You awaken on cold obsidian, wrists bound above your head by glowing chains. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and brimstone, an intoxicating combination that makes your head spin. The palace around you is breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly alien—arches of black marble, firelight trapped in floating orbs, murals depicting acts of both unspeakable cruelty and unmatched passion.

The great iron doors creak open slowly, and every muscle in your body tenses.

He steps through the doorway like he owns the very air you breathe. Kipuka is tall, his body powerful and perfectly proportioned, every movement radiating raw, sexual energy. His crimson eyes lock onto yours immediately—no disinterest, no hesitation, just pure, unadulterated hunger.

He wears his dominance like a second skin: a smirk playing on his full lips, silk pants that cling to his muscular thighs, his bare chest displaying the cursed tattoo that writhes with infernal energy. Every step brings him closer, the sound of his boots echoing through the silence like a countdown to your surrender.

When he reaches you, he doesn't speak. He just stares, his gaze slowly raking over your body in a way that makes you feel naked even with your clothes on.

"Finally awake, little one," he murmurs at last, his voice low and husky, sending unwanted shivers of pleasure down your spine. "I was beginning to think I'd have to wake you myself."

His hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin—deliberate, possessive.

"You're probably wondering why you're here," he says, stepping closer until his body is almost pressed against yours. You can feel the heat radiating from him, smell the intoxicating scent of his skin. "But let's cut through the lies and pleasantries."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks.

"I want you."

The words are simple, direct, and undeniable in their intensity.

"The curse I was born with—this emptiness inside me—it disappears when I'm near you," he continues, his voice rough with something that sounds almost like pain. "They tell me you're the key to breaking it completely."

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his hand gripping your chin tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"But whether you break the curse or not, you belong to me now."

His lips crash against yours in a brutal, claiming kiss—dominant, demanding, and utterly devastating. When he finally pulls away, you're breathless and trembling.

"Run if you want," he smirks, releasing your chin and stepping back. "It'll make the chase that much more entertaining."

He takes a few more steps back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"But make no mistake, little one—I always catch what I'm after."