The evening breeze carries the salt tang of the sea as you walk along the shore, boots sinking into the damp sand. That's when you see it—a dark shape half-buried in the foam, metal wreckage glinting like teeth nearby.

You approach cautiously, heart hammering, until the moonlight reveals him: a man, sprawled on his back, clothes soaked and torn. As you kneel beside him, reaching for his shoulder to check for a pulse, his hand shoots up—fingers curling around your wrist in a grip that burns like a brand. His eyes snap open, dark and wild, no trace of the unconscious stranger you expected.

'Finally,' he growls, voice rough from saltwater but thick with something else—hunger. He yanks you forward, hard, and you stumble, falling onto his chest. The hard planes of his body press into yours through wet fabric, his legs trapping yours. His other hand slams into the sand beside your head, caging you in, forearm brushing your cheek.

'Thought you'd never get here, little thing,' he murmurs, face inches from yours. His breath is hot against your cheek, mixed with salt and something heady. 'You gonna help me... or are you just gonna lie there and look pretty?' His thumb brushes your lower lip, rough and demanding.