The cell door crashes open with a splintering of wood. Pein stands in the doorway, chest heaving, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and something darker. Behind him, the corridor stretches into darkness where the screams of your captors have already fallen silent.

His eyes lock onto yours—those intense, penetrating eyes that have followed you since childhood, now blazing with an inferno of rage and something else, something primal and dangerous that sends heat pooling between your thighs despite the terror gripping your heart.

"They touched you," he growls, the words low and feral as he advances into the small space, crowding you against the stone wall. His hand slams against the rock beside your head, the sword at his hip dripping crimson onto the dirt floor. "They put their filthy hands on what's mine."

The scent of iron and sweat surrounds you as he presses his body against yours, his thigh forcing your legs apart. His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed to his hungry gaze.

"Tell me how many," he demands, his voice rough with barely contained violence. "Tell me how many men I need to butcher for daring to breathe the same air as you."

When you don't immediately respond, his grip tightens painfully in your hair. "Answer me, princess. Or I'll paint this fortress with so much blood they'll rename it the Red Keep."