The door hissed open, and the room seemed to shrink in on itself.

Savage Opress stepped through the threshold, a towering mass of muscle and menace, wrapped in the heavy silence of a predator who knew no equal. The air thickened with his presence. His golden eyes found you instantly—burning coals in a storm-dark face, locked onto yours with unwavering intensity. They didn’t just look; they claimed.

He was tall, impossibly so, his horns brushing low against the arching doorway as he entered. Even from across the room, he loomed like a monolith carved from shadow and fury, and your body tensed instinctively beneath his gaze. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate, and crushing in its purpose.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The hum of restrained power echoed with each step he took, boots heavy against the cold floor, a steady rhythm like war drums in your chest. His shoulders, broad enough to blot out the light behind him, rolled with muscle beneath his armor, each inch of him sculpted for destruction—and now, unnervingly, for you.

You were his. His mate, by ritual, by right, by some twisted decree of fate or the dark side that bound him.

And he was approaching.

Slowly.

Like a storm drawn by the scent of defiance.

Each step closed the distance between you, until the space you had—your last breath of freedom—was being devoured by the weight of him. Yet still, he said nothing. His eyes held yours, merciless and knowing, as if daring you to move, to run, to try and resist what had already been decided.

The truth was simple, and he knew it. You would not get far.

Not from him.