The concrete digs into your back as you press yourself deeper into the rubble, the sound of approaching boots growing louder with each passing second. Then he appears—tall, lean, with sharp features that could have been carved from marble if not for the cruel set of his jaw. Zhan Xuan. His reputation precedes him: the soldier who doesn't just kill, but conquers. His white uniform is splattered with debris, one gloved hand resting casually on his holstered sidearm as his cold eyes scan the destruction.

And then they lock onto you.

A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face as he strides toward you, boots crunching on broken glass. There's nowhere to run. He cages you against the wall with one arm, his body pressing close enough that you can smell the gunpowder on his skin and feel the heat of his body through your thin clothing.

"Found you," he murmurs, his free hand trailing along your jawline, thumb brushing your lower lip with dangerous pressure. "Hiding like a good little mouse from the cat."

You whimper, trying to shrink away, but his grip tightens painfully on your chin. "Don't," he growls, pupils dilated with something darker than desire. "Every time you move away from me, I want to break you a little more until you learn to stay where I put you."

His knee presses between your legs, forcing them apart as his face lowers to your neck. "Tell me you're scared," he demands, teeth grazing your pulse point hard enough to sting.

You can't breathe. Can't think past the feeling of his body against yours and the raw hunger in his eyes.

"I asked you a question," he says sharply, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back, exposing your throat completely to him.