This is from Amber's Fire. A paranormal YA. Amber is the teenage daughter (18) of Every Witch Way's Angelica Kane. In this snippet, Ian is the man trying to get through to Amber psychically. He is in the hospital. The 'person' in the dream is the demon from the previous teaser of Amber's Fire.
*

Ian thought he was dreaming again. He heard the brown-eyed beauty’s voice so clearly. He struggled to reach her, his mind tried to slough off the cobwebs that trapped him in the dark. The warmth of her hand in his caused his heart to flutter a bit faster. He wondered why it didn’t register on one of the many monitors in his room. The blips remained steady.
What was this room? Why was he in here?

Her fragrance was like spiced vanilla with a hint of citrus. Ian wanted so badly to wake from his slumber and explain to her what had happened. Over and over he dreamed of her, trying desperately to get her attention, somehow. He was drawn to her with no explanation other than he had to be with her. Plain and simple.
He was so tired; his battered body needed the healing sleep the medicines provided. Eventually he succumbed to slumber.

“It’s very noble of you to want to protect her, but she's mine.” The man who spoke to Ian was taller than he by at least four inches. That fact didn’t intimidate him.
“I don’t know who or what you are, but you’re not going to hurt her.”
“Why do you care?”
Ian knew he should have an answer, but he didn’t.
The man’s ebony eyes were flat as he stared at Ian. “Love? You don’t even know her.”
“Obviously there’s a reason otherwise why have I found her?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Ian lashed out. “Well, I care. And I sense the fear you evoke and you feed off it.”
“Very astute. Still, she was promised to me a long time ago. She's weakening. She wants me and soon I’ll have her, forever. One way or another. There is nothing you can do about it. She’s my little virgin.”
Ian tried to strike out at the powerful man, but he was rendered motionless. “I will protect her.”
“Like you have in the past?”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked.
“Ah, you don’t even know. I’ll let you two find out. Together.”

Teaser: Every Witch Way but Dead

Like a restless spirit roaming the landscape, fog drifted in, abandoning the dark waters behind. A buoy moaned in the distance, shattering the silence. The first slice of the new moon dangled in the inky sky. It was a time for magickal conjuring.
The only light in his dank apartment came from black candles as they cast peculiar shadows upon a collage of photos tacked to the otherwise dreary walls. All were of a striking woman with sparkling peridot eyes. For a moment, the man in the darkness seductively traced the outline of her face with his finger.
I loved you, but you chose the wrong man.
Like Narcissus mesmerized by his reflection in a pool of water, he stared at the manic blue eyes in the mirror. A day’s worth of stubble obscured his lightly tanned skin. Sandy curls softened the hard lines of his face. Classically handsome, some would say.
Candlelight flickered and fitfully divided the shadows in his sparse dwelling. The night revealed nothing and only the sliver of the crescent moon peered down.
As the flame lit the remaining candle, his mind played over the last time he’d seen her. He cursed as the fire licked his finger, snapping his attention back to the present. In his tortured psyche, the burnt skin was her fault.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now! I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born.”
In the center of his room lay a small doll. A lock of her blonde hair twisted around the miniature toy, bound with a thick black ribbon. He breathed in her essence. Thoughts of her consumed him. He picked up the poppet and stroked its face.
You will never find anyone who loves you as much as I do.
Tiny crystals of perspiration framed his angelic face and glimmered in the candlelight. Silver metal caught the flames as they danced. He lifted his ritual knife higher in the air and continued his chant.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. With this pin, your fate is sealed. Your deepest fears are now revealed. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born!”
He brought the knife down and sliced the palm of his hand. He made a fist and squeezed. Blood dripped from his clenched hand onto the doll, staining its hair and face, streaking down like tears from its dead eyes.
Tenderly, he massaged the blood over the silken plastic, felt himself stiffen — not yet, not yet — took a deep breath and focused once more on his bloody task.
Her face looked back at him, if only in his mind, as he stroked the knotted hair.
Oh, how I loved you.
An image of her plump, moist lips and slender neck filled his mind. His gaze trailed down to a full bosom that strained against the fabric of her lacy top. She reached out for him. She wanted him. He knew that much, but she could not admit it to herself. He set her down and ran his hands over her most intimate places.
You will be mine.
No longer was it a doll.
In his fantasy, the poppet was her.
The woman who’d captivated him, woven her spell around him and who’d left without a word. The mere thought of her sent him reeling. He had to take her. His lust commanded it.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate.” The crazed thoughts that plagued his tormented soul caused his hands to tremble while he pierced the doll with thick pins aimed straight at its heart.
He clenched his jaw with fierce emotion, swaying back and forth. He raised his arms upward continuing, “Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now. Your pain is born! Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. My love for you has turned to scorn. All those around that you hold dear, will know no peace, but only fear!”
His muscular arm slashed the knife across the throat of the poppet. Desire carried his craving to overflowing as he and the spell reached their climax. He shuddered. The night wind blew through his windows, leaving him in isolation and darkness.

*
In the predawn light after a night of fitful sleep, I’d finally succumbed to quiet slumber. Upon awakening, I grabbed my dream journal and jotted the images and feelings that were still clear in my memory. This had become a ritual of mine since my teenage years, writing in a daytime diary and nighttime journal. This was my latest entry.
In the distance, a sharp wedge of silver glittered before me, piercing the shadows. Was it the moon?
I struggled to catch my breath, but the air was thick and fetid. Stranded in a murky fog, I groped for anything to keep from free-falling. I reached forward, but my hands lashed out at empty space.
My throat tightened. It was so cold. Where was I and why couldn’t I breathe? I plunged into the deluge of darkness. My mouth opened to scream, but there was only silence. Waves of fear rolled over me. I was dragged down by the undercurrents and into the void.
Flashes appeared from out of the abyss, popping like a frenzied photographer’s camera. A creamy white specter materialized before me then evaporated in a cloud of crimson blood. The edge of a blade wavered in the mist then retreated.
My eyes adjusted to the dark, but I saw nothing. Nevertheless, I sensed a presence. I worked my way into the deepest recesses of my unconscious, hoping to find a clue, a key that would unlock this mysterious scenario. There was only darkness and a cold chasm. I had lost my way.
The last notation bothered me most of all. This is not a nightmare and I cannot wake up…

Tuesday Teaser rewrite:



For the third time this week, Amber Kane almost lit her little brother on fire and not on purpose. When she gets mad, well, fiery things tend to happen. Some people throw temper tantrums, she throws fireballs.
It wouldn’t be that bad if she had more control over her talent. It’s in her dreams she’s most helpless and the firepower is of no use to her.

He stood a few feet away from her; his lush black hair glistened in the moonlight. His voice, which spoke to her in a rhythmic cadence, eased her initial trepidation. She’d seen him before, in the night where her imagination ran free.
“You have grown up to be such a beauty. I’ve been watching you your whole life, little one.”
She smiled and shyly glanced away from his hypnotic stare, but the magnetic pull drew her back.
His head tilted, as he laughed, surely taken with her innocence.
“There’s no need to be shy with me.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To help you. As I’ve always helped the witches in your family.”
Amber stepped back. “My family has no other witches in it except for my mother and me. And my mother’s a Priestess of Oya and Isis. Not something out of Sleeping Beauty.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, little one. There have always been powerful stregas in your family dating back centuries. Your grandmother’s magick is in her cooking. Whatever she is feeling at the time is infused into her meals. Your mother is a great psychic. And you…” Amber detected hunger in his voice. “Wield the element of fire.” He began to move closer to her and she was powerless to leave. A part of her didn’t want to. He exuded sexuality and she wanted him to touch her, everywhere.
The warmth of his hands felt so right upon her skin as his fingers traced the lines of her cheek and neck. He muttered softly in her ear, “So lovely. Pure and virginal, mine to protect.”
Amber leaned into him, feeling the hard muscles of his chest and the warmth of his breath upon her flesh. Her arm wrapped around his waist and she felt his arousal as their bodies pressed closer together.
“Give me your heart, my sweet one.” His lips pressed against her cheek as hers sought to meet them.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
A growl emanated from deep within his throat. She wrapped her other arm around him, lifting her face to receive his kiss.
“I want you,” he said fiercely.
“Take me.”
“You will give me your heart, my love?”
“Oh, yes.”
That’s when she noticed the ice cold look behind his eyes. A vacant stare met hers as his arm raised and he thrust a long, thin blade into her back. Her body bucked forward into him and he moaned as if in ecstasy.
Amber felt the heat within her build, but she could not use it to heal herself or scorch the demon who held her. He glided the blade upward and his lips brushed hers.
“Thank you for your heart, my love. I will always have it with me. I will always have you with me.”
The only warmth Amber sensed was the blood flowing down her back. A new, raw pain radiated from behind. His gelid fingers entered her flesh and wrapped around her still-beating heart.
“Remember that I love you.” He sighed and yanked her heart from her body.

Amber bolted out of bed, her eyes wild with fear. She searched the room while grabbing at her chest. Relieved to feel her heart beating, she began to settle down.
“Another nightmare?”
Amber jumped back and fell over her handbag, landing on her rump.
“Damn you Cliff!”
“I’m sorry, did I frighten you?”
“You prick, you know you did.”
He smiled. “I swear I didn’t mean to. Really. I give you my ghostly honor.”
“You have no honor.” Amber climbed back into bed.
“You really should let me help with those nightmares.”
“Ha! That would mean allowing you to enter my body. No way.”
“Still mad about the whole kidnapping thing?” he asked.
“Yeah and the whole, ‘I’m going to kill you thing.’”
“Dude, you really hold a grudge.”
“Dude?”
“Sorry, dudette.”
“Yeah Cliff, it’s taken a lot just to talk to you and acknowledge your existence.”
“I know. My bad.”
“Bad doesn’t even come close.”
“Good-night, Amber.”
“Good-night, Cliff.”