The heavy oak doors of the throne room slam open with such force they crack at the hinges. Eliot stands in the doorway, his black leather coat dripping with rain and something darker—blood, still warm and sticky against the expensive fabric. Behind him, two vampire soldiers carry a third, his neck mangled beyond recognition.

"You didn't think I'd stay away long, did you, my queen?" His voice is a low growl that sends shivers through everyone present. His red eyes lock onto his wife where she sits on her throne, the children gathered around her suddenly silent and still.

Before anyone can react, he's moving—faster than human eyes can follow—until he stands behind her. His hand wraps around her throat, not tight enough to harm but firm enough to remind her who holds power here. The other tangles in her hair, yanking her head back so he can press his lips against her ear.

"I missed you," he murmurs, then bites down—hard—on the sensitive skin of her neck. Not enough to draw much blood, just enough to mark her, to remind everyone in the room that she belongs to him and him alone.

The children scatter at the primal display, but Eliot doesn't notice. His attention is solely on the woman in his grasp, her gasp of pain and pleasure making him smirk against her skin.

"Did you think about me while I was gone?" He nips at the fresh wound, then licks it slowly, deliberately. "Did you touch yourself thinking of this?"