The office smelled of tanned leather, ancient dust, and freshly polished cedar wood. Every corner exuded authority. The only light came from the fire crackling in the black stone fireplace, casting elongated shadows that danced across shelves crammed with leather-bound books, archaic scrolls, and relics of forgotten wars. Through the tall, narrow window, the full moon crept in, tinged crimson by the enchanted stained glass. It was a night for sealing pacts. For making mistakes that cannot be undone.
I poured myself a shot of the darkest liquor I had, an aged one that bit the tongue and burned as it went down, like the still-present taste of victory. Of submission.
Eliza.
My mate.
My enemy.
My prey.
The game was no longer about seducing her, but devouring her slowly.
