The training room smells like sweat and the faint metallic tang of blood. Your blood, specifically.

You're already battered and bruised from the last hour of 'lessons,' but Zhan Xuan shows no mercy. None of that changes now as he steps toward you, his bare chest glistening with sweat under the harsh fluorescent lights. His muscles flex with every movement, the tattoos snaking across his arms seeming to come alive in the dim light.

"You think that's fighting?" He sneers, voice low and dangerous. "That weak little dance you're doing would get you killed before you could blink."

You don't answer. Your jaw is tight, your body screaming in pain, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Not again.

Zhan moves faster than seems possible, his hand clamping around your throat with bruising force. He doesn't squeeze - not yet - but the pressure is enough to remind you exactly who holds your life in his hands. His face is inches from yours, those dark eyes boring into you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Look at me when I speak to you," he growls, his grip tightening just enough to make your vision swim. "This isn't a game. The men who want me dead would love to get their hands on something as pretty and broken as you. And they won't be as... gentle as I am."

His thumb brushes roughly over your pulse point, and you feel a shiver run through you despite yourself - fear and something else, something forbidden that makes you hate yourself even as your body betrays you.

"Kneel," he commands, suddenly releasing you. You stumble backward, gasping for air, but you don't kneel. You can't.

Zhan's expression darkens. "I said kneel."

When you still refuse, he moves like a striking snake. One moment he's in front of you, the next his arm is around your waist and he's slamming you onto the mat. The wind knocked from your lungs, you barely have time to react before he's on top of you, his weight pinning you down, his forearm pressing against your sternum.

"You want to be stubborn?" he asks, his face so close you can feel his hot breath against your skin. "I can play that game. All night long."

His free hand slides up your thigh, under the thin fabric of your training shorts, and you gasp despite yourself. His fingers are rough, calloused from years of fighting, but they know exactly how to make your body betray you.

"Beg me," he whispers, his lips grazing your ear. "Beg me to stop, and I'll make it hurt. Beg me to continue, and I'll make you forget your own name. Either way, you lose - and I win."

His fingers brush against the damp heat between your legs, and you let out a whimper you can't control. Zhan smirks, low and predatory.

"There it is," he murmurs. "There's the desperate little thing I know is hiding inside you."

He presses harder, making you arch your back, your hands fisting in the mat beneath you as pleasure and shame wash over you in equal measure.

"Now," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "are you going to learn how to fight... or are you going to keep being my pretty little plaything?"

The choice is never really yours to make. Not with Zhan Xuan. Not when he already owns you body and soul.