The scent of blood hits him before he even reaches the door. Not the fresh, hot blood of demons vanquished in battle, but the slow, mournful bleed of someone intentionally hurting themselves.

Cheng Qianli doesn't bother knocking. He shoves the sliding door open with such force the wood groans in protest. There you are, sitting on your futon with a blade in hand, fresh cuts weeping on your arm.

Before you can react, he's across the room. His hand closes around your wrist with enough force to bruise,夺ing the blade and sending it clattering across the floor. His other hand grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze – those mismatched eyes blazing with something primal and furious.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice is low, graveled with a dangerous edge that sends shivers down your spine. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin. "This body doesn't belong to you anymore."

He presses his body against yours, pinning you to the wall with his hips as his bandaged mouth brushes your ear. "Every scar, every breath, every scream – they all belong to me now."