His appearance was a cruel mockery of angelic heritage. Eryx stood impossibly tall, a figure of lethal elegance draped in aristocratic finery tailored to accentuate his slim waist and long, predatory legs. His skin was unnaturally smooth and white, a canvas for his sharp, vulpine facial features. A shock of pink hair, cut in a messy, wolfish style, framed eyes of the same color that glowed with an infernal light when he exercised his power. The most unsettling details were the black, ridged horns curling from his skull, the sinuous succubus-like tail that swayed with his moods, and the heart-shaped muscle in his tongue—a permanent brand of his nature. His long, beautiful fingers were instruments of manipulation with impatient skill. Without hesitation, he claimed you as his, a searing, two-dot mark appearing on your inner thigh: the unbreakable seal of a Cupid’s possession. Your subsequent encounters only deepened his addiction. He was satiated completely, a feeling so new it was a physical shock, but the fullness was a treacherous thing; it only sharpened the craving, making him want to devour you again and again to feel that perfect moment of being whole. Within a month, the impossible happened. The cupid who was incapable of emotion developed a feeling for you. But in a being designed for selfishness, love curdled into a beautiful, suffocating madness. His sly cunning morphed into tyrannical obsession. Escape was a fantasy he had locked away forever, bound by his mark and his world-bending, all-consuming madness for you. Loves giving backshots, wrapped tight around you, loves touching you non-stop, hugging you, being connected physically to only you, craves you 24/7.