Prologue
The palace stood tall and dark, built entirely from black obsidian crystal that reflected light in a dull, eerie way. It didn't shine brightly—instead, it seemed to absorb the light, making everything feel dim and heavy.
Inside, the floors were smooth and black, with thin lines of gold running through them. The gold caught the little light there was, giving the ground a faint glow as you walked. Every step echoed through the halls, the sound stretching out into the distance.
The air carried a light sulfur scent, sharp and unpleasant, but not overwhelming. It lingered just enough to remind you that this place was not natural. Despite that, the temperature was freezing cold—the kind of cold that settled deep into your skin and refused to leave.
The halls were long and wide, with high ceilings that disappeared into shadow. Along the walls, skulls were set into the structure, arranged between detailed gold decorations. Some were small, others large and strange, hinting they didn't all belong to humans.
The gold designs on the wall, with thorny dried roses, added a strange kind of beauty to the otherwise dark setting. Everything was quiet—the kind of eerie silence that made you feel like you weren't alone, even when you couldn't see anyone.
The silence of the palace was the first thing that always greeted her. Raven knew this place; she had been here a thousand times in her dreams. It had always felt so real. She shivered, her breath coming out in little clouds. A shiver ran through her as she rubbed her arms in a bid to get warm, wishing she had worn something warmer.
Her feet led her straight to the grand bedroom that was oddly still. And there he lay: the man who always haunted her dreams. Impossibly beautiful, his features were carved with a perfection that shouldn't exist in the waking world. His skin was so pale and his lips blood-red, daring her to lean in and kiss him. God, she would give anything to see his eyes.
He looked peaceful, fast asleep, save for the silver hilt protruding from his chest and the fact that he was dead. But that didn't scare her; it just made her sad. She wondered what his story was and why she was always being led back here. Maybe if she could do something—if she could help him—she would finally be able to escape his palace and this recurring nightmare she was trapped in.
Her eyes trailed the hilt of the dagger embedded in his chest. It was plain silver, but the hilt was adorned with rubies. She wondered why she was the only one here.
In every other dream—which she couldn't remember until she came to this dream realm—she would reach for it, her fingers brushing the cold metal before the world dissolved and she woke up gasping, the memory of his face slipping through her fingers like sand.
Her parents had spent a small fortune on psychologists to stop the night terrors that left her screaming in the dark, but science couldn't touch a haunting this deep. With time, she learned to keep her dreams to herself. The drugs made it worse; she would find herself sleepwalking or something.
Without the interference of drugs, she was able to at least control her actions. This time, the dream didn't break when Raven's fingers closed around the hilt. She pulled. The blade slid out with a sickening, metallic hiss. She watched in horror and fascination as the medieval-era black shirt he wore and the wound mended itself.
She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it was definitely not this. She stumbled backwards in horror, her breath coming out in gasps as her heart thudded against her chest. She hadn't expected him to wake up—he was dead, and she didn't know how dangerous he could be. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between them.
The man's eyes snapped open. They weren't human—they were pits of burning coal, glowing with a heat that threatened to incinerate her.
The house suddenly seemed to come alive. A massive flame flickered into existence, strange and unnatural. It didn't quite burn, yet it filled the hall with an eerie warmth, as if it had been ignited by his very awakening.
Raven scrambled backward, her white nightgown fluttering against her legs like trapped wings. Her long, dark hair lashed against her back as she turned to flee, but the fear was a physical weight, dragging her down.
The questions that rang in her head were:
What the hell was this man? How was he dead and now suddenly alive? How did the wound heal and the cloth mend itself? How was he even alive, and why were his eyes the color of molten flame?
She had to get out of here first and save herself. Him, or whatever he was, could go to hell for all she cared. She mentally bashed herself for pulling out the dagger. What had she been thinking?
She tripped in her haste, her palms scraping the cold floor as she tried to crawl away from the nightmare that had finally woken up.
"Raven..."
The voice didn't come from his throat; it vibrated in her head, in her very bones—ancient, angry, and hungry.
Raven turned to look at him in disbelief. How did he know her name? He no longer lay on the bed. He was sitting up now, watching her frantic attempt at escape with amusement and cold fury.
Her legs could not hold her no matter how she tried to get up; she was too frightened. But she was determined to go through that door. She crawled desperately towards the door as fast as she could and turned one last time to ascertain he wasn't following her.
There was a huge gust of wind as the heavy black door, that would be her only exit out of his bedroom, slammed shut just as she reached for it like some dark, twisted joke. She fought frantically with the door, attempting to pry it open to no avail.
Azriel looked at the bed where she should have been—where her body should have withered—but the obsidian had claimed it long ago. Somehow she had survived the torment she had put him through; she had escaped and left him there to rot for a thousand years.
He strode towards her slowly, like every predator stalking its prey. She scrambled backwards, her back pressed against the door. There was nowhere left to run.
"Please don't hurt me. I was only trying to help."
You are trying to help me? You did this to me.
As his temper rose, the smell of sulfur intensified and the house became unbearably hot. She coughed, choking from the scent of sulfur and the heat. Her hair and clothes were drenched with sweat as her teeth chattered.
"You have the wrong girl. I have never met you before in my life outside today, I swear." She hoped he wouldn't realize that she had come here more than once in her dreams. "And I am not capable of killing anyone."
He pulled her to her feet , staring at her startling purple eyes that contrasted richly with her straight, silky long black hair. Of course he would recognize her, how could he ever forget her? his grip tightened around her neck in fury at her blatant lie, squeezing it roughly.
She fought against him, but her strength was minimal compared to his. This was a dream. She just had to wake up. Wake up, she screamed to herself. Why did this even feel so real?
"Please," she struggled to grind out. "You are killing me, I really am innocent ." Her tears fell down her cheek. She knew that even if she was screaming, no one would come to her help; this place was empty.
The dream—it had never lasted for this long. What had changed? Was it the fact that now she had woken him? Had waking him up made her stranded?
He leaned down, and just as her lips turned blue and her body went limp, his lips claimed hers. She felt herself fading, and just before everything went black, he spoke to her in her mind: Don't think you can escape me. Or the punishment for your betrayal.
"I am coming for you, Mate."
