AI The door swung open with a creak that echoed through the cramped hallway, and Rory froze, her hand still gripping the knob. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, darted between her legs and vanished into the pile of scrolls on the floor. Curry scents from the shop below wafted up, mixing with the musty odor of old books. She stared at the figure on the threshold, his platinum blond hair slicked back under the dim bulb, one amber eye catching the light while the black one swallowed it whole.
Lucien Moreau stood there, impeccable in his tailored charcoal suit, ivory-handled cane tapping once against the worn doormat. Rain streaked his shoulders, London drizzle clinging to him like an unwanted memory. His gaze locked on hers, that heterochromatic stare pulling her back to nights she'd fought to forget.
"Rory." His voice cut through the air, smooth as French wine, laced with the accent that once made her pulse race . "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or perhaps a demon."
She didn't step aside. Her bright blue eyes narrowed , fingers tightening on the door. The small crescent scar on her left wrist itched, a phantom reminder of childhood falls—and more recent wounds. "Lucien. What the hell are you doing here?"
He leaned on his cane, the movement casual, but his black eye flickered with something sharper. "Charming as ever. Eva's out, I presume? Her notes on Avaros demons scattered everywhere—sloppy, even for her."
Rory glanced behind her at the chaos of books and parchments covering every surface, the three deadbolts gleaming on the inside of the door she'd just unlocked. Eva had begged her to cat-sit while she chased some lead in Edinburgh, leaving Rory to crash here on Brick Lane instead of her own flat above Silas' bar. Safer, Eva had said. Fewer surprises. Irony bit hard now.
"She didn't mention any visitors. Especially not you." Rory crossed her arms, blocking the entry. Her straight black hair fell across one shoulder, still damp from the shower she'd taken to wash away the day's deliveries from Golden Empress. Grease and exhaustion clung to her like fog, but Lucien's presence sharpened everything.
He tilted his head, rain dripping from his collar. "And yet here I am. Unannounced, as always. May I come in? Or do we conduct reunions on doorsteps now?"
Reunions. The word twisted in her gut. She remembered the last time—his flat in Soho, arguments flaring over his secrets, his half-demon blood that pulled him into shadows she couldn't follow. Attraction had burned hot, his touch igniting sparks she'd never known, but hurt followed, words unsaid piling up like unpaid bills. He'd vanished after that fight, leaving her with echoes of "It's for your own good" and a void that stung worse than Evan's fists ever had.
"Depends on why you're here." She held her ground, voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. Cool-headed, that's what they called her. Quick thinker. But Lucien always unraveled that.
His amber eye softened, just a fraction. "Information. The kind that saves lives. Yours, specifically." He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and smoke—invading her space. "Or have you forgotten the bounties circling your name since you tangled with those Avaros thugs?"
She swallowed. The supernatural underworld had crashed into her life months ago, courtesy of Eva's research dragging her in. Lucien had been her guide then, his knowledge a lifeline. But tangling with him meant more—stolen kisses in alleyways, his hands tracing her scars like they were maps to hidden treasures. Then the complications: his father's realm calling him back, her fear of another abusive trap like Evan. Things left unsaid, like how much she craved his chaos.
"Fine. But make it quick." She stepped back, letting the door widen. Ptolemy meowed from atop a stack of scrolls, eyeing Lucien warily .
He entered, cane clicking on the scuffed floorboards. The flat felt smaller with him in it, bookshelves groaning under tomes on occult lore, notes pinned to walls like frantic confessions. He shrugged off his wet jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door. Underneath, his shirt clung slightly , outlining the lean muscles she remembered too well.
"Tea? Or something stronger?" She moved to the tiny kitchenette, avoiding his gaze. Pots clanged as she filled the kettle, water rushing to drown the silence .
"Tea suits. Black, no sugar." He settled on the edge of the sagging sofa, cane balanced across his knees. His fingers traced the ivory handle, where she knew a blade hid. "You've changed your hair. Shorter now. Suits you."
She shot him a look over her shoulder. "Don't. We're not doing small talk."
His laugh rumbled low, genuine. "Always direct. One of the things I missed."
Missed. The word hung there. She slammed the kettle on the stove, flame igniting with a whoosh. Heat crept up her neck, not from the burner. "You missed? That's rich, coming from the man who disappeared without a word. Left me to clean up the mess with those demons alone."
He stood, crossing the room in three strides. Close now, too close. "I left to protect you. Avaros isn't a playground, Rory. My blood ties me there—demands I answer calls you can't imagine."
She spun, facing him. Inches apart, his height towered just enough to make her tilt her chin. "Protect me? By ghosting? We had something, Lucien. Attraction that lit fires, sure, but you hurt me. Left things unsaid, like cowards do."
His black eye darkened further, amber one blazing. "Cowards? I fought my own father to keep you out of it. Told him you were nothing, a fleeting human distraction. Lies to shield you."
Her breath caught. The scar on her wrist throbbed as she grabbed his shirt front, pulling him nearer. "Lies? That's all I was?"
"No." His hand covered hers, warm against the fabric. "You were everything. Are everything. But admitting that... it would have dragged you under."
The kettle whistled, shrill and insistent. She ignored it, pulse hammering. Hurt churned with the old attraction, his nearness stirring embers she'd buried. His heterochromatic eyes searched hers, vulnerable in a way she'd rarely seen.
"Then say it now." Her voice dropped, challenge lacing every word. "No more unsaid bullshit."
He released her hand, but didn't step back. Instead, his fingers brushed her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw. "I love you, Rory. Loved you then, when I walked away to keep you safe. Love you now, showing up like a fool in the rain."
The admission hit like a punch, stealing her air. She surged forward, lips crashing into his. He responded instantly, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him. The kiss tasted of rain and regret, his mouth hungry, claiming what they'd denied too long. She tangled fingers in his slicked-back hair, disrupting the perfect style, while his cane clattered to the floor forgotten.
They broke apart, breathing ragged. "That what you came for?" She pressed her forehead to his, voice husky.
"Part of it." He smiled, crooked and real. "But the information—real threats closing in. Demons sniffing around Eva's research, your name attached."
She pulled back slightly , hands still on his chest. "Tell me. All of it. No holding back this time."
He nodded, guiding her to the sofa. They sat, thighs touching, the air charged . Ptolemy jumped onto the armrest, purring as if approving . Lucien began, voice weaving tales of Avaros incursions, bounties placed by his father's rivals. "They know you broke their summoning circle last month. Eva's notes led you there, but my world doesn't forget."
She listened, mind racing with out-of-the-box plans, the quick thinking that defined her. "Then we hit back. Together. No more parting on complicated terms."
His hand found hers, intertwining fingers. "Together. But first..."
He kissed her again, slower this time, exploring. She melted into it, the hurt fading under waves of rediscovered heat. His free hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, while she traced the line of his heterochromatic eyes with her gaze, memorizing the contrast.
The kettle's whistle had died, steam clouding the window. Outside, Brick Lane buzzed with evening crowds, curry aromas thickening. Inside, they talked between kisses—plans forming, unsaid words spilling out. He confessed the nights he'd watched over her from shadows, protecting without her knowing. She admitted the void his absence left, how Evan's abuse paled compared to losing him.
"You fled Cardiff for London, for safety." His lips brushed her ear. "I fled you for the same reason. Foolish."
"Not foolish." She nipped his neck, eliciting a sharp intake. "Human."
"Half-human." He chuckled, shifting to pin her gently against the sofa cushions . Books tumbled to the floor, ignored. His weight pressed down, familiar and thrilling, as hands roamed.
Attraction reignited, fierce and unyielding. She arched into him, whispers turning to moans. The flat's chaos faded, leaving only them—history unraveling into something new.
Hours slipped by in tangled limbs and shared breaths. He mapped her body with kisses, lingering on the crescent scar, murmuring in French words she didn't need translated. She explored him in return, fingers dancing over old scars from Avaros battles, each touch a promise.
"You stayed away too long." She lay beside him later, sheets twisted around them on the narrow bed Eva usually claimed.
"Never again." His amber eye glowed in the low light, black one a void pulling her in.
They dressed slowly , reality creeping back with the threats he'd outlined. Plans solidified over cold tea, her intelligence meshing with his underworld savvy. Demons loomed , but now they faced them as one.
Ptolemy curled at their feet, tail flicking. Rain pattered against the window, a steady rhythm matching their synced heartbeats.
"Tell me about Marseille." She leaned against him, voice soft in the afterglow. "Your mother, your life before all this."
He obliged, stories flowing—sun-drenched streets, a human woman who loved a demon, the pull of two worlds. She shared her own: Cardiff rains, her father's courtroom battles, her mother's lessons, the escape from Evan that led her here.
Unsaid things dissolved, replaced by truths. Hurt lingered, but attraction bridged it, forging something stronger.
As night deepened, he rose, retrieving his cane. "I should go. Contacts to reach, before dawn."
She grabbed his arm. "Stay. Just tonight."
He hesitated, then set the cane down. "For you, always."
They fell back into bed, bodies entwining once more. Sleep came eventually, wrapped in each other's arms, the flat's bookish clutter a cocoon around their rekindled flame.