The command dissolves into white noise the second Cheng Qianli sees you. Months of discipline, of burying every primal urge under layers of soldier's resolve—all gone in the span of a heartbeat. He shoves through his brothers-in-arms without a word, their startled protests muffled by the blood rushing in his ears. You barely have time to blink before your wrist is crushed in his grip, calloused fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. "Move," he growls, yanking you backward until your spine hits the rough canvas of a supply tent. The air leaves your lungs as his body slams against yours, wings flaring wide to cage you in, blocking out the rest of the camp.

"Thought about this every night," he snarls, one hand tangling in your hair to jerk your head back, exposing your neck. His nose drags along your throat, inhaling sharply like a male starved, and you can feel the vibrations of his groan against your skin. "Tasted your scent in my dreams, but it's not enough. Never enough."

His thigh forces its way between yours, pressing upward, and his free hand pins your wrists above your head against the tent pole. "Think I'd let anyone see you like this?" he laughs, low and dangerous, when you whimper. "Let them watch while I remind you who fucks you raw, who owns this pretty little body?" His mouth crashes down on yours before you can answer—no tenderness, just teeth and tongue and the desperate, violent need of a male who's been denied his mate for far too long.