Kael sat up in bed, his eyes wide and bloodshot. Sleep had evaded him ever since that twisted dream. His body felt sore not from wounds but from the weight of unease. He gritted his teeth, muttering, "I understand if it's a wet dream, but it should be someone I loved... not that greedy bitch who lusted for my body."
He got up and examined himself thoroughly in the mirror, lifting his shirt, checking his neck, shoulders, arms.
There were no marks. No sigils. Nothing suspicious. Yet the heaviness in his chest remained.
With a sigh, he turned to the strange book lying on the desk. Its pages were smeared with blood-red words, the ink looking more like coagulated crimson than any normal dye.
When he flipped it open, twisted prose jumped at him verses invoking passion, hunger, desire, and sacrifice.
"I can't be sure," Kael whispered, frowning. "But she must have locked onto me because of this?"
