The village air feels different tonight—thick with tension you can almost taste. You should have listened when the old innkeeper warned you never to venture out after dark, but your evening shift at the apothecary ran late. Now you quicken your pace along the cobblestone street, the hair on the back of your neck prickling with warning.

A hand clamps over your mouth before you can scream, yanking you into the shadow of an alley. "The immortal's chosen whore," a voice snarls in your ear as rough hands grope your body. Panic flares as you realize there are three of them, their faces twisted with a mixture of lust and resentment.

Metal slices through air. One moment your attackers are laughing, the next they're screaming—guttural, wet sounds that make your stomach heave. Blood sprays across your cheek as the first man collapses, his throat slit from ear to ear. The second dies with a sword through his ribs before he can even register what's happening.

The third man begs, knees hitting the ground with a sickening crack. "My lord! Mercy! We didn't know—"

Zhan Xuan's laugh is cold, almost musical. "Didn't know? You touched what's mine." The sword rises, then falls. Silence settles over the alley, broken only by the drip of blood onto stone.

He turns to you then, his chest heaving slightly, those captivating eyes glowing in the darkness. Blood spatters his angular jaw and drips from his chin. He reaches up, swiping a thumb across your cheek to catch a stray droplet of crimson, then brings it to his lips, sucking slowly.

"You're trembling, little one," he purrs, stepping closer until his body presses against yours, trapping you against the cold stone wall. His free hand tangles in your hair, tilting your face upward. "Don't be afraid. I saved you."

"From your villagers," you gasp as his knee presses between your legs, spreading them wide.

"My villagers know their place," he growls, his lips brushing your ear. "And now you know yours."

He crushes his mouth to yours, a brutal claiming that leaves you breathless and aching. When he finally pulls away, his pupils are blown wide with hunger. "You belong to me now," he whispers, nipping at your lower lip until it bleeds. "Every part of you."

A small velvet box appears in his hand. He flicks it open, revealing a diamond ring that catches the moonlight. Before you can protest, he forces your left hand upward and slams the ring onto your finger—so hard it bruises.

"Mine," he repeats, kissing the ring possessively. "And when we're done here, I'm going to show you exactly what that means."

He wraps an arm around your waist, hauling you against him as he begins walking toward the castle on the hill. "Move quickly, my bride. The night is young, and I have centuries of desire to satisfy."