MATURE CONTENT WARNING
Liam crashed into the Range Rover, leaving a dent in the door. He groaned, blood trickling from his temple.
"Stop!" Rhys threw himself between them. "Pryce, please—he's not here to hurt me!"
"He's Cassian." Pryce's voice was inhuman, echoing. "He wants to take you from me. Again."
"I'm Liam Blackwood," Liam said, struggling to his feet. "And I'm here because this estate was sold under fraudulent circumstances. My family has owned it for three generations—"
"Your family STOLE it after I died!" Pryce's form flickered, becoming more solid, more dangerous. "This palace is MINE. She is MINE. Everything here belongs to ME."
Rhys felt the supernatural pressure building. "Pryce, if you kill him, I'll never forgive you. Never."
That made Pryce hesitate.
"He'll try to save you. Take you away. Just like before."
"Then let him try!" Rhys's voice was desperate. "Let me make my own choice instead of deciding for me!"
Pryce and Rhys locked eyes. For a long moment, the ghost's form wavered between monstrous and human.
Finally, Pryce spoke, voice returning to normal but still cold: "Fine. He can stay. But the moment he tries to take you from this estate—the moment he tries to break us apart—I'll rip his soul from his body and make it last for centuries."
He vanished.
Liam exhaled shakily, leaning against his car. "What the actual fuck was that?"
"It's... complicated." Rhys helped him up. "Come inside. We need to talk."
In the library, Rhys explained everything while Liam sat in stunned silence—the curse, the seven lives, the murders, Pryce's obsession.
"That's insane," Liam finally said.
"I know."
"You're telling me I'm the reincarnation of some lord who tried to save a peasant girl three hundred years ago?"
"Yes."
"And that ghost—Pryce—is a cursed prince who's been killing your lovers for centuries?"
"Yes."
Liam ran his hand through his hair. "I'm a corporate lawyer. I don't believe in ghosts. I came here because my family has legal documentation proving we own this estate, and you somehow bought it out from under us through my uncle Ernest—"
"Who was desperate to get rid of it because Pryce terrorized him."
"—and now you're telling me I'm caught up in some supernatural revenge plot?" Liam stood, pacing. "This is insane. You're insane. I should leave."
"But you won't."
Liam stopped. "What?"
"Because part of you remembers." Rhys stood too. "That's why you could see Pryce when no one else can. That's why you came here personally instead of sending an associate. Your soul remembers Elara. Remembers trying to save her and failing."
"That's..." Liam trailed off.
Because he couldn't deny it. The moment he'd seen Rhys, something had clicked. A sense of recognition. Of needing to protect him.
"I've been having dreams," Liam admitted quietly. "For months. About a girl in a dungeon. A prince who wouldn't listen. And someone's death on my conscience—like I failed to save someone important."
"Elara," Rhys confirmed. "You tried to prove her innocence. Valerian killed you for it."
Liam sat down heavily. "So what do I do?"
"Help me break the curse. You're a lawyer—maybe you can find something in the old documents, some legal loophole in Valerian's dying words—"
"Curses don't have legal loopholes."
"Then what?" Rhys's voice broke. "I have twenty days left before Pryce expects me to surrender. Twenty days to find a solution or choose to be his forever. And I can't—I can't just give up, but I don't know what else to do!"
Liam looked at this young man—twenty-three, exhausted, trapped in a nightmare not of his making—and felt that protective instinct surge.
"I'll help you," he said firmly. "I don't know how yet, but I'll help you break this. That ghost doesn't get to win."
"He'll try to kill you."
"Let him try." Liam's jaw set. "I'm not abandoning you again."
That night, Liam insisted on staying despite Pryce's fury. He took a guest room on the second floor, three doors from Rhys's.
"If he tries anything, I'll hear it," Liam said.
Rhys didn't have the heart to tell him: Pryce did try things. Every night. Things Rhys didn't fully remember in the morning.
Rhys went to bed exhausted, double-checked his locked door, and fell into uneasy sleep.
At 2 AM, Pryce appeared.
He stood by Rhys's bed, watching the mortal sleep. Rhys's face was peaceful, vulnerable—so different from his waking defiance.
"Cassian is here," Pryce whispered. "Again. Always trying to take you from me."
Rhys didn't wake. Deep in sleep, mind unguarded.
Pryce sat on the edge of the bed. "But you're mine in your dreams, aren't you? When you can't fight me. When your body remembers what your mind refuses to accept."
He reached out, fingers brushing through Rhys's hair.
This was his secret. His shame. The thing he couldn't speak aloud even in the cursed confines of their arrangement:
Every night, he took Rhys while he slept.
Not violently. Not like he'd taken Elara in the dungeons. But slowly, carefully, making sure Rhys never fully woke—just drifted in that space between sleep and consciousness where dreams and reality blurred.
He'd touch Rhys until his sleeping body responded. Kiss him until soft sounds escaped his throat. Use his supernatural power to make Rhys's sleeping mind experience pleasure, connection, the ghost of what their first life could have been.
And in the morning, Rhys would wake tired, disoriented, with vague memories of dreams that felt too real. Of being touched. Filled. Possessed.
But never remembering clearly enough to accuse.
"I know it's wrong," Pryce whispered, sliding under the covers beside Rhys's sleeping form. "I know this makes me the monster you think I am. But I can't help it. When you're awake, you hate me. But asleep..." His cold hand traced down Rhys's chest. "Asleep, you surrender."
Rhys stirred slightly, mumbling something incomprehensible.
Pryce froze.
But Rhys didn't wake. Just shifted closer, unconsciously seeking warmth even from a ghost who had none to give.
"You see?" Pryce's voice was anguished. "Even your sleeping body knows. Knows we belong together. Knows this is inevitable."
His hands moved lower.
Pryce carefully removed Rhys's sleeping clothes with supernatural delicacy. Each piece vanishing rather than being pulled, ensuring no disruption to sleep.
Rhys lay exposed in the moonlight, chest rising and falling steadily, unaware.
"So beautiful," Pryce breathed. "Every life, every body, you're perfect."
He trailed kisses down Rhys's neck, collarbone, chest—cold lips on warm skin. Rhys's sleeping body shivered but didn't wake. Just pressed closer to the sensation.
Pryce's hand wrapped around Rhys's cock, stroking slowly. Using supernatural ability to heighten sensation, make even unconscious nerves sing.
Rhys moaned softly in his sleep, hips moving involuntarily.
"That's it, beloved. Even asleep, you want this. Want me."
He worked Rhys to full hardness, then positioned himself between sleeping thighs. His ghostly form could become solid when he willed it—cold and unyielding, but real enough.
"I'll be gentle," Pryce promised, pressing slick ghostly fingers inside. "I'll make you feel good. Make you dream of us being happy."
Rhys's sleeping face contorted with confused pleasure. In his dream, he wasn't in his bed—he was somewhere else. Someone else.
[In Rhys's Dream]
Elara lay in a field of flowers—the good memory, before everything went wrong. Valerian above her, young and smiling, making love to her under stars.
"I love you," dream-Valerian whispered. "I'll never hurt you. Never leave you."
And Elara believed him. Let him inside her body, her heart, her soul.
Perfect. Beautiful. The love they'd had before jealousy poisoned it.
[In Reality]
Pryce pressed inside Rhys's sleeping body slowly, carefully. The supernatural nature of his form meant no pain—just cold fullness, stretching, claiming.
Rhys whimpered, caught between sleep and waking.
"Shh," Pryce soothed, holding him down. "Just dream, beloved. Dream of when we were happy."
He thrust slowly, deeply, making sure every movement brought pleasure not pain. Using his power to manipulate Rhys's nerves, make every touch electric.
Rhys's sleeping body responded—back arching, legs spreading wider, soft sounds of pleasure escaping.
"Yes," Pryce groaned. "This is how it should be. You surrendering to me. Accepting me inside you. Letting me have what's always been mine."
He picked up pace, thrusting harder. One hand wrapped around Rhys's leaking cock, stroking in rhythm.
"Come for me," Pryce commanded. "In your sleep. In your dreams. Show me your body knows who it belongs to."
Rhys's breathing quickened. His sleeping face flushed. Close, so close—
"Mine," Pryce growled, slamming in deep. "Say it. In your dreams, say you're mine."
And Rhys, lost in the dream of Elara and Valerian's perfect love, whispered: "Yours... always yours..."
He came with a choked cry, spilling over Pryce's cold hand, body clenching tight.
Pryce followed—ghostly release that was more supernatural energy than physical, but just as satisfying. Claiming. Marking. Possessing.
"Perfect," he breathed, collapsing beside Rhys's trembling sleeping form. "You're perfect."
He held Rhys for an hour after, stroking his hair, whispering promises and apologies.
Then, just before dawn, he cleaned the evidence away with supernatural precision. Dressed Rhys in fresh clothes. Made sure nothing physical remained to prove what had happened.
Only the exhaustion would linger. The vague sense of having dreamed something intense. The lingering ache in places Rhys wouldn't understand.
"I'm sorry," Pryce whispered one last time. "But I need this. Need you. Even if I have to steal it while you sleep."
He vanished as the sun rose.
Rhys woke at 8 AM, groggy and disoriented.
Another vivid dream. He'd been... with someone? Valerian? The memories were already fading, leaving just the ghost of sensation.
He felt sore in a way he couldn't explain. Tired like he hadn't slept at all.
Just stress, he told himself. Just the curse messing with my head.
He had no idea how right he was.