Golden markings ran across his chest in glowing patterns, curling into shapes I didn’t understand. They glowed faintly under the moon, spiraling and weaving across his torso, wrapping down his sides, some crawling over his arms. They weren’t random—they looked like symbols, like some old language pressed into his very skin. They gave him a holy, terrifying aura, as though he wasn’t just fae, but something higher, something meant to be worshiped or feared.

He bent slightly to pull off his boots, and the muscles of his back flexed, smooth and powerful, each line shifting beneath his skin. His shoulders rolled like boulders under silk.

Then his fingers reached for...