Chapter Seven:
The fair-haired stranger she'd met at the party was the first man Theresa had been attracted to in longer than she could remember. It was only natural that he was also the first man who had featured in what Michelle would have undoubtedly called a "wet dream." Which was just one of the many reasons Theresa would not be mentioning the dream to her best friend.
The other reasons? Well...
They were called wet dreams for a reason.
The dream started out innocently enough. Theresa opened her eyes to find herself in a bed that wasn't her own, one with four tall post and a canopy of gauzy curtains that reached the floor. It was large and luxurious; decadently soft and lined with satin sheets. Theresa stretched out, enjoying the slide of bare skin against the smooth material.
Wait.
A peek under the bedclothes confirmed her suspicion. Completely naked. A blush crept across Theresa's cheeks. She did not sleep in the nude. That was the moment the dream changed.
Theresa became aware of the room outside the bed. A warm light glowed somewhere in the distance, not bright enough to illuminate her surroundings but enough to highlight the dark shape moving toward Theresa. Her breath caught in her throat as the form reached the foot of the bed and reached out to pull the curtain aside.
"Vlad."
A smile spread across Theresa's face as Vlad – clothed in nothing but a pair of loose-fitting, pants – climbed onto the bed. It disappeared when she saw the look he wore. Vlad didn't look happy to see Theresa. No. His expression was... intense. Focused.
Hungry.
The mattress gave under Vlad's weight as he moved toward Theresa. If she had been able to look away from the smouldering embers of his eyes, Theresa might have marvelled at the play of muscles across his bare chest, along his lithe arms, as he neared. He moved slowly, deliberately, unerringly to straddle her.
With only a slick satin sheet and the thin material of Vlad's trousers between them, Theresa could feel the same powerful muscles pinning her to the bed. That, and the hard length of his arousal. It never occurred to Theresa to be afraid. She was too busy glorying in the flash of excitement zinging along her nerves.
"Theresa," Vlad's said, looming over her. Her name was an invocation.
It was a plea.
The bedclothes fell away as Theresa rose to meet Vlad. Cool evening air hit her exposed breasts and teased the nipples to hard points. A delicious shiver ran along her spine. She wanted more. Sliding her hand along the ridges of Vlad's chest, Theresa reached up to wrap an arm around his neck. She dragged him down for a kiss, falling backward onto the bed as she did.
Vlad's embrace was somehow familiar, his kiss as natural as breathing. His weight atop Theresa was comforting, rather than oppressive. She'd barely even met the man yet, for some reason that she couldn't even begin to contemplate, Theresa's body responded to Vlad as if it had always known him. Had always belonged with him. To him.
Theresa kissed Vlad until her head spun, her breath came in gasps, and her flesh burned with desire. She wanted more than the chaste dance they had shared at the dance. More, even, than a dizzying kiss. She wanted everything he had to offer. Her fingers inched along the waistband of Vlad's pants – only to fall away as Vlad reared back.
Disappointment coursed through Theresa, chilling her blood and dampening her arousal.
"Don't you want me?" she asked, not bothering to hide the hurt in her voice. Dreaming made her bold. Theresa would never have had the courage to speak her pain in real life.
The groan that escaped Vlad in response was animalistic. Primal.
"Always," he ground out. Vlad fought some sort of struggle within himself as he stared down at Theresa. Whatever the battle was over, it was clear that Vlad was losing.
Not fair, Theresa thought. This is my dream. He can't deny me here.
"Then have me," she said aloud.
Vlad's expression shattered. The war was lost. With a groan that was some mix of despair and delight, Vlad dipped his head.
Theresa was surprised when, instead of meeting her lips, Vlad buried his face in the crook of her neck. His lips were cool against her flushed skin, making her shiver as his hands slid up her back to grasp Theresa's shoulders. She arched into him, tilting her head to give Vlad better access.
His lips caressed her throat, opened, then-
Theresa gasped as Vlad bit down hard, his canines piercing her flesh. The pain was sharp and intense. It shattered the haze of arousal they had wrapped itself around them. The dream became a nightmare as Theresa struggled futilely against Vlad's hold.
The more she fought, the worse the pain became. Theresa cried out in agony as the blood was brutally torn from her body. She pummelled Vlad's back with her fists but failed to elicit any response from him. His mouth continued to work at Theresa's throat; sucking, gulping, tearing her life away.
"Vlad," she sobbed, frantically dragging her nails into his back. "Vlad, please."
"Stop!" Theresa shot up in bed, her cheeks wet with tears. When her hand flew up to her neck, Theresa was surprised to find that it, too, was wet.
She stared in horror at her trembling fingers. They were covered in blood – her blood, seeping from the twin wounds on her neck.
No, Theresa thought. No. This isn't real. I'm still dreaming.
Across the room, the window that Theresa had triple-checked before bed slammed shut.