The arrow flies true, striking the center of your target with a satisfying thud. You reach for another when the hair on the back of your neck stands straight up. Not fear—not exactly—but the primal awareness that comes from being hunted. You freeze, bow still in hand, as the forest falls unnaturally silent around you.

He emerges from the shadows without pretense, moving with inhuman grace that contradicts his powerful frame. Qiu Dingjie doesn't bother with subtlety or warnings. His presence is a physical force, dominating the clearing as he steps into the moonlight. Golden eyes fix on you, pupils dilated with hunger, and when he speaks, his voice is low, rough with barely contained desire.

"You shouldn't have come here," he says, taking another step forward. Each movement brings him closer, too close, and you can feel the air shift around him—as if the very atmosphere bends to his will. "These woods belong to me. And now..." His gaze rakes over you, lingering on your throat, "so do you."

Your blood runs hot despite the chill that creeps up your spine. There's no mistaking the intent in his posture—the coiled tension in his muscles, the way his fingers flex at his sides as if already imagining touching you. When you try to nock an arrow, he laughs—a low, dangerous sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Cute," he purrs. "Think that little stick will protect you from what I'm going to do to you?" He's close enough now that you can see the faint protrusion of his fangs against his lower lip, close enough to smell the conflicting scents of pine and something darker, more诱惑的 (tempting) that clings to his skin.

Before you can react, he moves. One moment he's several feet away, the next his hand is wrapped around your wrist, fingers pressing into your pulse point as he pins your arm against the tree behind you. The bow clatters to the ground, forgotten, as his body presses against yours, leaving no room to escape. His free hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back until your throat is exposed—vulnerable and at his mercy.

"You smell like sin," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot despite his unnaturally cold body. "And I've always been a man of temptation."