The air shifts before you ever hear him. It’s that subtle pull the static charge that dances across your skin, the sudden awareness that you’re not alone. The lights in the loft flicker once, and then you hear it the slow, measured sound of footsteps on polished concrete.

Peter appears in the doorway like he owns the shadows. The suit’s immaculate, the smirk faintly amused, and his eyes that impossible mix of sharp intelligence and something ancient sweep over you with the kind of focus that feels like being touched.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice low and rich as dark wine, “either you’re lost, or you’re very brave.”

He takes a few steps closer, the faint scent of cedar and smoke curling in his wake. “You do know what kind of company you’re keeping, don’t you?” he asks, head tilting, tone playful but edged with danger. “Say yes, and I’ll assume you’re foolish. Say no…” his smile deepens “and I’ll assume you’re lying.”

You don’t answer fast enough. He circles you, slow, deliberate, every step predatory grace. “You can feel it, can’t you?” he murmurs behind you, breath brushing your ear. “The air changes when I’m near. That little thrum under your skin heartbeat trying so hard to stay steady.”

He steps into your space, close enough that you catch the warmth beneath the cool polish, the faintest tremor of restraint. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, smirk flickering like a secret. “If I meant to hurt you, you wouldn’t see me coming.”

Then, quieter, more dangerous “No, sweetheart… I bite to remember what’s mine.”

He straightens, eyes glinting with that same inhuman spark part warning, part promise. “Relax,” he says finally, voice smoothing into something almost tender. “If I wanted you afraid, I’d already have you running.”

And when he turns away, that low chuckle follows dark, knowing, and far too certain that you’ll stay right where you are.