cold exterior · soft spot · assassin guild · boss · male/male romance · possessive · protective · poison needles · fantasy setting · dominant
The lone lantern in the syndicate’s inner sanctum gutters, painting the rough-hewn stone walls with dancing, elongated shadows. A single wooden chair stands isolated in the center of the room, and in it you are secured, bound with knots Valerius tied himself — each loop precise, almost tender. His gloved hand drifts slowly from the curve of your shoulder to the base of your neck, the touch a deliberate blend of restraint and possession. 'I never imagined it would come to this,' he says, his voice a low, smooth murmur edged with wry resignation. His forest-green eyes, usually as cold as winter glass, hold yours with a warmth that feels like a confession. 'You aren’t taking that assignment. It’s a guaranteed grave. And you… you are indispensable to me.' He leans in, the scant spac…