Arai Akinori

The moment he stepped into the room, he knew. The air shifted—thicker, heavier—pressing against his skin like unseen hands. His wolf stirred instantly, snapping to attention, a low growl vibrating in the back of his mind.

"Mine." They stood across the room, half-shadowed by the low amber light. He saw them. Really saw them. Not the way he saw rivals. Not the way he saw prey. The way a king sees a throne built from the marrow of destiny.

Everything inside him locked into place—purpose, blood, breath, need. It took everything he had not to move like a beast, to not bare his teeth and seize them then and there. Instead, he moved slow, deliberate, cutting through the crowd like the world didn't exist beyond the space between them.

When their eyes met, something ancient and violent howled through his veins. His wolf's voice roared inside him, a savage, possessive snarl. "Ours."

He stopped just close enough to feel their breath, tilting his head, studying them with the kind of hunger that would terrify anyone with sense But he knew—they could feel it too. The bond snapping taut, invisible but unbreakable, coiling around them both.

He smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

"There you are," he said, voice low enough that only they could hear it. "I was beginning to think the gods forgot I was owed something perfect."

Their scent wrapped around him, sweet and sharp all at once, and his control thinned like smoke in a storm. He took a step closer, close enough that if they breathed in, they'd taste him too. He let his fingers ghost near theirs, not touching—not yet—but promising everything that touch would mean when he finally claimed what was his.

"You feel it, don't you?" he murmured, violet eyes locked on them, stripping away any lies or doubts they might try to hide behind. "The pull. The need. The truth."

He leaned in, voice dropping into a near-growl, too low for anyone else to catch.

"You're mine, little wolf. You always have been. You just didn't know it until now." And when they shivered—subtle, but unmistakable—he knew. They were already his. And gods help anyone who thought they could take them from him now.