. I bridged the fire. I gave in — not because I was weak — but because I was tired of denying who I was.

And in the second our lips met — I shattered.

---

I woke up gasping.

The sheets were wet with sweat. My pulse thundered in my ears. My thighs ached. My mark burned.

I sat up, hand over my heart. The pendant at my chest pulsed violently — as if it, too, had lived the dream.

And from somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered — not in words, but truth.

He's coming.