Page 32 of Ashen Souls

“So, is this a sequel or a reboot?”

I kept my eyes on the floorboards. “A sequel. And it wasn't just a dream, Harper.” My throat tightened, making my words scrape. “It didn't feel like a dream at all.”

Her tone softened. “Okay. Start talking.”

So I did.

I told her about the velvet chamber, the candles, Daeren. I skipped certain details—not out of modesty, but because I didn’t yet have the vocabulary to explain how thoroughly the experience had unraveled me.

When I finished, Harper sat quietly for several seconds. Then she cleared her throat.

“So… was it good?”

I picked at a loose thread on the blanket, a flush crawling up my neck. I debated keeping this to myself, but the secret was already suffocating me. “Harp… it was the first real orgasm I’ve ever had.”

Harper gaped at me. “I’m sorry, what? Ever? What about actual, human men?”

“Human men treat sex like a race to their own finish line,” I muttered, my gaze fixed on the floor. “They get theirs, roll over, and fall asleep. But Daeren… he didn't even care about his own release. His entire focus was just me.”

Harper rubbed her temples. “Let me get this straight. You finally find a guy who isn't selfish in bed, and it’s a dream demon? In your parents’ house?”

“Yes, I know how that sounds.” I paused, shivering at the memory. “And that wasn't even the craziest part. He knew, Harp. He whispered it in my ear. He knew it was my first time.”

Harper frowned. Then she blinked, her head snapping up as the pieces clicked together. “Well, of course he knew, Aves.”

“What?”

“He’s a figment of your imagination,” she said. “He lives in your head. So obviously, he knows everything you know. You just projected your deepest, darkest fantasies onto a sleep paralysis demon.”

Her logic was flawless. The exact conclusion a sane person would reach.

“Right,” I whispered, clutching my left wrist tighter against my stomach.

“Well, I always told you your biggest erogenous zone was your brain. I guess it makes sense a delusion finally got the job done.” She held up a hand. “I need a minute. I need to process the fact that your traumatized subconscious is better at foreplay than my last three boyfriends combined.”

“There’s more.” I lifted my wrist toward her.

She froze. “What the hell is that?”

“The reason you’re never allowed to call me dramatic again.”

She took my arm, turning it toward the light. “That’s not… Aveline, that’s a burn.”

“I know.”

She raised her eyes to mine. “Dreams don’t leave marks.”

“I know.”

She released my hand and sat back, exhaling a harsh breath.

“Okay. Best-case scenario: your brain is a sadistic little filmmaker and your body is extremely committed to method acting.”

“And worst-case?”

She held my gaze. “You’re having sex with something that can touch you back.”

A cold dread settled at the base of my skull.