"Drink." His voice was hoarse, his body straining. He growled from low in his chest.
Barely aware of anything outside of his commands, she obeyed. She pulled more of him into her, trying to identify the elusive flavor that left her intoxicated. He pulled away, and Deidre's eyes fluttered open. He whispered words she wasn't able to make out then bit her again, this time hard enough for the pain to piece her dreamlike stage.
Deidre's world shattered. She cried out, body convulsing under waves of pleasure intense enough to push her towards unconsciousness. He rested on top of her, breathing hard, as he pressed her into the bed. She panted. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and she lingered in the afterglow, lost in the heat and silk of his skin. The effect of his blood in her body was twofold: she felt it moving through her, changing her, while her mind once more was lulled into dreamy confusion. One thought emerged, fed by urgency that was quickly swallowed by cool magic.
She slept with the Dark One - drank his blood like a demon might. No part of it felt unnatural.
Or was it a nightmare only?
Bite me.
There was no way it was real. She'd never drink anyone's blood!
Deidre lay still for a moment before her eyes opened. She was alone in bed. Fevered and shivering, she felt too weak and hungry to focus well, but the shape of the black hourglass was unmistakable. It sat on the nightstand beside the bed. She reached for it. Her clumsy hand missed it, and she stared at the black sand as it fell towards the bottom of the glass.
It's too late. Like her other thoughts, this one escaped before she was able to understand its meaning. Whatever was working through her system was making her sick. The dream of Darkyn was no doubt a fever dream, one that caused distant alarm despite her illness.
Exhausted, her eyes fluttered closed. Deidre stopped fighting her body's cry for sleep and fell into a deep, dark slumber.