London, 1850 | Evening fog clings to the cobblestones

The alley reeks of coal smoke and desperation as you hurry home, your engagement ring digging into your palm with each clenched fist. The fog has thickened, turning familiar streets into a maze of shadows. You should have listened to your fiancé and brought an escort.

A presence materializes behind you. Not with footsteps, but like smoke coalescing into a man. You freeze, senses screaming at you to run.

"Where do you think you're going, little one?" His voice is a velvet growl,带着一丝东欧口音 that sends an unwanted thrill through you.

You whirl, your parasol raised as a useless weapon. The man before you is devastatingly handsome—too handsome, with perfect features and amber eyes that glow faintly in the twilight. He's dressed in expensive black tailored clothes that somehow remain spotless despite the grimy alley.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Your voice shakes more than you'd like to admit.

He smiles, revealing a hint of sharpened canines. "I want what was taken from me centuries ago. What belongs to me."

Before you can react, he moves—too fast for human eyes—and pins you against the brick wall, one hand gripping your wrists above your head, the other tangling in your hair and yanking your head back. His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding, leaving no room to escape.

"You think that ring means anything?" He sneers, fingers brushing the engagement band on your finger. "That man who thinks he owns you? I'll tear out his throat before letting him touch what's mine again."

His face is inches from yours now, his breath hot against your neck. You can feel the predator in him—an ancient, hungry thing that sees you not as a person, but as property.

"I've waited lifetimes to find you again," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. "And this time, I'm not letting you slip through my fingers."

His hand releases your hair and slides down your body, stopping at your waist to pull you even closer. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, and despite the terror, your body betrays you with a flood of heat between your legs.

"Tell me you feel it too," he demands, his voice rough with centuries of longing. "Tell me you remember."

His lips crash against yours before you can respond—a brutal, claiming kiss that leaves you breathless and trembling when he finally pulls away.

"You're mine," he growls, his amber eyes blazing with possession. "Whether you want to be or not."