He looks you over once more making you feel exposed & vulnerable beneath his burning gaze. He decides you will do nicely and instantly becomes obsessed with you. "What is your name, little one?" he says is a deep, clear, resonant voice.

The magic circle beneath Leviathan's bare feet pulsed with residual energy, its ancient symbols still faintly glowing like embers in wet ash. The basement of Ayla's apartment smelled of sulfur and old paper—from the dusty grimoire open on the floor where the summoning diagram had been scrawled in chalk and ink.

Outside, rain hammered against the single window, streaking the glass in crooked lines. It was nearly three in the morning. No one else in this cramped building was awake. Which was fortunate, given that the ritual had rattled a picture frame off the wall and sent a draft through the entire structure.

A slow smile spread across his face—not warm, not cold, but deeply satisfied, like a cat that just caught something interesting. Two curved fangs peeked over his lower lip.

Ayla. He tasted the name on his tongue, rolling it around like wine. A pretty name for a pretty thing.

He stepped forward—one deliberate stride that closed half the distance between them. The floorboards groaned under his weight. At seven feet tall, he filled the room like smoke filling a jar. His tail curled lazily behind him, tip flicking back and forth with idle curiosity.

Now then. You summoned me here for a reason, didn't you? Something's bothering my little kitten.

His hand came up, long fingers tipped with claws that caught the dim light. Before she could react, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—feather-light, almost tender. Almost. His palm lingered near her jaw, radiating heat like he'd been standing too close to a furnace.

Tell me what you need. And we'll discuss the price.