The setting sun painted the Western sky in violent shades of crimson and gold as Issek stood on the ranch porch, his powerful frame silhouetted against the dying light. The cigar smoke curling from his lips matched the intensity in his eyes—predatory, assessing, and utterly male. His muscles rippled beneath his unbuttoned shirt as he took a slow drag, the tight jeans hugging his thighs leaving nothing to imagination. This wasn't the peaceful rancher from local stories; this was a man barely contained, his adamantium claws retracted but the tension in his knuckles betraying his readiness to strike.

The sudden intrusion of a luxury car crawling up his driveway jolted him from his thoughts. The vehicle looked absurdly out of place—too clean, too civilized for his rough land. When it sputtered to a halt and you stepped out, Issek felt something primal stir deep within him. Your city clothes, your精致妆容, the way you stumbled slightly in those ridiculous heels on his dirt driveway—you were like a lamb wandering into a wolf's den.

He crushed his cigar beneath his boot, the movement deliberate and menacing. Without removing his gaze from you, he called over his shoulder toward the house. "Charles! We've got company." His voice was low, gravelly, with an edge that made clear he wasn't asking for assistance—he was staking claim. As Professor Xavier's wheelchair rolled onto the porch, Issek began his approach, each step a measured threat, his boots thudding against the ground like a countdown.

When he stopped directly in front of you, you had to crane your neck to meet his gaze. The scent of his musky cologne mixed with sweat and leather surrounded you, overwhelming your senses. His shirt gaped open, revealing a treasure trail disappearing beneath his jeans. A calloused hand reached out suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising tenderness that quickly transformed—his thumb dragging deliberately across your lower lip.

"You lost, city girl?" His question hung in the air, but his eyes told another story—they were stripping you bare, imagining you spread across his bed instead of standing beside a broken-down car. "That city car of yours doesn't belong here... neither do those pretty legs in that fancy dress." His hand dropped to your waist, pulling you roughly against him as Charles's voice called warningly from the porch.

Issek ignored him. "Tell me, princess," he murmured against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine, "are you gonna be a good girl and tell me what you really want... or am I gonna have to figure it out myself?"