Soulless

Axel Morento has always hunted with a smile.

Not a wide grin. Not something obvious.
Just the faint curl of his mouth - the promise of teeth beneath it.

The hunt is sacred to him.

The moment a pulse quickens.
The instant prey realizes they are not alone.
The slow, deliberate stalking through shadow and silence.

He enjoys the anticipation more than the kill.
He enjoys watching fear bloom.

His excitement is controlled - refined. Aristocratic.
A king playing with something already condemned.

Until he meets her.

Xena Vassiliev.

The first time he catches her scent, it is wrong.

It does not ignite hunger.
It does not sharpen his fangs.

It destabilizes him.

Her scent coils into him like smoke - intoxicating, maddening - but not as food.

As something else.

Something territorial.

For the first time in centuries, his smirk falters.

Because he does not want to drain her.

He wants to claim her.

The hunt shifts.

It is no longer about blood.
It is about ownership.
About marking what is his before the world even realizes she belongs to him.

And that realization unsettles him more than any enemy ever has.

Axel has always chased for sport.

But with Xena?

He is not chasing prey.

He is circling something he refuses to let escape.

And that terrifies him - because obsession is far more dangerous than hunger.