The underground bar at the Grand Elysium was suffocatingly dark.

Low, heavy jazz music vibrated through the floorboards.

Abigail sat on a leather stool at the far end of the mahogany bar.

Four empty shot glasses sat in a neat row in front of her.

The whiskey burned through her bloodstream. It cast a thick, heavy fog over her brain, dulling the sharp, stabbing pain in her cheek.

Above the bar, a muted television played the breaking news. The chyron read: VANCE MEDIA STOCK PLUMMETS AFTER INCEST SCANDAL.

The bartender and the patrons around her were whispering excitedly, pointing at the screen.

Abigail stared at the television. A bitter, drunken laugh scraped its way out of her throat.

She pushed herself off the stool.

The room tilted violently. The floor felt like it was made of liquid. She swayed, her hand shooting out to grip the edge of the bar.

She pulled a crumpled hundred-dollar bill from her clutch and slapped it onto the wet wood. She waved off the bartender's attempt to hand her change.

She stumbled toward the elevator bank. Her vision blurred, splitting the hallway into double images.

She had a standard suite on the third floor. She rented it year-round for late nights. She just needed to get to a bed.

As she reached the elevators, she leaned heavily against the wall, fumbling blindly inside her clutch for her room card. Her fingers brushed against a thick plastic rectangle. She pulled it out, not realizing in her drunken haze that it was an old, deactivated VIP club card from a different hotel entirely.

She stumbled into the open elevator and slapped the card against the sensor panel. She clumsily jabbed her finger at what she thought was the button for the third floor. However, her hand slipped, hitting the unlabelled button at the very top of the panel.

The elevator doors slid shut. The machine didn't reject the invalid card; instead, a rare system glitch, combined with a maintenance mode left active by a careless technician earlier that evening, accepted the input. The button she pressed-the one marked 'PH'-lit up with a bright red glow.

The elevator shot upward at a terrifying speed.

It didn't stop at the third floor. It bypassed every level until it reached the penthouse.

The doors slid open with a soft chime.

Abigail stumbled out. The hallway was different. The carpet was thick, plush wool. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling.

Her drunken brain didn't register the change.

She walked up to the massive, double-carved doors at the end of the hall. Instead of fumbling with a lock, she leaned her weight against the heavy wood. To her surprise, it gave way. The highest security lock in the building hadn't engaged properly; the door was left slightly ajar by whoever had rushed inside earlier in a frantic state.

Abigail pushed the heavy door open.

The air inside was freezing. It smelled like sharp cedar and something dark, heavy, and dangerous.

The lights were off. The only illumination came from the sprawling Los Angeles skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Abigail kicked off her high heels. She walked barefoot across the rug, blindly heading toward where she assumed the bedroom was.

Her skin felt too hot. She reached up and unzipped the back of her dress a few inches, letting the cool air hit her spine.

A sound stopped her dead in her tracks.

It was a harsh, ragged breath. A wet panting coming from the deep shadows of the living room.

Abigail blinked hard. She squinted into the darkness.

On the massive leather sofa, a large, broad-shouldered silhouette was curled inward.

The man let out a low, guttural groan of pure agony.

Abigail's drunken mind misfired. She thought he was having a heart attack.

She took a shaky step toward the sofa.

Abigail stumbled closer to the leather sofa.

The city lights cast a pale glow over the man. He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, but the jacket was crumpled. His tie had been ripped away from his throat.

His chest heaved violently..Sweat coated his forehead, making his skin shine in the dark. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles twitched.

Abigail dropped to her knees beside the sofa.

"Hey," she slurred softly. "Are you... do you need a doctor?"

She reached out. Her cool fingertips brushed against the burning skin of his neck, searching for a pulse.

The second her skin made contact with his, the man's eyes snapped open.

They were bloodshot. Wild. They lacked any trace of human reason. He looked like a starving wolf that had just been handed raw meat.

Josephus Hodges had spent the last hour fighting a losing battle. A rival firm had slipped a massive dose of a military-grade hallucinogenic aphrodisiac into his scotch at a merger dinner.

He had locked himself in the penthouse to ride it out. His sanity was hanging by a microscopic thread.

Abigail's cold touch, combined with the faint scent of rosewater on her skin, snapped that thread instantly.

A low, animalistic growl ripped from his throat.

His hand shot out. His fingers clamped around Abigail's wrist like a steel vice.

Abigail gasped. The pain was sharp and immediate.

Before she could pull away, Josephus yanked her forward. His strength was terrifying.

She flew through the air and crashed onto the leather cushions.

The world spun out of control. In a fraction of a second, Josephus's massive, heavy body was on top of her, pinning her down.

The alcohol in Abigail's system evaporated, replaced by cold, blinding terror.

"Let me go!" she screamed. She thrashed wildly beneath him, her hands pushing against his rock-hard chest.

Josephus didn't hear her. The drug had completely hijacked his nervous system. All he felt was the agonizing heat in his blood and the soft, cool body beneath him that promised relief.

He buried his face in her neck. His breath was scalding hot against her skin. The heavy scent of cedar and pure male aggression suffocated her.

His large hands moved with brutal urgency. He grabbed the fabric of her black gown.

With one violent pull, the expensive silk tore down the middle.

The sound of ripping fabric echoed loudly in the dark room.

The cold leather of the sofa hit Abigail's bare back.

Panic consumed her. She swung her free hand and slapped him across the face with all the strength she had.

The sharp smack rang out.

Josephus froze. His head snapped to the side.

For one agonizing second, the red haze in his eyes cleared. He looked down at the terrified woman trembling beneath him. His chest heaved as he fought his own biology.

"Get... out," he ground out through his teeth. His voice was a harsh, agonizing rasp.

Abigail scrambled backward, desperate to escape.

But as she kicked her legs to push away, her knee jerked upward. It slammed directly into his groin.

It wasn't a hard hit, but the physical friction was the final trigger.

Josephus let out a sharp hiss. The brief window of clarity slammed shut.

His eyes went completely black.

He grabbed both of her wrists in one massive hand and slammed them above her head, pressing them deep into the leather.

His other hand gripped her jaw, holding her head perfectly still.

He crashed his mouth down onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a punishment. It was a desperate, violent claiming.

He tasted like expensive scotch and pure dominance.

Abigail couldn't breathe. Her lungs burned for oxygen. The crushing weight of his body made it impossible to move.

Her struggles grew weaker as the lack of air and the lingering alcohol made her limbs go numb.

His hand slid down her ribcage, burning a trail of fire across her skin.

Josephus tore his mouth away from hers. He was breathing like a dying man.

He slid his arms under her back and behind her knees. He stood up in one fluid motion, lifting her off the sofa as if she weighed nothing.

Abigail's head lolled against his shoulder. The room spun in violent circles.

He carried her down the dark hallway and kicked the bedroom door open with his foot.

He threw her down onto the center of the massive king-size bed.

She bounced against the thick mattress. A dizzying wave of nausea washed over her.

Before she could crawl away, Josephus followed her down. His knees bracketed her hips.

His mouth found her collarbone, his teeth scraping against her sensitive skin.

His rough, calloused hand slid up her neck. His thumb brushed against her left cheek, moving to push her hair out of the way.

His skin grazed the raised, jagged edge of her scar. As his hand cupped her jaw, the heavy, rare-earth alloy of his custom signet ring pressed against her cheek.

Abigail's body violently seized.

It was as if he had hit her with a stun gun. The absolute terror of being exposed shattered the drug-like haze of the moment.

She violently twisted her head away from his touch.

She ripped her hands free and clamped both palms tightly over the left side of her face. She curled her knees to her chest, folding into a tight, defensive ball.

Josephus stopped. He hovered above her, his chest heaving. Frustration and drug-fueled rage warred in his dark eyes.

"Please," Abigail sobbed. Her voice cracked, raw and pathetic in the quiet room. "Please, don't look at me."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm a monster."

That single word-monster-hung in the air.

It hit Josephus like a physical blow to the temple.

The drug in his veins stuttered. A violent flashback ripped through his mind.

He saw flames. He heard the sound of a collapsing roof. He saw a little girl crying in the smoke.

A sharp, agonizing pain seized his heart. It was a phantom pain from a past he had buried deep.

The emotional shockwave temporarily overrode the chemical fire in his blood.

He looked down. The moonlight spilled across the bed, illuminating the woman trembling beneath him.

He couldn't see the scar clearly, but he had felt the ruined, uneven texture of her skin.

He didn't feel disgust. He felt an overwhelming, crushing wave of empathy.

He reached out. His movements were no longer violent. They were slow. Deliberate.

He wrapped his large, warm hands around her wrists.

Abigail thrashed, crying out, terrified of the rejection that was about to come.

"Shh," Josephus murmured. His voice was a deep, rumbling vibration.

He gently but firmly pulled her hands away from her face, pressing her wrists into the pillows on either side of her head.

He stared down at the dark, jagged line marring her cheek.

Then, he lowered his head.

He pressed his lips directly against the ugliest part of her scar.

Abigail stopped breathing. Her eyes flew open, staring blindly at the ceiling. Her heart completely stopped beating for a full second.

The moment his lips touched the skin, a bizarre, electric sensation shot through her face.

It wasn't pain. It was a microscopic, vibrating hum.

Beneath the scar tissue, the hidden neural inhibitor violently reacted to the specific electromagnetic signature generated by the alloy and the unique, high-frequency bio-electric field his body emitted-a lingering side effect of a classified military-grade experimental treatment he had survived years ago.

The chronic, stabbing nerve pain that had tortured Abigail for years suddenly vanished. It evaporated like water on a hot stove.

A wave of profound, liquid relief washed through her entire body.

At the exact same time, Josephus felt the violent, chaotic energy of the drug in his system ground itself. The madness in his brain quieted.

He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, clear, and intensely focused on hers.

"You are not a monster," he whispered roughly against her skin.

A dam broke inside Abigail. Hot tears spilled over her eyelashes, tracking down her temples into her hair.

The tension drained from her muscles. She stopped fighting.

Josephus lowered his mouth to hers again. This time, there was no violence. Only a deep, consuming gravity that pulled them both under.