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    Summary

    He moved again, and this time Anakin was ready, but ready wasn’t enough. The man was fast, impossibly fast, and before Anakin could swing his saber, a cold hand clamped over his wrist and squeezed. The saber clattered to the ground. Another hand grabbed his jaw, forcing his head back, and the man leaned in close—close enough that Anakin could see the veins of black ink trailing up his neck, could smell the iron-and-sweetness of his breath.

    Those golden eyes dropped to Anakin’s throat, where his pulse was hammering like a trapped bird. The man’s smile widened, revealing the sharp points of his fangs.

    “Now, now,” he murmured, his thumb stroking along Anakin’s jaw in a gesture that was almost tender. “Let’s not be hasty. I’ve been asleep for a very long time, and you’re the first lovely thing I’ve seen in millennia. Surely we can come to some sort of…” He tilted his head, considering. “...Arrangement.”

    Anakin’s heart was pounding so hard he could barely think. “What kind of arrangement?”

    Written for Day 13 of Topwan Week(s): Free Day

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