The dreams started again that night. They weren’t sweet dreams like the ones Rowan used to have as a child. These were deep and vast, like looking up at a night sky that went on forever, except this sky was inside her head. Every night they came, thick and slow, filled with a feeling as old as time itself. In these dreams, she was drowning in cold, heavy water, but somehow she could also breathe. She was breathing something that wasn’t air, something older than the world itself, filling her lungs with a strange, dark energy.
But the dreams weren’t just about drowning and breathing at the same time. There were touches too. Not normal hands, but ones made of swirling starlight and icy cold, touching her in ways that made her wake up shaking, her pillow wet with tears. She felt ashamed, but also filled with a deep longing for that strange, otherworldly touch. What was happening to her? What was calling to her night after night?
This time, when she woke up, the dream had left her with knowledge. Not words someone had spoken, but a feeling of absolute certainty. Directions burned into her very soul. Something was waiting beneath the house. Something huge and powerful. She had to find it. The feeling pulled at her, less like making a choice and more like being caught in a powerful current she couldn’t fight.
On the fourth morning, the entrance revealed itself, almost as if the house—or whatever waited beneath it—had decided she was finally ready. It was hidden behind the crumbling wall in the darkest corner of the basement. She found it by accident—if you could call following an undeniable pull an accident. A cold draft wrapped around her ankles, carrying a smell that was both sweet and unsettling, like flowers dying mixed with the dusty chill of deep space. It pulled her down the creaky steps, her heart beating wildly in her chest.
She moved a heavy shelf, her muscles straining with the effort. It should have been impossible for her to move something so heavy, but somehow she did it. Behind the shelf were stone bricks, uneven and dark with something that seemed to swallow the light. Her eyes fixed on one stone marked with a spiral. It didn’t just look carved; it felt warm and alive under her fingertips, like it remembered her from before she was even born. Like it had been waiting for her across impossible stretches of time.
When she pressed the spiral, a soft click echoed through the basement. Then came a low groan, like the earth itself was waking up. A section of the wall shifted inward, revealing a passage that seemed to twist just by looking at it, as if space itself bent around the opening.
Stale air rushed out, heavy with the smell of soil, moisture, and something else—something ancient and vast. It wasn’t just air; it carried a silence louder than any scream.
Rowan stared into the dark tunnel. Every sensible part of her mind screamed at her to run away. But that other part, the part awakened by the dreams and drawn by that strange pull, held her in place. She felt both extremely important and completely insignificant all at once.
Instead of fear, she felt a strange sense of acceptance wash over her. She whispered into the darkness, her voice barely a breath, but filled with surrender and longing. “I’m ready.”
Then, with her heart pounding with both dread and thrilling excitement, she stepped inside.
The path sloped downward, winding deeper than seemed possible for any hill above to contain. It was longer on the inside than it looked from the outside. Her bare feet touched stone that was cool but somehow warmed from within by the earth and something not of this world. The air grew thicker, pressing in like being deep underwater. The silence began to hum—not with noise, but with the feeling of being watched. It felt like ancient eyes were on her, like the universe itself was breathing right behind her.
The tunnel opened into a huge room carved from solid rock. It was breathtaking, eerie, and terribly beautiful all at once. The floor was a mosaic of broken tiles, stained with something old and not from this world. Massive stone columns stood at impossible angles, holding up the domed ceiling like the ribs of some strange creature. Gray, slick vines hung down like tangled nerves, dripping cold drops with a soft plink that sounded like time itself counting down. At the far end, beneath a cracked arch that seemed impossibly tall, stood an altar of black stone. Ancient. Forbidden. Drawing her forward with an invisible pull.
Then, impossible and frightening, candles began to light themselves. One by one. Slow and deliberate. Golden light bloomed in the darkness, casting dancing shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. No person lit them. They simply were. Like someone beyond human understanding had willed them to light.
Rowan didn’t question it. In this place, the rules of her normal world didn’t apply. She walked forward, her bare feet making no sound on the ancient stones.
As she approached the altar, the silence changed. It became charged with a feeling of awareness. The air shimmered, as if the stones themselves not just watched her, but knew her. Judging her. And something else… wanting her with a hunger that was terrifying yet strangely attractive.
She reached the altar, her heart hammering in her chest. Her hands trembled as they touched the cool, black stone. Her breath came in gasps, tasting of dust and cosmic chill. But when she spoke, a single phrase emerged, steady and clear. Not fear, but strange gratitude.
“Thank you.”
A moment of breathless stillness filled the chapel.
Then—
“You are mine, Rowan. You always belonged to me.”
The words weren’t spoken out loud. They were inside her head. A deep vibration in her soul, echoing with ancient power and absolute certainty. Like the universe itself was claiming her.
Rowan gasped, her legs growing weak. The presence grew stronger, wrapping around her like a cloak of shadow and starlight. Something unseen brushed her cheek, traced her jaw, lingered at her throat. Like it was studying her. Asking a question.
Do you accept?
She couldn’t speak, her throat tight with awe and a creeping feeling that strangely felt like falling in love for the first time. But she nodded. Yes. Yes.
The candles flared, flames dancing wildly, casting shadows that hinted at shapes that shouldn’t exist. The shadows deepened, making the chapel seem to breathe, to move with life.
And then, she felt it touch her.
Not like human hands, but something vast and formless, yet deeply personal. It moved across her skin like wind, silk, smoke, and also like the slow movement of continents, the endless expansion of space. It wrapped around her waist, her shoulders, a possessive embrace from something older than human thought. It lifted her slightly, as if her body had no weight at all.
Heat spread beneath her skin, like wildfire in her veins. Her sweatshirt felt too heavy, too constraining. With trembling hands, she pulled it off, letting it fall to the floor.
She stood exposed beneath the chapel’s ancient darkness, vulnerable yet unafraid. Though part of her mind screamed in terror, another part, connected to her longing dreams, felt a thrilling excitement.
The touches returned, firmer now. Moving with purpose. Like liquid silk, they traced the curve of her neck, brushing down her shoulders with an electric intensity that made her gasp. Each caress left trails of tingling fire on her skin. The sensation was both shocking and addictive. She couldn’t see these touches, but she could feel them—hot and cold at once, pressing, stroking, claiming every inch of her.
Her skin prickled with goosebumps as invisible fingers trailed down her arms, circling her wrists like gentle shackles. The touch slid up her sides, tracing her ribs one by one, then cupping her breasts with a possessiveness that made her breath catch in her throat. Her nipples hardened instantly, aching, sensitive points of contact with the cosmic unknown.
A moan escaped her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her back arched sharply, her body instinctively pressing closer to the unseen presence, offering herself completely. Her heart hammered so loudly she was sure it would burst from her chest, but she wasn’t afraid—she was alive, more alive than she’d ever felt before.
Then came a breath—warm, rhythmic, everywhere at once—not just across her ear or neck, but seemingly inside her very skin. It whispered across her stomach, down her thighs, between her legs, leaving a trail of delicious shivers. She felt it circle her navel, travel down the curve of her spine, brush the sensitive spot behind her knees. Each exhale from this unseen entity matched perfectly with her own ragged inhales, as if they were already one being.
Heat pooled low in her belly, a molten, liquid need that made her thighs tremble. She felt a primal urge awakening inside her, a hunger as ancient as the stars. Without thinking, her legs parted slightly, a silent invitation, a surrender to something inevitable and desperately wanted. Open. Exposed. Ready.
Rowan’s lips parted, her throat tight with desire. “Yes,” she whispered, the word both surrender and command. “Please, yes.”
And something joined with her spirit.
The sensation transcended the physical—a joining so sacred and deep it felt like her soul was being unmade and remade, atom by atom, filling with stardust and cosmic harmony.
The pleasure exploded outward like a supernova—sacred, deep, unstoppable waves that made her entire body tremble. Her knees gave way completely, but she didn’t fall. The presence held her suspended, weightless, as if gravity no longer applied.
Her fingers gripped the altar edge, the cool stone the only anchor to reality as sensations coursed through her. Each pulse of pleasure was stronger than the last, building to heights she never knew existed. Her skin glistened with sweat, glowing golden in the candlelight, every nerve singing with ecstasy.
The entity whispered things into her mind, not words exactly, but a language older than thought, vibrating through her very bones, resonating with her soul. With each pulse of pleasure, understanding bloomed within her.
Chosen. Special. Beloved. Mine.
Tears streamed down her face, blurring the candlelight into stars. Not from fear, but from this overwhelming, impossible closeness—an intimacy so complete it was like being seen for the first time in her life. Her terror mixed with a desperate longing to belong, to be possessed so completely that she would never again be alone.
Her breath came in ragged gasps that echoed through the chapel. David had never seen her like this—had never truly seen her at all. But this presence knew every secret part of her, wanted her completely, worshipped her in ways no human ever could. Her body responded to a rhythm ancient and not her own, reaching toward something just beyond her grasp.
“Please,” she begged, though she didn’t know what she was begging for. Release? More? Forever?
When the moment of completion finally came, it was like being broken into a million pieces of light and shadow, scattered across the stars, then wonderfully pulled back together into something new. Blinding sensation crashed over her in waves, each more powerful than the last, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, yet infinitely sweeter. It radiated from her core to her fingertips, her toes, the roots of her hair. Her body convulsed, back bowing like a drawn bow, a silent scream frozen on her lips as time itself seemed to stop.
She cried out, the sound echoing through the ancient chamber, unashamed and primal. Her voice broke into a sob of pure release as her body trembled uncontrollably. Every muscle tensed and released in waves, her toes curling, fingers clutching at nothing, her entire being pulsing with pleasure beyond anything natural. Her soul unraveled completely, merging with whatever this presence was. Is. Always had been. It filled every empty space inside her, physical and spiritual, like water flowing into all her cracks and broken places, making her whole.
The joining went on and on, endless moments of exquisite connection. This truth should have driven her mad—being possessed by something not human—but instead it felt like destiny fulfilled, like finding the missing piece she never knew she’d lost.
When it finally subsided, she collapsed against the altar, boneless and spent. Her chest heaved with each breath, struggling to pull oxygen back into her lungs. Her skin glowed with a sheen of sweat, warm and flushed pink in the candlelight, every inch of her tingling with aftershocks of pleasure. Small tremors still ran through her thighs, her stomach, her arms—as if her body couldn’t quite contain the experience it had just endured. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then slowly clearing to take in the impossible angles of the chapel ceiling.
No one was there. Only the lingering sense of a vast presence that had now retreated.
But her skin bore a mark. Just below her collarbone, a faint, spiral-shaped mark had appeared. Warm to the touch, it pulsed with a heartbeat that sounded like a cosmic clock. Not a lover’s mark. A sign of belonging.
She reached up, trembling fingers touching the mark. A small, unsettling smile curved her lips, holding relief and the edge of wonder.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel alone.
She felt claimed. Completely and forever claimed by the presence that hummed beneath her home. And in that moment, frightening as it was, it felt like finally belonging to someone who truly wanted her.
And yet… as the candles began to flicker out one by one, the mark beneath her collarbone throbbed—not with warmth, but something deeper. Demanding. Waiting. The price of this claiming had only begun to be paid.
