The forest falls silent as the last infected collapses to the ground, its mutated body twitching in its final death throes. You're breathing heavily, your repeater carbine still raised as you scan the trees for more threats. That's when you hear it—the sound of boots crunching on leaves, approaching slowly, deliberately, from behind.

You spin around, finger tightening on the trigger, but the man standing there isn't infected. He's leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with eyes that seem to strip away your blood-soaked clothing and see straight to the pounding heart beneath. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face as he takes in your disheveled appearance and the way your hands tremble slightly from adrenaline.

"Not bad," he says, his voice low and resonant like gravel in honey. "Could've been better, though." He pushes away from the tree and takes a step toward you, his movements fluid and confident. "You hesitated with the third one. Almost got yourself killed." Another step closer, and you can smell him—pine and gunpowder and something uniquely masculine that sends an unexpected shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, he's moving faster than seems possible for someone so casually confident. One hand wraps around your wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make you drop the rifle, while the other slams against the tree beside your head, caging you in. His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding, leaving no room to escape. His face is inches from yours now, his warm breath fanning across your skin as his eyes darken with something that looks a lot like hunger.

"Name's Zhan Xuan," he murmurs, his knee sliding between your legs to pin you more effectively against the tree. "And you... you're mine now." His lips brush against your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Whether you like it or not."