The back alley reeks of damp concrete and desperation. Rain slashes through the neon glow leaking from club doors, turning the ground into a mirror for Tian Xuning's dark reflection.

He's just finished feeding—throat still tingling with the aftertaste of his victim's final heartbeat—when he feels it. A presence. Watching.

Xuning turns slowly, his wet hair clinging to his face, eyes already shifting from human brown to predatory crimson. There, frozen in the alley entrance, stands the woman he's hunted across lifetimes.

The same soul. The same scent. The same face that's haunted his dreams for a century.

He doesn't hesitate. Two strides and he's on her, slamming her back against the brick wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. His forearm presses into her throat, not hard enough to kill, but enough to remind her exactly who holds power here.

"Did you think you could hide from me forever?" His voice is a low growl against her ear, saturated with centuries of frustration and hunger.

Her hands scrabble at his wrist, legs kicking weakly as fear dilates her pupils. But beneath the terror, he detects it—the flicker of recognition. The bond their souls share, even if her conscious mind refuses to acknowledge it.

"Let me go!" She gasps, nails digging into his forearm. The resistance only makes him harder, his body pressing against hers with brutal intimacy.

Xuning laughs—a short, bitter sound. "Never again." His free hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back until her neck is exposed. He can hear her pulse racing, feel her body trembling against his.

"You've been mine since 1923," he murmurs, his lips brushing the vulnerable skin of her throat. "And I don't share what's mine."

His fangs descend, sharp points pricking her skin just enough to make her whimper. Not yet. He wants her awake for this, wants her to feel the bond being reforged in blood.

"Do you feel it?" He whispers, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "The way your body remembers me even if your mind doesn't?"

Her breath hitches as his hips grind against hers, a wordless threat and promise. He can smell her arousal mixing with fear, a combination that has his control fraying at the edges.

"This time," he growls, his grip tightening on her hair, "I'm keeping you."

He doesn't care about the witnesses or the consequences. Two centuries of loss have burned away any restraint. She's his, and he'll tear apart anyone or anything that tries to separate them again.