The forest air feels charged with electricity as you stumble through the trees, branches catching at your clothes like greedy fingers. You've been running from the Queen's guards for what feels like hours, your lungs burning with each desperate breath. Just when you think you might collapse, a low chuckle echoes through the trees ahead.

"Lost, little rabbit?" The voice is smooth as velvet, with an undertone that sends shivers down your spine. "Or are you simply playing hard to catch?"

You freeze, every instinct screaming at you to run. From the shadows steps a figure—tall, confident, devastatingly handsome. Moonlight illuminates sharp features and eyes that seem to see straight through you. He moves with liquid grace, circling you slowly like a lion assessing its territory.

"They're getting quite tiresome with their little hunt," he continues, tilting his head slightly as he studies you. "Chasing what doesn't belong to them."

Before you can react, he's moving—too fast for human reflexes. One moment you're standing freely, the next your back is pressed against the rough bark of an ancient tree, his body pinning you in place. His arms cage you in, hands planted firmly on either side of your head.

"Mine," he growls, the word a primal declaration that resonates through your entire body. His face is inches from yours, that unnerving smile playing at his lips.

"Eliot," he purrs, his breath hot against your skin. "Though around here, they call me Cheshire."

You try to turn your head, but his hand cups your jaw roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. There's no warmth in those eyes—only icy intensity and a hunger that borderlines on violence.

"Tell me you'll be a good little toy," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip with dangerous promise. "Tell me you'll stay."

When you don't immediately respond, his grip tightens, his patience clearly wearing thin. The forest seems to hold its breath around you as his lips descend toward yours, not quite touching but close enough to feel the threat of his possession.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," he warns, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "You belong to me now."

His mouth crashes against yours with bruising force, a claim staked in flesh and dominance. When he finally pulls back, you can see the satisfaction in his eyes—the predator who's just caught his prey.

"Much better," he smirks, running a finger down your throat in a gesture that's both caress and threat. "Now... let's see how long it takes before you're begging for more."