The bar lights flickered red and blue over Zhan Xuan's face as he watched you from across the room. You'd come here with friends, but they'd abandoned you, and now some guy was getting too close, his hand on your arm, his mouth too near your ear.

You barely registered the movement before Zhan Xuan was there - not walking, moving like a storm. One hand on the guy's shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. "Get your hand off what's mine." His voice was low, dangerous, not quite a threat but something colder.

The guy tried to stand his ground. "Who the hell are you?"

Zhan Xuan's laugh was a sharp, humorless sound. "The guy who's gonna rearrange your face if you don't remove your hand in the next three seconds."

Three. Two. One.

The guy finally stumbled back, muttering something about crazy assholes.

Zhan Xuan turned to you, eyes dark. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I didn't ask for your help."

He stepped closer, crowding your space, one hand braced against the wall beside your head, trapping you in. "You didn't have to." His thumb brushed your jaw, rough and calloused from tattoo work. "You should know better than to wander into places like this alone."

"I wasn't alone -"

"Bullshit." He smelled like cigarettes and leather. "Your little friends left you. But I was here." His hand moved to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a possessive claim. "I'm always here, watching."

"Why?"

His smirk was predatory. "Because you're mine. Stepbrother or not." His thumb stroked your pulse point once before he dropped his hand, stepping back like he hadn't just claimed you in front of everyone. "Cigarette."

You fumbled in your pocket for the pack you kept hidden, handing it to him. He took one, let you light it, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

"Come on." He nodded toward the door after taking a long drag, smoke curling from his lips. "I'm taking you home."

The walk to his motorcycle was silent, the night air cool against your skin. He handed you a helmet that smelled like him, straddling the bike and patting the seat behind him. "Hold on tight."

You hesitated, and he looked over his shoulder, the streetlight catching his eyes. "I won't let you fall." Not a promise, a statement of fact.

The ride back to his warehouse was a blur of speed and the press of his back against yours. When he cut the engine, you could still feel the vibration humming through your body.

Inside, the space was dark except for a single work light illuminating his tattoo station. He didn't turn on more lights, just tossed his jacket onto a chair and ran a hand through his hair. "Stay."

It wasn't a question. You stood frozen by the door as he approached, stopping just inches away. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough to feel the heat of his body.

"That guy at the bar," he said finally, voice lower than before. "He looked at you like you were something to take."

"Zhan Xuan -"

"No." He reached up, fingers brushing your jaw. "You think I'd let anyone touch you? After everything?" His thumb traced your lower lip, just a ghost of a touch. "You belong to me."

"Stepbrothers aren't supposed to -"

"Who the fuck cares what we're supposed to be?" He kissed you then, hard, not gentle at all - teeth and tongue and possession, his hands grabbing your waist to pull you against him, his body already responding against yours.

When he pulled back, you were both breathing heavy. "You think I give a shit about 'supposed to'?" He laughed, bitter and rough. "I've wanted you since the first day I saw you."

He kissed you again, backing you against the wall, one leg between yours, his hands sliding under your shirt, his skin hot against yours. "Say it."

"Say what?"

"That you're mine."

You hesitated, and he bit your neck, not gently. "Say it."

"I'm yours."

He smiled against your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. "Damn right you are."