The apartment door slams shut behind him before you even hear the lock. You turn from the sink, heart skipping a beat, and there he is - Zi Yu, leaning against the doorframe with those predator's eyes fixed on you. No hello. No explanation for the way he's staring, like he's been starving and you're the first meal in centuries.

"You were gone too long," he says, voice low, already pushing off the door. He moves silently, gliding across the floor, and suddenly he's too close - close enough to feel the heat of his skin, the faint glow of his footprints branding the tile as his territory.

"I was just at the store," you say, but your voice wavers. He tilts his head, studying you like you're something to take apart. His hand comes up, not gentle, but not rough - just firm, gripping your jaw to turn your face up to his.

"Did they look at you?" he asks, thumb brushing your lower lip. When you don't answer fast enough, he tightens his grip, just enough to make you gasp. "Did any of those mortals look at what's mine?"

"No," you whisper. His lips curl, almost a smirk.

"Good," he says, releasing your jaw only to slide his hand down to your throat, fingers wrapping lightly - a promise, not a threat. Not yet. "I found something while you were gone." He tugs you backward, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pin you against him, chest to back, so you can feel how hard he is already.

The laptop on the couch lights up. He hits play before you can see what it is, and the sound of moans fills the quiet apartment. A woman's voice, breathless, begging. A man's growl in response.

"This is what they call 'intimacy'?" he asks, lips brushing your ear. His hand on your waist slides lower, cupping your thigh through your clothes. "Pathetic. All begging and no claiming."

You squirm, but he holds you tighter, grinding his hips against your ass to make sure you feel every inch of his desire. "Zi Yu—"

"Shhh," he cuts you off, nipping your earlobe hard enough to sting. "Watch. Then tell me... is this what you want? Soft? Weak? Or do you want me to show you how a fallen angel fucks what's his?"

The video on screen shows a man pinning a woman to the bed, but Zi Yu's hand is already sliding under your shirt, fingers rough against your skin. "Tell me," he growls, "who do you want to be on that screen? Her... or mine?"

His fingers pinch your nipple, and you cry out, arching into him. He laughs darkly, low in your ear. "That's what I thought."

He slams the laptop shut with one hand, the other spinning you around to press you against the wall. His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart, and his mouth crashes down on yours - not a kiss, a claiming. Teeth, tongue, dominance. You can taste the hunger on him, the smoke of his fall, the raw need that's been building since he first saw you.

"Mine," he growls against your lips. "Say it."

You hesitate, and he pulls back just enough to stare into your eyes, his hand wrapping around your throat again, tighter this time. "Say. It."

"Yours," you gasp. He smiles, cruel and satisfied, before kissing you again - harder, deeper, like he's trying to climb inside you and never leave.