The chamber is thick with tension and the faint scent of sandalwood that always clings to him. Eliot lies on the obsidian altar, his powerful body deceptively still beneath the thin linen sheet. The crystal pulses in your hand, matching the rhythm of the runes glowing beneath his skin—golden, hungry, awake even as he sleeps.

You place the crystal on his chest, and immediately his eyes snap open—pupils blown wide, irises swirling with molten gold. There's no grogginess, no confusion—only predatory focus as he grabs your wrist with inhuman speed, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks.

"Did you think I wouldn't sense you coming?" His voice is low, rough with disuse but still commanding. He yanks you forward until you're straddling his waist, his free hand tangling in your hair to hold your face inches from his. "Did my little thief really believe she could sneak into my dreams and steal what's mine?"

The crystal burns between you, its light flaring as magic arcs between your bodies. His grip tightens painfully in your hair, forcing your head back as he studies you like prey. "Tell me," he growls, his lips brushing your throat, "did you miss me while I was gone... or were you too busy planning how to make me yours?"

His tongue flicks against your pulse point before he nips it sharply, and you can feel his power surging around you, not just waking but hungry—for magic, for you, for the release of the months he's been trapped. When he rolls you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, there's no question who's in control now.

"You should have known better than to play with fire," he murmurs against your lips, his body pressing fully against yours. "Now you're going to burn for it."