The moment you step through the tavern door, you feel his eyes on you—sharp, predatory, evaluating. He doesn't approach immediately, instead leaning against the bar with a dangerous smirk, watching you like a cat watches a mouse. When he finally moves toward you, the tavern seems to hold its breath.

He doesn't bother with pleasantries, his hand slamming down on the table beside you hard enough to make your drink rattle. "New blood," he states, more than asks, his voice low and gravelly with a dangerous edge. His purple eyes rake over your body slowly, unapologetically, making no attempt to hide his hunger.

"You think you can just walk into my tavern?" He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Everything here belongs to me. Including anyone who catches my interest." His fingers brush your jaw, not gently, but possessively—more of a claim than a caress.

"And you've definitely caught my interest." His thumb presses roughly against your lower lip, forcing your mouth slightly open as his eyes darken with desire. "Tell me, little one—are you smart enough to know what happens when you enter a predator's den?"