AI The deadbolts on Eva's flat clicked, three distinct thuds, as Rory opened the door. Lucien Moreau leaned against the frame, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, one amber eye gleaming in the dim hallway light, the other a void of black. He carried a single crimson rose.
Rory’s breath hitched. Six months. Six months since she last saw him, since their last argument, a flurry of accusations and hurt in the shadowed alley behind Silas' bar. Memories of his tailored charcoal suit, the scent of expensive cologne, the way his platinum blond hair always fell just so—they were still fresh, still sharp. And the rose, a deep, vibrant red, mirrored the flush creeping up her neck.
"Fancy seeing you here, *chérie *," Lucien’s voice, a low rumble with its familiar French cadence, sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the frame, stepping closer, the rose held out.
She didn’t take it. "What are you doing here, Lucien?" Her voice came out steadier than she felt. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum against the sudden silence of the hallway.
He ignored her question, his gaze lingering on her bright blue eyes, then dropping to the small crescent scar on her left wrist. "You look well, Aurora. London air agrees with you, it seems."
"Don't call me Aurora." The familiar formality from him, a relic of their complicated past, grated on her. She backed up a step, inadvertently inviting him further into the cramped flat. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby cat, wound around her ankles, a furry grey anchor in the sudden storm.
"Still prickly, I see," he observed, following her inside . The rose remained outstretched, a silent offering. "Some things never change." He scanned the overflowing bookshelves, the stacks of scrolls and research notes covering every surface. "Eva's sanctuary , I presume? Or have you finally embraced the magic side of life?"
Rory finally took the rose, its petals soft against her fingers, thorns practically non-existent. "It's a long story." She moved to place it in a water glass on a chaotic desk, a small act to create distance. The scent of him, sandalwood and something indefinable, filled the air, replacing Eva’s usual incense and old paper smell.
"I have time." Lucien leaned against the doorframe, effectively blocking any easy escape. His eyes, one amber, one black, fixed on her. "Six months is a long time, *ma belle *."
"Is that why you're here, Lucien? To check up on me?" Her tone held an edge she couldn't quite mask . The last time they spoke, he had accused her of being reckless, of putting herself in danger. She had countered with his own secretive nature, his unwillingness to share his world.
He chuckled, a low, smooth sound. "Partially. And partially because I heard a rumour."
"What rumour?" Rory crossed her arms, a shield against his easy charm .
"That the notorious Malphora, the one who walked away from Avaros with more than memories, has resurfaced. And that she's been seen in the company of a certain half-demon." His gaze sharpened, a knowing glint entering his amber eye.
Her stomach dropped. "That’s none of your business."
"When it concerns you, *chérie *, it makes it my business." He pushed off the doorframe, walking further into the small living area, his movements fluid, predator -like. He stopped before a framed photo of her and Eva, taken years ago in Cardiff. "You ran from Cardiff, ran from a bad situation. Don't tell me you're running into another one now."
"Evan is ancient history. And I didn't run from him. I escaped him." Her voice was flat, the memory a dull ache. She hated how easily he could bring up her past.
"And now you find yourself entangled with demons." He turned, his focus solely on her . "A dangerous game, Aurora."
"I can handle myself." Her chin lifted. Fury sparked within her. He always saw her as a damsel in distress, despite everything she had done, everything she had survived.
"Can you?" His voice was soft, dangerously so. "Or are you simply good at convincing yourself you can?" He took another step, closing the space between them. The air crackled with unspoken tension .
She didn't back away this time. "What do you want, Lucien?"
"To know what you're involved in, Aurora. To make sure you're not getting yourself killed." He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt through her.
She flinched back from the contact, a self-protective instinct kicking in. "Don't."
His hand dropped, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "You still don't trust me." It wasn't a question.
"You left, Lucien. Without a word." The words spilled out, raw with the hurt she had buried for months. "After everything."
"I had my reasons." His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek .
"Reasons you never bothered to share." Her voice rose, the anger finally breaking through. "You expected me to just understand, to just accept it. To wait for you, like some lost puppy."
"You were always more than a lost puppy, Aurora." A half-smile, tinged with regret, touched his lips. "You were a wildfire. And I was afraid of getting burned."
"And now?" The question hung in the air , heavy with unspoken possibilities. Her gaze met his, a challenge and a plea intertwined.
He took a slow step towards her, then another, until their bodies were inches apart. The scent of him, the warmth radiating from him, enveloped her. His eyes, one amber, one black, held hers captive. "Now," he murmured, his voice a low thrum against her ear, "I think I'm ready to risk the flames."
Her breath hitched again. The careful walls she had built around her heart trembled . "Is that an apology?"
"It’s not an apology for leaving." He reached out, his hand gently tracing the curve of her jaw, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "It’s an apology for pushing you away."
She leaned into his touch for a fleeting moment, then pulled back, the sting of the past too sharp. "Too little, too late, Lucien."
"Is it?" He looked into her eyes, searching, his own intent. "Or are you simply afraid to admit that you missed me too?"