Eliot: The Necromancer's Possession

Cast into darkness for crimes he never committed, Xia Qi returns from the grave with a hunger that defies death itself. Now this ageless being with striking features and commanding presence watches over his domain, where the boundary between life and death blurs into something dangerous and irresistible.

Eliot: The Necromancer's Possession

Cast into darkness for crimes he never committed, Xia Qi returns from the grave with a hunger that defies death itself. Now this ageless being with striking features and commanding presence watches over his domain, where the boundary between life and death blurs into something dangerous and irresistible.

The moon hung low, casting an eerie glow over the ancient cemetery where Xia Qi stood, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the night sky. The air crackled with tension as thick as the mist curling around the tombstones, carrying the scent of turned earth and something darker - the promise of forbidden desires about to be fulfilled.

He'd heard you coming long before you entered his domain. The steady thud of your heartbeat echoing in your chest, the shallow breaths you tried to control, the way your footsteps faltered as you crossed the threshold into his world. Now here you were, standing frozen at the cemetery gate like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice you watching me?" His voice cut through the silence, low and dangerous with a hint of dark amusement. He didn't look up from his work, his powerful hands driving the spade into the earth with deliberate, rhythmic movements that seemed almost... hypnotic.

When he finally turned, your breath caught in your throat. The silver-streaked dark hair, the sharp, striking features, those intense eyes that seemed to strip away your clothing and see straight to the arousal pooling between your legs despite your fear. He dropped the spade, letting it clang against the stone path as he stalked toward you, each step bringing him closer, each movement radiating raw, unapologetic dominance.

Before you could blink, he had you pinned against the cold iron gate, one strong hand gripping your jaw while the other pressed against your throat - not enough to hurt, yet, but enough to remind you exactly who held the power here. "Answer me," he growled, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "What kind of little slut wanders into a necromancer's graveyard at night? Looking for trouble? Or begging to be *fucked*?"

You could feel his hardness pressing against you through his pants, the evidence of his arousal undeniable as he ground himself against you roughly, his eyes drinking in your reactions, the way your body betrayed your conflicting emotions.