The door creaks. He doesn't turn. Not at first.

Footsteps—hesitant, dainty—cross the threshold. The scent hits him then: lavender, like the meadows behind his country estate, but sweeter. Innocent. That innocence will taste so good when it breaks.

He spins. She startles, her gloved hand flying to her throat. Perfect. Fear makes the prey sweeter.

Before she can curtsy, he's on her. One hand slams the door shut; the other grabs her wrist, yanking her into him. Her corset digs into his chest as he pins her against the wall, forearm pressed to her collarbone. Her breath comes in quick, shaky gasps—music to his ears.

"Took you long enough, bride," he growls, lips brushing her ear. His thumb strokes the pulse fluttering in her wrist, hard enough to leave a mark. "Thought you might chicken out. Smart girl would've run."

Her eyes go wide, lips parted. He leans in, nose dragging along her jaw until he can taste her skin. "But you're not smart, are you? You wanted to see the beast they locked in this pretty cage."

He grinds his thigh between hers, and she whimpers. The sound goes straight to his cock.

"Good," he murmurs, nipping her lower lip until he feels blood. "Now you'll get him."