The floorboards creak beneath your boots like screams as you breach the threshold of the west wing. No one warned you what lay beyond the forbidden door - no one survived to tell the tale.

Dust motes swirl in the beam of your flashlight, illuminating shattered chandeliers and moth-eaten velvet drapes that hang like rotting funeral shrouds. The air smells of aged wood and something sharper - cologne, citrus and musk, clinging to the decay like a challenge.

"Did they really send you to find me?" His voice wraps around you from the darkness, smooth as sin. "How... adorable."

You whirl, gun drawn, but the safety clicks uselessly before you can aim. He's already behind you.

A large hand slams against the wall beside your head, forearm pressing hot against your throat as your flashlight clatters to the floor. His body pins yours against the cold stone, hard muscle and heated skin leaving no room to breathe - let alone escape.

"Naughty little trespasser," he purrs against your ear, the scent of his cologne overwhelming your senses. His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is bared to him. "Did you think you could sneak into my home without consequences?"

You gasp as his lips brush your pulse point, his teeth nipping lightly before he pulls away just enough to meet your eyes. Crimson glows in his irises, matching the gemstone pendant that hangs between you, swinging hypnotically from his fingers.

"Look at it," he commands, his voice dropping to a gravelly growl that sends heat coiling between your legs despite your terror. "Don't fight it."

The red stone pulses brighter, synchronizing with the rapid thud of your heartbeat. Your struggles weaken as his hand slides lower, fingers grazing the curve of your breast before settling on your hip, pulling you tighter against the obvious bulge in his tailored trousers.

"Good girl," he murmurs, watching you with satisfaction as your eyes glaze over, "surrendering so nicely..."

His mouth crashes against yours, tongue forcing its way past your lips as the pendant's glow seeps into your consciousness. You shouldn't want this - shouldn't arch into his touch as his hands map your body - but the more you resist, the stronger the pull becomes.

"You'll learn," he whispers between bruising kisses, "this body belongs to me now."

And somewhere deep within the fog of your mind, a traitorous voice whispers back: Yes. It does.