AI The door creaked open after the third insistent knock rattled the frame. Aurora gripped the edge, her bright blue eyes narrowing against the dim hallway light spilling from the stairwell. Lucien Moreau stood there, framed like a shadow cut from expensive charcoal wool, his platinum hair slicked back under the flicker of the bare bulb. His heterochromatic gaze—one amber, one black—locked onto hers, unblinking. The ivory-handled cane tapped once against the worn floorboards.
"Rory." His voice rolled low, laced with that Marseille accent, four languages woven into every syllable.
She froze, fingers tightening on the door. The small crescent scar on her left wrist itched under her sleeve, a ghost from childhood that always surfaced in stress. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, slunk between her legs, tail flicking curiosity before he darted back into the flat's chaos of piled books and scattered scrolls.
"What the hell are you doing here, Luc?" Her shoulder-length black hair swung as she leaned forward, blocking the threshold. Heat flushed her cheeks, not from the curry house steam rising below, but from the sight of him—tailored suit hugging his 5'11" frame, that cane she knew hid a blade sharper than his words.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, amber eye catching the light like molten gold. "Eva let slip you'd be here. Research, she said. I need your eyes on something."
"Eva's not here. And neither should you be." Aurora's pulse hammered. Last time they parted—three months back in the fog-choked alley behind Silas' bar—she'd walked away with his taste on her lips and a knife-twist of betrayal in her gut. He'd vanished after that night, no word, while she'd pieced together rumors of his deals in the supernatural underbelly. Attraction had ignited fast then, his half-demon pull magnetic , but the hurt lingered like smoke.
Lucien's lips curved, not quite a smile. He shifted his weight , cane planted firm. "Three deadbolts. Impressive. But I'm not here to chat locks."
She crossed her arms, the door still half-shut. "Then leave. You've got your underworld empire to run."
His black eye darkened, pulling her in like a void. "Empire? That's your word for it. I came because Silas mentioned your deliveries hit a snag—Yu-Fei's routes crossing my... interests. And now you're buried in Eva's mess." He glanced past her, into the cramped flat where notes yellowed on every surface, books teetered in stacks taller than her 5'6" height.
Aurora's jaw clenched . She shouldn't let him in. Should slam the door on the man who'd kissed her senseless one rain-slick night, whispered promises in French, then ghosted when his demon father's realm called. But curiosity clawed—her quick-thinking brain already piecing why he'd track her to Brick Lane.
"Fine. Five minutes." She stepped back, door swinging wide. Ptolemy hissed from atop a scroll pile, fur bristling.
Lucien entered smooth, cane echoing soft on the floor. The space shrank around him—bookshelves groaning under occult tomes, a single bulb casting jagged shadows. He scanned the room, then fixed on a table strewn with Eva's latest: faded maps of Avaros portals, scribbled demon hierarchies.
"You're deep in it." He picked up a brittle scroll, unrolling it with care. His fingers—long, precise—brushed the ink.
Aurora snatched it away, rolling it tight. "Eva's obsession. Not yours. Or mine."
"Isn't it?" Lucien turned, closing the gap. Inches separated them now, his cologne—sandalwood and brimstone—flooding her senses. "You fled Cardiff, ditched Pre-Law, ran from Evan. Landed here, delivering dim sum by day, chasing shadows by night. And me? I show up, we burn hot, then I leave for Avaros business. You think that's coincidence?"
Her breath caught. "You think that's an apology?"
He set the cane against the wall, freeing his hands. "No. Facts. You saw too much that night—my eyes shifting full black, the blade tasting demon blood. You didn't run. You kissed me harder."
Heat coiled low in her belly, traitorous. She remembered: rain plastering her hair, his mouth claiming hers behind the bar, the scar on her wrist brushing his palm as bodies pressed urgent. Then dawn, his abrupt exit, a note scribbled in French she couldn't fully translate. Hurt had festered—abandonment echoing her ex's fists.
"I saw a fixer using a mark." Aurora jabbed his chest, firm under silk shirt. "Information broker playing human girl."
Lucien's hand captured hers, thumb tracing her scar. Electricity sparked. "Playing? I shielded you. My father's realm doesn't forgive leaks."
She yanked free, but stepped closer, defiance sparking blue in her eyes. "Shielded? You vanished. Left me dodging Evan's calls, piecing Eva's warnings about half-demons who seduce and discard."
His laugh came rough, amber eye flaring. "Seduce? You pulled me into that alley, Rory. Your out-of-the-box mind saw through the suit, the cane. Wanted the monster underneath."
Ptolemy leaped to the table, knocking scrolls askew. Aurora ignored him, pulse racing . Lucien's proximity ignited old fire—attraction she'd buried under shifts at Golden Empress, nights above Silas' pounding bass.
"Monster." She tested the word, voice dropping. "Half-demon from Avaros. Speaks four languages, brokers secrets. What do you want here? Really."
He leaned in, breath warm on her neck. "You. Unfinished."
Her heart slammed. Things unsaid surged: the way his touch erased Cardiff ghosts, the hurt of his silence carving deeper than Evan's bruises. She gripped his lapel, black hair falling forward. "Finished enough when you ghosted."
"Needed to." His fingers threaded her hair, tilting her chin. Black eye swallowed light, amber glowed promise. "Avaros pulled—father's summons. Demons don't text apologies."
"Try harder." Aurora's lips brushed his jaw, testing, teasing. The flat's clutter faded—books, cat, deadbolts irrelevant.
Lucien growled low, hands sliding her waist, bunching her shirt. "Missed this. Your fire."
She arched into him, scar tingling under his thumb as it revisited her wrist. "Liar."
"Truth." His mouth hovered over hers, tension crackling. Ptolemy meowed protest from the table, but Lucien deepened the hold, body pinning her against the doorframe. "Hurt you. Regret it."
Words cracked her armor. She surged up, claiming his lips—fierce, demanding. He met her, cane forgotten, hands roaming urgent. Tongues tangled, months of silence exploding in heat. Her fingers dug his slicked-back hair, pulling platinum strands loose.
They broke apart gasping, foreheads pressed. "Why now?" Aurora whispered, voice raw .
"Yu-Fei's routes. Portals opening near them. Eva's notes match Avaros rifts." His amber eye searched hers. "But you first. Always."
She shoved him back a step, breath ragged, attraction warring with caution. Scrolls crunched underfoot. "Business. Figures."
Lucien retrieved his cane, but his free hand lingered on her hip. "Business brought me. You keep me."
Ptolemy batted a map edge, drawing their eyes. Aurora knelt to gather papers, mind whirling—portals, demons, his father's realm. Lucien crouched beside, heterochromatic gaze steady.
"Look." He tapped a symbol: twisting horns matching his cane's ivory handle. "This rift. It's why I left last time. Closing it cost blood."
Her fingers brushed his on the page. "And now?"
"Opens wider. Needs your brain. Your nerve." He stood, offering a hand. She took it, rising into his space again.
Trust flickered , fragile. "Complicated terms, Luc. We burned bright, crashed hard."
He pulled her flush, lips grazing her ear. "Rekindle."
Heat bloomed anew. Aurora's hands fisted his shirt, yanking him down. Their kiss reignited—slower this time, exploring scars and secrets. His cane clattered forgotten; her back hit the cluttered table, scrolls avalanching.
Ptolemy fled to a shelf. Lucien's mouth trailed her neck, teeth grazing. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't." She hooked a leg his waist, pulling tight. Fabric whispered, bodies aligning.
He lifted her effortless , perching her on the table's edge amid chaos. Maps slid to the floor. His hands mapped her curves, reverent, amber eye devouring. "Beautiful storm."
Aurora laughed breathy, nipping his lip. "Flatterer."
"Truth-teller." Fingers dipped under her shirt, tracing ribs, scar. She gasped, arching.
History swirled—attraction's pull undeniable, hurt's edge blunted by need. Unsaid words hung: I waited. I feared. I want.
"Do you trust me now?" Lucien's voice rumbled against her skin.
"Enough." She tugged his tie loose, buttons yielding. Platinum hair fell wild under her assault.
He groaned, reciprocating—shirt peeled away, revealing taut planes marked by faint demonic runes, glowing faint amber. Her palms explored, memorizing.
The flat pulsed around them: curry scents wafting up, deadbolts secure, books silent witnesses. Ptolemy watched from afar, tail swishing judgment.
Lucien's cane rolled underfoot as he pressed between her thighs. Tension coiled tighter, kisses bruising. "Rory..."
She silenced him, fingers in his hair. Fire built, uncomplicated in the moment.
A distant thud—Eva's key in the outer lock?—froze them. But no, just settling floorboards.
He chuckled dark. "Eva times her entrances."
Aurora grinned wicked, shoving his jacket off. "Later."
Their rhythm resumed, hands urgent, breaths mingling. Attraction won, hurt suspended. Unsaid promises sealed in touch.
She traced his black eye, thumb gentle. "Stay this time."
"Try stopping me." Lucien captured her wrist, kissing the scar. Heat escalated, table creaking protest.
Bodies entwined amid lore's wreckage, past colliding present. Romance unfurled raw—attraction's blaze consuming doubts.
His mouth found hers again, deeper. Her nails raked his back, runes flaring brighter.
Ptolemy yawned from the shelf.
They ignored him, lost in reclamation.