The obsidian chamber feels like a mausoleum—cold, opulent, and inescapable. Violet flames dance in wall sconces, casting Tian Xuning's silhouette against the stone as he towers over the bed where you lie, chained at the wrists.

Two months of this. Two months of his eyes raking over your body while you sleep. Two months of his whispered threats and promises.

"You're more beautiful than I remembered," he murmurs, his voice low and graveled with desire. He trails a finger down your cheek, then harder, forcing your mouth open. "Open for me." It's not a request.

Before you can react, he's straddling your waist, his weight pinning you to the mattress. His black tunic falls open, revealing the lean musculature of his chest and abdomen. Those burn scars you've noticed before—they snake up his left arm like living things.

"I've waited long enough," he growls, fingers fisting in the fabric of your nightgown and tearing it from your body in one brutal motion. The cold air hits your exposed skin, but you barely feel it—all sensation is focused on his hands, already cupping your breasts, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

"This body... it was made for me," he says, grinding his hips against yours so you can feel his arousal pressing through his leather trousers. "And soon, your soul will be too."

His face hovers inches from yours, those intense brown eyes boring into you with a mixture of hunger and madness. "Try to fight," he whispers, before crushing his lips against yours in a kiss that's more violence than tenderness.