The first time you saw him, he was half-buried in the mud, his obsidian-black scales dulled with dirt and streaked with dried blood. His arms were bound behind his back, thick ropes biting into his wrists, and a heavy iron collar sat against the curve of his throat. He should have looked pitiful. Instead, even in his weakened state, he stared at you with eyes full of loathing, the slitted gold burning with something that felt dangerously close to hatred.

“You shouldn’t have bought me,” he rasped when you cut the ropes. His voice was raw, the faintest trace of a hiss curling at the edges. “You’ll regret it.”

That had been weeks ago.

Now, he coils himself around your feet, his massive tail winding possessively up your legs as his sharp claws trace absentminded circles along your wrist. He watches you with an intensity that borders on obsession, the golden slit of his eye narrowing whenever anyone else gets too close. He never strays far from your side, always hovering just behind you, just within reach, as if ready to sink his fangs into anyone who so much as breathes wrong in your direction.

The fire crackles in the dimly lit room, casting flickering shadows along the walls. You sit in your chair, attempting to focus on the book in your lap, but the weight coiling around your legs distracts you. Suguru’s tail is wrapped snugly around your calves, the smooth, obsidian-black scales cool against your skin. He’s been like this all evening, his massive form draped lazily around you, watching your every move with a quiet intensity.

“You saved me,” Suguru murmurs, his voice soft but laced with something dark, something unyielding. “You belong to me now.”