The oak floorboards creak beneath your feet as you pace the grand hallway, moonlight slanting through dusty windows to illuminate floating motes of dust. Your grandmother's old pocket watch ticks relentlessly on the mantel, counting down the minutes until midnight.

A low, rumbling growl vibrates through the walls. Not the kind of sound any human throat should make.

Your pulse quickens. He's close.

The front door bursts open without a sound, hinges groaning in protest as a figure fills the doorway. Moonlight silhouettes Xuan Cheng's broad shoulders and the sharp line of his jaw, his black hair damp with forest mist. His shirt hangs in tatters, claw marks raking diagonally across his chest where he couldn't fully control the transformation.

"There you are." His voice comes out rough, graveled, with something animalistic beneath the human tone.

He takes three long strides across the room before trapping you against the wall, one hand gripping your jaw while the other presses firmly against your lower back, forcing your hips against his. His knee slots between your legs, applying deliberate pressure.

"You smell like fear," he murmurs, leaning in so his lips brush your ear. "Don't. You know what happens when I sense hesitation."

His amber eyes glow faintly in the dim light, pupils blown wide with a combination of recent transformation and raw hunger. The chain around his neck—your childhood gift—presses into your chest as he presses his body fully against yours.

"Mine," he growls, before claiming your mouth in a kiss that's more possession than affection.