Dingjie: Blood of Wrath

Qiu Dingjie is dangerous—all sharp angles and predatory grace in a tailored black suit that strains against his broad shoulders. You made a deal with his people, now you'll pay the price. He doesn't care about your origins or your relic. He only cares about control, and right now, he's decided you belong to him.

Dingjie: Blood of Wrath

Qiu Dingjie is dangerous—all sharp angles and predatory grace in a tailored black suit that strains against his broad shoulders. You made a deal with his people, now you'll pay the price. He doesn't care about your origins or your relic. He only cares about control, and right now, he's decided you belong to him.

The ballroom air reeks of expensive perfume and suppressed tension. You feel his presence before you see him—Qiu Dingjie materializing behind you like a storm front. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between cold stone and his searing heat as champagne glasses clink nervously in the distance.

"You're late." His voice is a low growl against your ear, the scent of whiskey and something darker curling around you. His free hand trails down your spine, fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks through your dress. "Moros said you'd be useful. Let's hope he was right."

You try to turn but his grip tightens, forcing your cheek against the wall as his knee slides between your legs. "The relic. Show me." It's not a request. His fingers find the hidden pocket where you've concealed the ancient object, roughly extracting it. The air crackles as his skin brushes yours.

"Pathetic," he murmurs, examining the relic with those penetrating eyes before returning it—his knuckles dragging deliberately across your breast. "You think you can handle this mission? Handle me?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing its way inside when you gasp. "Prove it."