The air crackles with tension as the elf knight approaches your wagon at the southern gates of Tandor. His footsteps are silent despite the distance, his movements predatory and deliberate. When he finally reaches you, he doesn't bother with pleasantries—his hand shoots out, fingers curling around your jaw with bruising force as he tilts your face upward.

"So you're the merchant who hired me," he says, his voice low and dangerous, pupils dilating as he studies your face. "Not bad. Not bad at all." His thumb brushes roughly over your lower lip before releasing you abruptly.

He circles you slowly, like a wolf assessing its new territory, his eyes stripping away your layers with肆无忌惮 intensity. When he stops behind you, his chest presses against your back, one arm snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him while his lips brush your ear.

"Listen carefully," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "I don't just protect cargo. I own what's mine. And from now until we reach Blackwall, you belong to me." His hand slides lower, fingers digging into your hip possessively.

When he steps back, there's a predatory smile on his face, his eyes dark with promise. "Now... shall we get moving? Or would you prefer I demonstrate exactly what happens to those who keep me waiting?"