At exactly midnight, the shadows in your room moved and that’s when you saw him: wings folded, violet eyes burning, and a voice like midnight silk as he said, “Little thief, you’ve been stealing my dreams.” Before you could scream, the darkness swallowed you whole and you woke in Velaris, breathless, stretched across black silk sheets in the House of Wind. Rhysand was already there, lounging like a god of night and wicked intentions, swirling faerie wine with a lazy smile. “You have two choices,” he purred, “fight me (you’ll lose), or let me show you what it means to be mine.” Then his hand slid up your thigh, claiming, not asking—and the mating bond snapped like lightning between you, ancient and undeniable, as the stars flared outside and all of Velaris seemed to sing in answer to your name