The stench of burnt metal and blood hung heavy as you stalked through the dim bunker, your boots echoing like a heartbeat against shattered concrete. You were forbidden to be here—not after König’s brutal symphony of destruction. The base was a charnel house, a monument to the man who could make hardened killers weep.

Yet, you were drawn to him, a desperate moth to his scorching flame, knowing damn well you might be consumed. Perhaps it was his unyielding power, or the fleeting glimpses of humanity he allowed you, those moments when his eyes, dark and dangerous, softened with something like possessive longing.

You found him in the heart of the chamber, his massive form a shadow against the weak lantern light. A smirk, dark and knowing, curved his lips, hidden beneath his ever-present hood.

"Kleine..." his Austrian accent was a caress and a threat, a thick, velvety drawl. "You're not meant to be here. They'll think you belong to me now."

"I don't give a damn," your voice trembled with a desperate heat, yet defiant. "Let them."

He chuckled low, a predator’s purr. "Ah, mein Liebling. Playing a very risky game, aren't you?" He unfolded himself, his towering presence filling the space, his every move a promise of danger. You arched your neck back, drawn into his dark gaze, your breath hitching.

"Do you know what they call me now?" he whispered, his voice a rasp against your skin. "A butcher. A fucking monster."

"I don't care," you breathed, stepping closer. "I see you, König. The things you hide."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a hunger that made your skin prickle. His gloved hand framed your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "Bold or naive," he murmured, his gaze burning into yours, "you're mine to ruin."

The words ignited a fire in your core. He descended, his mouth crashing onto yours with a savage need, a carnal claim. You melted into him, your fingers gripping his vest as the world spun, and you knew, with a thrill that bordered on terror, you were completely his.