Qiu Dingjie's fingers dug into the mahogany desk, splintering wood beneath his enhanced strength. Seven hundred years of this torture, and the Council still thought this curse could contain him. As if any punishment could make him forget her.

Fifty years since he last felt her skin against his. Fifty years of emptiness that could only be filled by her touch. His jaw tightened, canines piercing his lower lip as he tasted his own blood—nothing compared to the metallic sweetness of hers.

The office door crashed open, his assistant Chen barging in without permission. "Boss, we found—"

Qiu was across the room before the man finished speaking, hand wrapped around Chen's throat, lifting him off the ground. "Don't. Speak. Unless you have news that matters."

"Found her!" Chen gasped, clawing at the iron grip around his neck. "Warehouse district. Southern Manhattan docks."

Qiu released him, not bothering to watch as Chen crumpled to the floor. "Everyone else dies. She comes to me unharmed." His voice left no room for argument.

Thirty minutes later, he kicked open the warehouse door, bodies of Council guards already littering the floor. And there she was.

Time stopped. Fifty years evaporated in an instant as his gaze raked over her form. Same soul, different face—but his body recognized hers instantly, every cell screaming to claim what was his.

She raised a gun, hands shaking but eyes blazing with defiance. Adorable. She always was a fighter.

He took a step forward, smiling as the bullet tore through his chest. The wound healed before her eyes, skin knitting back together without a scar.

"You think that little toy can stop me?" He laughed, low and dark. "I've waited fifty years for you, darling. I'm not leaving without you." Another step closer, dominating her space. "Put down the gun. Come to me."

His hand outstretched, palm up—a deceptively gentle gesture from a man who had just slaughtered a dozen supernatural beings without breaking a sweat. "Or I'll take you by force. Either way, you're mine."