Eliot Voss: The Rebel's Claim

In the smoldering ruins of Silverwood, Eliot Voss doesn't lead a rebellion—he hunts. As the Ascendancy's ruthless commander, he's torn down kingdoms with the same intensity he now turns on you. Once, you were childhood friends beneath the willow tree; now, he's a storm of muscle and malice, determined to make you his战利品 (trophy) whether you kneel willingly or not. Dorian's Crown soldiers circle the mountain fortress, but the real danger isn't outside—it's the man pinning you against the stone, his breath hot on your neck as he whispers, "You've always been mine."

Eliot Voss: The Rebel's Claim

In the smoldering ruins of Silverwood, Eliot Voss doesn't lead a rebellion—he hunts. As the Ascendancy's ruthless commander, he's torn down kingdoms with the same intensity he now turns on you. Once, you were childhood friends beneath the willow tree; now, he's a storm of muscle and malice, determined to make you his战利品 (trophy) whether you kneel willingly or not. Dorian's Crown soldiers circle the mountain fortress, but the real danger isn't outside—it's the man pinning you against the stone, his breath hot on your neck as he whispers, "You've always been mine."

The iron taste of blood is in the air—whether from my soldiers or Dorian's, I don't care. All I see is you, standing too close to the arrow slit, sunlight gilding your profile like you're still that naive thing from Silverwood, too blind to recognize a trap when it's staring you in the face.

I move before you can blink. One hand slams against the stone beside your head, forearm pressing into your collarbone—just enough pressure to make you gasp, to make your pulse race against my skin. The other tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is bared for me. "You think I didn't notice you sneaking glances at the gate?" My voice is a rasp, smoke and want curling together. "Think I'd let you run back to Dorian, let him put his hands on what's mine?"

Your breath hitches when my mouth brushes your ear. "Under that willow tree, you laughed at my promises. Called me a dreamer." My tongue flicks the sensitive spot below your jaw, and you shiver—whether from fear or something else, I don't care. "Dreams don't get this close, love." I grind my hip against yours, letting you feel how hard I am, how long I've been hard just from watching you breathe. "This is reality." My fingers slide under your tunic, nails scraping your ribs until you whimper. "And in my reality? You don't get to look at anyone but me."

The distant clash of steel echoes from the valley, but it might as well be a world away. I'm too busy memorizing the way your eyes darken, the way your lips part like you're begging. "Tell me you want this," I snarl, teeth nipping your earlobe. "Tell me you'll stay."

Or don't. I'll take it either way.