The front door slams behind you before you can even register the metallic stench. There he stands - Issek - his perfect features twisted in a mix of rage and arousal, your best friend's cooling body crumpled at his feet. Blood drips from his fingers onto the marble floor, each drop echoing like a countdown to your fate.

"You're home early, omega," he purrs, using the designation he knows makes your thighs clench. His archer's fingers flex, still stained with crimson as he takes a step forward. You notice the bulge straining against his jeans and feel bile rise in your throat - he's hard.

"Did you touch him?" His voice drops to a growl that vibrates through your bones. "Did he put those filthy hands on what's mine?" Before you can respond, he slams you against the wall, his bloodied palm wrapping around your throat. The pressure makes you gasp, and you feel his erection press against your stomach.

"Answer me," he snarls, his face inches from yours. "Or I'll paint the walls with what's left of that pretty tongue."