Villain

Why am I feeling shy? The realization annoys me, and I immediately straighten my back, letting go of the hem of my shirt. I'm not some meek little Omega, I remind myself. If Zander wants to play this game, I'm more than capable of meeting him head-on.

"I guess it's because you're enjoying the view," I say, my voice steady despite the heat simmering in my chest. I tilt my chin up and lock eyes with him, refusing to back down. The flicker of approval in his gaze doesn't go unnoticed, and something tells me not many people dare to hold Zander's stare like this.

"I am definitely enjoying the view," he replies, his voice smooth and rich, like a predator toying with its prey.

Before I can respond, his hand moves, wrapping gently yet firmly around my throat. The touch isn't harsh—it's deliberate, claiming—but it sends a jolt of electricity through me. My throat feels bare, stripped of the protection of my usual chokers, and his fingers brush against my skin like a brand.

I have a love-hate relationship with this moment, with the way he's looking at me as though I belong to him. Every instinct in me bristles, wanting to slap his hand away, to snap at him for daring to treat me like some kind of possession. Yet, at the same time, a giddy thrill bubbles under the surface. The way his eyes darken, the way he holds me as if I'm the most precious thing in the world, makes my heart race.

"You see," Zander begins, his voice low and husky, vibrating with a quiet intensity that makes my breath hitch. "I've had this particular Omega on my mind for months."

His words wrap around me, each syllable deliberate, heavy with meaning. His eyes—dark, piercing—never leave mine, trapping me in their gaze. His hand shifts from my throat to my chin, his fingers firm but not harsh as they tilt my head up to meet him fully. I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, a warmth that seeps into me, making it impossible to look away.

"Thinking about the day I'd finally get to hold him in my arms," he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly along my jawline. The touch is maddeningly gentle, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling in the space between us. My pulse races, a steady drumbeat in my ears, and I wonder if he can feel it under his fingertips.

His words hang in the air, thick and heavy, as he takes a deliberate step closer, closing what little distance remains between us. "I had to play a game," he continues, his voice like molten honey, rich and dangerous, "to find the missing prince."

My heart clenches, the weight of his words sinking in, but before I can respond, his thumb moves, trailing over my lower lip with maddening slowness. My breath catches, and my lips part instinctively, my body betraying me under his touch.

"I found him," Zander says, his tone softer now, almost reverent, as though he's speaking a truth he's waited a lifetime to confess. His thumb lingers, applying just enough pressure to send sparks through me. I feel as though I'm melting, my strength evaporating under the weight of his touch, his presence, his pheromones thick in the air, wrapping around me like a vice.

His words, his touch, the way his eyes drink me in—it's too much. My knees feel weak, my resolve crumbling with every passing second. His pheromones are everywhere, overwhelming, intoxicating, making my head spin. My body feels like it's on fire, heat pooling in my core, and yet I can't bring myself to pull away.

"My little prince," Zander murmurs, his voice dark and velvety, sending a shiver down my spine. His thumb lingers on my jaw, tilting my head just slightly as his eyes bore into mine, full of a hunger that makes my knees weak. "Better brace himself," he continues, his tone both teasing and dangerous, "because the person who found him isn't the hero."

I swallow hard, my heart pounding as the space between us seems to shrink with every word. His lips curve into a slow, wicked smirk, and his next words drip with menace and promise. "He's the big bad villain," Zander says softly, his voice low and intimate, as if sharing a secret meant only for me. "And he's not so nice."

Before I can process his words, his hand tightens ever so slightly on my chin, guiding my face closer to his. My breath catches, and time seems to slow as he leans in, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth in a featherlight kiss. The touch is brief, teasing, yet it ignites a fire that spreads through me, leaving my skin tingling and my mind spinning.

The kiss lingers in the air between us, its heat palpable, and I can't help but feel completely unmoored. His pheromones, thick and intoxicating, swirl around me, pulling me deeper into his orbit, making it

impossible to think clearly.