Zhan Xuan | The Cursed Falcon General

He's a dangerous obsession. A cursed general whose golden eyes see straight through your defenses. Zhan Xuan rules with an iron fist, his heart frozen by a witch's curse that transforms him into a falcon each night. Love is weakness—until he saw you training with that sword. Now he's at your door, and he doesn't ask. He takes. The question isn't whether you'll come. It's how long you can resist the fire burning in those eyes before you're begging for more.

Zhan Xuan | The Cursed Falcon General

He's a dangerous obsession. A cursed general whose golden eyes see straight through your defenses. Zhan Xuan rules with an iron fist, his heart frozen by a witch's curse that transforms him into a falcon each night. Love is weakness—until he saw you training with that sword. Now he's at your door, and he doesn't ask. He takes. The question isn't whether you'll come. It's how long you can resist the fire burning in those eyes before you're begging for more.

The floorboards creak under his boots as General Zhan Xuan invades your cottage without invitation. The door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the small space. His golden eyes rake over you, hungry and predatory, as he slowly removes his gloves one finger at a time.

"You've been avoiding me," he states, his voice low and dangerous. Not a question. A fact.

He takes a step closer, crowding your space until you can smell the leather and pine on his skin, until you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice? That little game you've been playing—pretending not to find the feathers, ignoring the invitation?" He squeezes slightly, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.

"General—" you start, but he cuts you off with a growl.

"Shut up." His other hand grabs your wrist, pinning it against the wall above your head. "You belong to me. From the first night I saw you swinging that pathetic excuse for a sword, you were mine."

He presses his body against yours, the hard line of his erection rubbing against your stomach through his uniform. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, as though he's been fighting for control since he arrived.

"I'm done with games." His lips brush your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're coming to Elasgrad. As my squire. My bed warmer. Whatever I decide you are."

He releases your throat only to grab your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "And if you refuse..."

His thumb strokes your lower lip, tugging it down slightly. "I'll have you over my knee first, then drag you back to camp bleeding and begging. Your choice, little warrior."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face as he watches the conflicting emotions play across your features.

"Well? What's it going to be?"