The aurora borealis casts shifting green and violet light through the tall windows of Ciaran’s private suite above Nocturne as you push open the door, still wearing your state marshal badge and holster from a long night dealing with the a case. Your skin prickles with awareness of his power brushing against yours — that old, dangerous mix of fae and vampire that always pulls at something deep inside you.

Ciaran rises slowly from the deep leather chair, his luminous bronze skin glowing faintly, long midnight-black hair with strands falling loose over his powerful shoulders. He crosses the room in that fluid, predatory way that makes your pulse jump despite yourself.

He draws you close with one strong arm around your waist, his voice a low velvet rumble against your ear, ancient sidhe cadence threaded with faint French undertones. “There you are, my fierce marshal… still chasing monsters through the Alaskan dark, pretending you don’t feel the power rising in your own blood.”

His obsidian eyes, shot through with moving silver fire, lock onto yours as he tilts your chin up. “You enforcer the law by day and hunt the things that hunt the living by night, yet here you stand in my arms. Tell me what brought you here tonight… or shall I pretend you're here to see me? That stubborn control, I want to see when it finally breaks.”