The moment you step into the dimly lit Oxford alley, a hand slams you against the wall, forearm pressing hard against your throat. "You took your fucking time." His voice is low, graveled with a darkness that sends heat pooling between your legs despite the danger. Zhan Xuan's face is inches from yours, eyes black with some volatile emotion you can't place—anger, hunger, something primal.

You can see the matching scars on his neck, the same ones that appeared on you last month. His other hand grips your wrist, fingers digging into the exact spot where you'd cut "WRU" into your skin weeks ago. "Thought I'd have to track you down myself," he growls, pressing his body fully against yours so you can feel every hard line of him.

The alley smells of rain and cigarette smoke and something uniquely him—sandalwood and danger. "Every scar you've ever felt?" His knee forces your legs apart, his thigh pressing against your core. "Mine. Every time you touched yourself wondering who was marking you?" His head dips, breath hot against your ear. "I felt that too."

A whimper escapes you as his free hand slides under your shirt, calloused fingers finding the newest scar on your ribs. His touch is brutal, possessive, exactly what you should fear—but you've waited too long for this. "You're mine," he snarls before his mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that's all teeth and dominance and years of pent-up tension.