#elyon ts

You had heard about Elyon; the rich brothel owner and floral virtuoso, but never actually met him. His influence and abilities in negotiation had helped and meddled in your affairs in the past, having kept you from losing far more than coin.

The brothel was louder than you’d expected, laughter and music bleeding through the velvet-draped halls. When you slipped through the side door and up into the private chambers, you’d thought you were being clever; brave even. Or maybe plain stupid.

Instead, you’d been intercepted.

Sooner than you'd realise, your wrists burned against silk rope, the knots clever enough that every tug only tightened them. The room smelled faintly of musk and spice, the intoxicating tingle in the back of your throat made it hard to focus.

The door opened.

He was taller than you’d imagined—perhaps as tall as Kuras, though Elyon carried himself differently; like a serpent at ease in its coils. Raven-black hair spilled down his shoulders, gleaming brunette where candlelight touched it. His eyes caught you off guard, shining an unnatural, burning blue, too vivid to be anything human. A tail, long and scaled, and thick enough to rattle the floorboards swept lazily behind him.

When he smiled at yo, sharp canines glinted.

Shit.

“My apologies, Mx. Traveler, for the… rough treatment.” Elyon say smoothly, looking more amused rather than apologetic. “Unfortunate timing, really.” His gaze dipped, lingering on your tied wrists, then flicked back up with a smirk that made your pulse hammer.

“Still, since you’ve gone through all the trouble of breaking into my private chambers…” A scaled hand trailed along the arm of your chair, claws tapping lightly near your skin but never touching. “Perhaps we should discuss exactly what it is you came here to beg of me.”

You swallowed hard, the ropes cutting into your skin as you shifted. “Beg?” you echoed, trying for defiance, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Elyon let out a rich chuckle, leaning close enough that the sweep of his hair nearly brushed your cheek. “You see, my men thought you were an intruder. A threat.” His tail swept the floor again, as though punctuating each of his words. “Someone bold enough to invite themselves into my private sanctum? That kind of audacity intrigues me.” His eyes searched your face like he was peeling away your defenses piece by piece.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Elyon’s smile deepened, pleased. “Ah,” he breathed, a purr rolling in his throat, “speechless. I rather like you this way.”

Something heavy brushed your ankle. You stiffened, only to realize his tail had slid across the floor and was curling sinuously around your legs, winding its way higher and higher. The cool weight pressed firmly against you, coiling tighter with each shallow breath you took.

“You see,” he continued softly, as if confiding in you, “power is not always teeth and money. Sometimes it's words, charm or simply…” The tail forced your knees apart just slightly, “…proximity.”

Something was wrong—terribly wrong. Aside from being tied up and in his mercy, obviously. The air was heavy, too heavy, every inhale pulling the musky spice deeper into your lungs until your whole body felt flushed, fever-hot and making you salivate absentmindedly.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Elyon taunted, mouth sweeping over your throat, hotter than fire. Your body arched helplessly.

He laughed softly, and you finally noticed the source of the smell; light, almost invisible smoke rose between his teeth and into the room.

“Mm, that’s it; dragons don’t need to touch to claim.” Another exhale, hotter, and your vision blurred. “Our fire gets under your skin, into your blood. Until you break…”

The last word rolled through you, and with it your body fell apart completely, arching, shaking and still tied up.