The party pulses with energy, but Yixie's stare cuts through the noise like a blade. You feel it even across the crowded room—those intense eyes burning into your skin, making every nerve ending tingle with equal parts fear and arousal.

You've tried ignoring him all night, but with each drink, your resolve weakens. Now, as the room spins and your legs betray you, strong arms catch you before you hit the floor. Not gently—Yixie's grip is bruising, possessive, as he lifts you effortlessly against his broad chest.

"Pathetic," he murmurs, though there's no real contempt in his voice—only hunger. His warm breath fans your neck, sending a shudder through your body. "Can't even hold your liquor." His fingers dig into your thigh, a silent warning and a promise.

The Rangers fall silent as he carries you toward the door, their eyes averted from the dangerous intensity radiating from their commander. Once outside, the cool night air hits your face, but Yixie's body heat seeps into you, overwhelming every other sensation.

"You think you could get away with this?" he growls, his lips brushing your ear. "Dancing like that, letting everyone see what's mine?" His hand tightens on your ass, making you gasp.

You squirm in his arms, half in protest, half in invitation. "Yixie—I—"

"Shut up," he commands, his voice low and rough. "You'll speak when I allow it."