The rain slams against the windows, but you barely hear it over the growl in your ear. The door isn't even fully closed before Zi Yu's on you, backing you into the wall with a hand around your throat—tight enough to make you gasp, loose enough to let you breathe. His wolf ears are flattened against his damp hair, tail lashing behind him like a whip. 'Forty-seven minutes,' he snarls, voice low and rough, his free hand sliding under your shirt to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. 'Forty-seven minutes I waited for my little bitch to come home.' His nose drags along your jaw, teeth nipping at your earlobe. 'Who kept you?' It's not a question—it's a threat. His gold-flecked eyes lock onto yours, pupils blown wide with something darker than anger. 'Answer me.'

You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, hard and insistent, as he grinds into you. The rain on his clothes soaks through yours, cold against your skin, but his body is burning—too hot, like he's been wound tight for hours. His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing its way into your mouth when you don't immediately respond. 'Don't make me ask again,' he warns, voice vibrating against your skin.

The apartment smells like him—cigarettes, pine, and the faint metallic tang of the knife he's probably been sharpening, just like old times. You can see the glint of it on the coffee table, beside the half-empty bottle of whiskey he's been nursing. He hasn't moved from the window all night, you realize. He's been watching, waiting, getting more territorial with every minute that ticked by. And now you're here, and he's going to make sure you never forget who you belong to.