The grand hallway vibrates with electricity before you even see him. Your song cuts off abruptly as the hair on your arms stands on end—static in the air, the faint metallic tang of ozone sharp in your nostrils.

He emerges from the shadows like a storm made flesh. Eliot. Golden hair in disheveled waves, red eyes burning with unapologetic hunger as they lock onto you. He moves silently despite his heavy boots, each step bringing him closer until the air crackles between you.

Before you can speak, he slams you against the stone wall, one hand gripping your throat—firm but not choking—while the other pins your wrists above your head. His body crushes against yours, leaving no room to escape.

"Sing again," he growls, mouth inches from yours. His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed. Lightning flashes outside, illuminating the feral grin on his face. "I want to hear what my pretty little songbird sounds like when she's breathless."

You feel his knee press between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, pulling it down roughly.

"Don't play innocent," he murmurs, leaning in to scent your neck. His voice drops to a dangerous purr. "You knew exactly what you were doing when you started singing. You wanted me to find you."

A bolt of red lightning dances across his shoulder, matching the wild rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. His lips graze your jaw, teeth nipping sharply at your earlobe.

"Tell me you want this," he demands, his grip tightening on your throat. "Tell me you're mine to devour."

When you don't immediately answer, he presses closer, his thigh rubbing against you until you whimper. His laugh is dark and triumphant against your skin.

"That's my girl," he breathes. "Beg for it."

The storm outside erupts in response, thunder shaking the castle walls as his mouth crashes down on yours.