South Delhi, Mehta Villa. Midnight.

​The city outside was a sprawling grid of suffocating concrete and neon, but inside the sprawling master bedroom, the silence was absolute. Moonlight bled through the heavy, sheer curtains, casting fractured, silver skeletal patterns across the marble floor.

​On the center of the massive king-sized bed, Rihaan Mehta was drowning.

​He twisted violently, tangled in the high thread count sheets like a man bound. A soft, broken whimper clawed its way up his throat. His lips were parted, gasping for air that wasn't there, his brows knotted in absolute agony. He was trapped. Trapped, once again, in the labyrinth of the same nightmare that had stalked him every single night for five grueling years.

​Fog. Thick, suffocating, and unnatural.

The primordial forests of Himachal Pradesh.

A bone-chilling mist clinging to his trembling skin like wet silk.

​In the dream, Rihaan stood utterly paralyzed. The silence of the woods was deafening, broken only by the loud, ragged tempo of his own breathing.

​Then, the earth violently shuddered.

​From the dense, suffocating whiteout, a colossal shadow detached itself from the tree line. A beast of mythic, terrifying proportions. A werewolf, towering at least thirteen feet tall, its fur the color of an abyssal void. Its blood-red eyes ignited in the haze, fixating on Rihaan with a predatory hunger that made the air itself feel heavy.

​Rihaan’s hands flew to his mouth, desperately stifling the scream that threatened to tear his vocal cords. His body convulsed with primal terror.

​And then, the nightmare shifted.

​The monstrous, towering form began to contort. The transition was visceral a terrifyingly fluid melting of bone and sinew. The colossal wolf shrank, shifting into the shape of a man. But not just a man. He stood well over seven feet tall, an imposing monolith of muscle and lethal grace, with shoulders broad enough to eclipse the moon. His hair was as black as the midnight sky, falling over a face carved from cruel, divine marble.

​The blood-red eyes faded, replaced by irises of burning, liquid amber. They locked onto Rihaan sharp, unyielding, and ablaze with a terrifying, possessive fire that Rihaan could never quite name.

​Every slow, deliberate step the man took brought him closer.

Every heavy footfall made Rihaan’s heart slam violently against his ribs.

​Suddenly, the flesh at the crook of Rihaan's neck the very spot where the scar rested in the waking world began to sear. The mark glowed faintly through the fog, a searing heat spreading through his veins like molten iron.

​Rihaan stumbled backward, his back hitting the rough bark of a pine tree. Panic hijacked his brain, and as always, his defense mechanism was a stream of unfiltered, nonsensical babble.

​"Tum... gym karte ho kya?" [Do you... work out at the gym?]

​His own voice echoed through the freezing fog, sounding utterly ridiculous, frail, and steeped in terror.

​The towering stranger stopped. A slow, dark smirk curved his lips, radiating a dangerous, intoxicating amusement.

​"Tum abhi bhi apne bina dimaag ke mooh ko bandh nahi rakh sakte kya." [Can you still not keep your brainless mouth shut?]

​The voice was a low rumble, a tectonic shift that vibrated deep within Rihaan’s chest.

​Rihaan swallowed hard, tasting copper. His voice trembled, fracturing as the man's shadow entirely consumed him. "Ho... ho kaun tum? Kyun mere sapne mein aate ho tum? Rishta kya hai mera tumhare saath?" [Who... who are you? Why do you come into my dreams? What is my relationship with you?]

​The man leaned down. The crushing weight of his aura pressed against Rihaan, pinning him in place. The rich, intoxicating scent of ancient sandalwood and dark pine enveloped him, suffocating his senses until his knees threatened to buckle.

​The stranger's lips brushed agonizingly close to the shell of Rihaan’s ear. When he spoke, his voice was deep, husky, and carried the weight of an absolute, terrifying finality:

​"Tum... sirf mere ho. Niyati ne tumhe mere liye chuna hai." [You... are only mine. Destiny has chosen you for me.]

​Before Rihaan could gasp, the man's jaw opened, revealing elongated, deadly fangs. With a ruthless plunge, they sank deep into Rihaan’s glowing mark.

​White-hot fire and absolute, paralyzing pain ripped through his soul.

​

​"Ahhh.....!"

​Rihaan jolted awake, tearing himself from the dream.

​He shot up in bed, his chest heaving as if he had run a marathon. Cold sweat beaded across his forehead and drenched the back of his neck. His hands shook violently as he reached blindly for the crystal glass of water on his nightstand. He gulped it down like a dying man, water spilling down his chin, before slamming the glass back down.

​He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force oxygen back into his lungs.

​Beside him, entirely unbothered by the sudden movement, five-year-old Shubh slept soundly. The boy's tiny, delicate fingers were curled softly against the edge of the silk pillowcase. Looking at his son, the frantic beating of Rihaan’s heart began to slow. A deep, agonizing tenderness washed over him. He reached out with a trembling hand, gently smoothing back the dark hair from Shubh's forehead, silently grounding himself in the reality of the boy's warm skin.

​But the peace was a lie. It never truly came.

​Leaning back heavily against the plush headboard, Rihaan brought a shaky palm up to the crook of his neck. He pressed his fingers over the faint, crescent-shaped scar hidden beneath his collar. It was cold now, but in his mind, it was still burning.

​His lips quivered, his wide, exhausted eyes staring into the dim, shifting shadows of the room.

​The exact same dream. The exact same towering, lethal figure. The exact same burning amber eyes. Five years of this torture. Night after miserable night.

​And always, the same horrifying questions clawed at the walls of his sanitysanity

To be continued