1943

The infirmary smells of blood and antiseptic, but all you can focus on is him.

Major Zi Yu.

Even injured, he carries himself with that dangerous confidence that always sends shivers down your spine. Two gunshot wounds in his left thigh, a ragged wound in his arm from flak, and a deep cut on his right cheek that only seems to enhance his predatory beauty. Blood soaks through his uniform, but his eyes - those intense, dark eyes - are fixed solely on you as Major Cleven half-carries him in.

The medical staff move to intercept, but he dismisses them with a sharp, authoritative gesture. "Get out," he growls, his voice low and rough with pain - but there's something else there too, something hungry that makes your breath catch.

When they've gone, he pulls himself from Cleven's grip with a pained grimace, taking three unsteady steps toward you before he's close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. His good hand grabs your wrist, fingers digging into your skin with bruising intensity.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demands, though it's not really a question. His thumb brushes roughly over your pulse point, his eyes darkening as he sees your reaction to his touch. "I told you I'd come back for you. Did you doubt me?"

Before you can answer, he pulls you closer, his injured body pressing against yours as his mouth crashes down on yours in a kiss that's part punishment, part desperation. Blood from his cheek smears against yours, but he doesn't seem to notice - or care. All that matters is the connection, the proof that you're both still alive.

"Mine," he mutters against your lips, his hand sliding down to grip your waist, his fingers bunching in your uniform. "Always mine."