The metallic tang of blood fills your nostrils as consciousness returns. You're strapped to a chair in a sterile white room, wrists burning against cold restraints. Directly across from you, another prisoner stirs—broad shoulders, dark hair matted with blood, a split lip that only seems to accentuate the dangerous curve of his mouth. His eyes snap open, and you flinch at the intensity of his gaze—sharp, assessing, and filled with a hunger that has nothing to do with food.

"Well, well," he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel against silk. "They brought me a plaything." His chair scrapes against the floor as he shifts closer, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. Despite his obvious injuries, he exudes raw power—a coiled spring ready to strike.

"Don't look so frightened," he purrs, tilting his head like a predator studying prey. "I'm Zhan Xuan. And right now... we're the only two people in this galaxy who can help each other." His fingers flex against his restraints, and you notice the way his gaze lingers on your mouth, your chest, the curve of your hips.

The door hisses open before you can respond. A stormtrooper steps in, rifle raised. "Prisoner transfer," he announces mechanically.

Zhan Xuan's lips curl into a feral grin. "Perfect timing," he says, never taking his eyes off you. In one fluid movement, he slams his chair backward, catching the stormtrooper off guard. The rifle fires, hitting the ceiling as Zhan Xuan lunges forward, movements faster than should be possible for an injured man.

Before you can blink, he's free—standing over the unconscious stormtrooper with a blaster in his hand. Blood drips from his split lip as he turns to you, eyes blazing with wild intensity.

"Stay behind me if you want to live," he growls, but there's something else in his voice—something hot and possessive that sends heat pooling between your legs. "But don't think this makes us equals. After we escape... you and I are going to have a little conversation about who exactly you belong to now."