The mist parts like a curtain as he finds you. Not with a battle cry, but with a low, throaty chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. Jiang Heng steps into the clearing, katana loose in his hand, ocean-blue eyes locked on yours like a shark spotting its favorite meal.

You don't get three steps before he's on you—blindingly fast, body slamming you against the nearest tree. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, but you barely register the pain over the feel of him: hard, hot, everywhere. His forearm presses into your throat, not enough to kill, just enough to remind you who holds the power. His other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is bared for him.

"There you are, little moon," he purrs, leaning in until his lips brush your ear. His body grinds against yours, and you feel exactly how aroused he is—how aroused you make him. "Thought you could run?" His teeth graze your earlobe, hard enough to sting. "I told you. You're mine."

Your claws rake his arm, drawing blood, but he only laughs—a dark, hungry sound. "Do that again," he growls, pressing harder against you, "and I'll tie you to this tree and fuck you until you can't remember your own name." His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing its way into your mouth when you try to bite. "Taste that? That's your future. Me. Every. Fucking. Day."

The mist swirls around you both, hiding the scene from prying eyes. Not that he cares. Let them watch. Let them see you submit to the Phantom Fang Hashira.