FREE USE in Primitive World-Chapter 287: Honey Trap?

"No matter how great, you are an outsider. I know you are grateful, you’re grateful, but you’re a guest and guests leave. she whispered, reaching out with a slender, delicate hand. Her fingertips traced the hard line of his jaw, her touch surprisingly soft, sending a cascade of warm, tingling sparks across his skin. "You owe us no blood. You owe us no loyalty. The enemies are coming. The deep-rot horrors are waking up.

Soon, the walls will be tested. And when the beasts hit these walls, when the Zerith bring their horrors, what’s to stop you from just... vanishing? You have the speed of the wind now. You could be miles away before the first gate falls."

She trailed her fingers down his neck, her touch leaving a path of heat. "I can’t let that happen. This tribe is my home. My life. And you... you’re the only thing that can save it."

She leaned back just enough to look him in the eye. Her expression was a mix of sultry confidence and a dark, obsessive hunger. "I’m not like Kira. I don’t want to just follow you into battle. I want to be the reason you stay. I want to mark you, Sol. I want your scent to be mine, and mine to be yours."

Sol didn’t pull away. He played the part perfectly. He let his silver-crimson eyes trail over her incredible figure, acting the role of the mesmerized, lust-driven young warrior. He allowed his breathing to hitch slightly, exactly as a normal man would. "I told the Warchief I would fight. I don’t run from a battle."

She smoothly swung one long, bare leg over his lap, straddling his waist. The sheer physical proximity of her body, the undeniable, overwhelming heat radiating from her Flame Core, was incredibly distracting.

She was a master of primitive seduction, effortlessly weaponizing her own overwhelming presence and aligning her metaphysical wavelength to make him feel comfortable, pliant, and desired.

She leaned down, her mouth finding his neck. Her kisses were hot, urgent, and possessive. Her hands moved to the ties of his trousers, her fingers nimble and determined.

Things were heating up at a terrifying pace. The physical sensation of her grinding slowly against his lap, the intoxicating smell, the sheer, unadulterated primal lust she was projecting... it was a flawless honey trap.

Any normal man, especially a young, blooded warrior riding the high of anchoring a Sovereign, would have completely lost his mind right then and there. He would have thrown her onto the furs and taken exactly what was being offered, thanking the Goddess for his good fortune.

Of course, Sol’s heart rate also spiked, the physical response nearly overriding his caution. The sensation of her body against his was intoxicating, her logic sharp and aggressive. She was claiming him, not as a lover, but as a permanent asset for herself and the Veynar.

But Sol was a transmigrator. He was an anomaly who looked at the sky and saw nine moons while the rest of the world saw one. He was naturally, inherently, and terminally suspicious of everything that seemed too good to be true.

As she kissed his neck, Sol’s Golden Liquid surged, acting as an internal, metaphysical lie detector. He didn’t just feel her body, he felt the flow of her essence. He felt the rapid, erratic fluttering of her heartbeat pressing against his chest.

She’s genuinely offering herself, Sol analyzed coldly, cleanly separating his physical arousal from his mental calculation. She isn’t holding a hidden dagger. There is zero killing intent in her aura. The Green-Viper in her core is totally subdued. But... her heart is beating like a rabbit caught in a snare. It’s not the erratic flutter of lust or passion. It’s the heavy, dreadful pounding of someone walking to an execution block.

Just as she reached the final knot, moving to initiate the final, crucial step of the physical union, Sol moved.

His hands, which had been resting casually on her waist, suddenly shot up. With blinding, Dreadwing-enhanced speed, he caught both of her slender wrists in an iron grip, stopping her dead in her tracks.

Zeyra gasped, her dark eyes flying wide open in shock. The sudden, violent shift in physical power shattered the seductive atmosphere instantly.

"Sol?" she breathed, trying to inject a note of hurt, breathless confusion into her sultry voice. She pulled slightly against his grip, but his hands were like immovable steel vises. "What is it? Did I do something wrong? Do I not please you?"

Sol didn’t smile. He didn’t play along anymore. He stared directly into her eyes, his silver-crimson pupils glowing with a cold, terrifying, and absolute authority that made the Green-Viper in her core instantly cower in submission.

"Your act is flawless, Zeyra," Sol said, his voice entirely devoid of lust. It was flat, analytical, and sharp as an obsidian scalpel. "The perfume, the silk, the precise manipulation of your Flame Core’s ambient heat to trigger a biological response. You aligned your wavelength perfectly. It’s a masterful display of primitive espionage. But you made one critical mistake."

Zeyra froze. The seductive flush on her cheeks drained away, replaced by a sudden, stark pallor. "I... I don’t know what you mean. I am offering myself to—"

"You’re not here for a night of passion, Zeyra. You’re offering a sacrifice," Sol interrupted harshly, his grip tightening just enough to let her know she was entirely at his mercy. "I can hear your heart, Zeyra. It’s beating like a soldier marching into a slaughterhouse, not a lover entering a bedchamber. You’re terrified."

He leaned forward, reversing their positions, using his superior strength and heavier body weight to push her backward until she was pinned flat against the plush white fur pelt. He hovered over her, his imposing silhouette blocking out the light of the fire pit.

Zeyra didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. The "yandere" obsession in her eyes flared bright. "So what if I am? You have no partner. You have no roots here. Why shouldn’t I be the one to give them to you? I’m one of the strongest women of my generation. I’m the only one who can handle the weight of what you’re carrying. I want you, Sol. I want the strongest man to belong to me. Is that so wrong?"