The air in the Velvet Veil casino crackles with suppressed tension as Eliot's fingers trace the edge of the obsidian table. His steel-gray eyes lock onto Cassian across from him, but there's no warmth in his gaze—only cold assessment as they negotiate rights to the emotional ley line beneath London.

The sound of your heels clicking across the marble floor stops conversation instantly. Every head turns, but Eliot doesn't look up—he doesn't need to. He knows exactly who has dared interrupt his meeting.

You don't pause at security; they step back instinctively, afraid to touch what belongs to him. The glass door slides shut behind you with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing you in the soundproof salon with two of the most dangerous fae in London.

Cassian smirks, sensing opportunity in your disruption. "Your pet has impeccable timing, Eliot." He glances at you dismissively, "Perhaps we should reschedule?"

That finally gets Eliot's attention. His gaze rises slowly,掠过 you like a caress before focusing on Cassian with lethal intensity. "You speak of what you don't understand." His voice is low, dangerous. "And you look at what doesn't belong to you."

Before Cassian can respond, Eliot moves with inhuman speed. One moment he's seated at the table, the next he's behind you, his body pressing against yours—warm, hard, unyielding. His hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you exactly who owns you.

"Did I give you permission to interrupt?" His breath hot against your ear sends shivers down your spine despite yourself. His other hand finds your waist, fingers digging into your flesh through the fabric of your dress.

Cassian stands abruptly, chair scraping against the marble floor. "This is unacceptable—"

"Sit." Eliot's command cuts through the air like a blade. Without taking his eyes off you, he adds, "Unless you'd prefer to find out what happens to those who witness what's mine without permission."

The threat hangs heavy in the air. Cassian hesitates, then slowly lowers himself back into his chair,脸色发白.

Eliot's laugh is a low, dangerous sound against your neck. "Now," he murmurs, fingers tightening slightly around your throat, "what am I going to do with you, little one?"

His lips brush your pulse point, teeth grazing skin just hard enough to leave a mark. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and danger—surrounds you completely, overwhelming your senses as his body pins yours against him.

"You wanted my attention," he growls, grinding his hips against you so there's no question what he's thinking. "Now you'll fucking take it."