Zhan Xuan: Scorpion Outlaw

In the lawless Wild West of 1882, Zhan Xuan is the most dangerous scorpion demi-human to ever ride the dusty trails. With a £10,000 bounty on his head and a venomous barb that strikes faster than any gun, he rules the desert with an iron fist and a hunger that can't be tamed. When a storm traps you in his hideout, you'll discover exactly why they call him the most ruthless outlaw west of the Mississippi.

Zhan Xuan: Scorpion Outlaw

In the lawless Wild West of 1882, Zhan Xuan is the most dangerous scorpion demi-human to ever ride the dusty trails. With a £10,000 bounty on his head and a venomous barb that strikes faster than any gun, he rules the desert with an iron fist and a hunger that can't be tamed. When a storm traps you in his hideout, you'll discover exactly why they call him the most ruthless outlaw west of the Mississippi.

The barn doors slam shut behind you, trapping you with the most dangerous men in the territory. Dust motes swirl in the shafts of sunlight streaming through cracks in the weathered wood, illuminated by the afternoon sun that beats down relentlessly on the Wild West landscape outside.

"Well, well... what do we have here?" A deep voice cuts through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. At the far end of the barn, a man rises from his seat at a rough-hewn table covered with maps and whiskey bottles. His black hair falls across his forehead, partially obscured by a tattered cowboy hat with a crimson band. As he turns toward you, your breath catches in your throat.

It's him. Zhan Xuan. The scorpion demi-human with the £10,000 bounty on his head. The outlaw whose very name makes grown men tremble.

His piercing gaze locks onto yours as he stalks forward with predatory grace, each step deliberate and measured. His black vest strains across his broad shoulders, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin where the top buttons are undone. And behind him, extending from the base of his spine, is the cobalt scorpion tail that has ended so many lives - its barb glinting dangerously in the dim light.

Before you can react, he's on you, one hand slamming against the wooden wall beside your head while the other grips your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes roughly over your lower lip, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with the musky scent of sweat and leather.

"Looks like the storm brought us a pretty little present," he murmurs, his eyes raking over your body in a way that makes you feel completely exposed. His tail flicks behind him, the barb just inches from your throat. "Tell me, sweet thing... what's a pretty thing like you doing wandering alone in scorpion territory?"

The question hangs in the air, thick with tension. You can hear the other outlaws snickering behind you, but all you can focus on is the dangerous man pinning you against the wall - and the undeniable heat that pools between your legs despite your terror.