AI Aurora twisted the final deadbolt with a click that echoed through the narrow hallway. The scent of cumin and garlic from the curry house below seeped up through the floorboards, mingling with the musty tang of old paper from the stacks of books teetering on every surface. She yanked the door open, expecting Eva's familiar grin or perhaps a delivery mix-up from her own shifts at the Golden Empress.
Lucien Moreau stood there, framed by the dim glow of the streetlamp on Brick Lane. His platinum blond hair caught the light, slicked back as always, and his charcoal suit hung sharp against the evening chill . One amber eye gleamed, the other black as pitch, fixed on her with that unblinking intensity that always made her pulse stutter. He leaned on his ivory-handled cane, the tip planted firm on the worn stoop.
"Rory," he said, voice low and laced with that French lilt , like smoke curling from a hidden fire. He didn't smile, but his gaze traced her face, lingered on the black strands falling across her forehead.
She gripped the doorframe, knuckles whitening. Last time they'd crossed paths, three months back in a shadowed Soho alley, words had flown like knives—accusations about secrets he kept, risks she couldn't stomach in this underworld tangle of demons and deals. Attraction had sparked then, hot and forbidden, but hurt followed, sharp as the blade hidden in that cane of his. Things left unsaid piled up like the scrolls cluttering Eva's coffee table. She thought she'd buried it all when she bolted back to her flat above Silas' bar, throwing herself into deliveries and dodging the supernatural whispers.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Her blue eyes narrowed, but she couldn't stop the flicker of heat low in her belly, the way his presence filled the doorway like he owned the night.
He tilted his head, amber eye catching a glint from the hallway bulb. "I need to speak with you. Alone."
"Eva's not here." She crossed her arms, the crescent scar on her wrist peeking from her sleeve, a pale reminder of simpler days. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, slunk from behind a tower of arcane texts, rubbing against her calf before eyeing the intruder with a low hiss.
Lucien's black eye followed the cat's path, then returned to her. "This isn't about Eva. It's about us. Or what remains."
She laughed, short and bitter, stepping back but not closing the door. The flat's chaos spilled into view—books splayed open on the floor, notes scribbled in Eva's frantic hand about wards and realms. "Us? There is no us, Luc. You made that clear when you vanished after that mess with the Avaros contact. I waited, you know. Like a fool."
He shifted his weight, cane tapping once against the threshold. The sound reverberated , pulling memories: his hand on her waist in that rain-slicked alley, breath warm against her neck as he murmured promises in French she pretended not to understand. Hurt twisted in her chest now, raw as fresh cuts. "I had to protect you. My world—it's not yours to bleed for."
"Bullshit." She jabbed a finger toward his chest, stopping short of the wool of his suit. "You could've said that then. Instead, you left me with questions and a half-demon mess on my doorstep. I fled Cardiff for this? For ghosts like you?"
Ptolemy leaped onto a nearby shelf, knocking a scroll free. It unrolled across the floor, revealing faded runes that glowed faintly in the low light. Lucien glanced down, then stepped inside without invitation, his polished shoes brushing the edge of the paper. The door swung shut behind him with a soft thud, sealing the cramped space between them.
The air thickened, charged like the moments before a storm. Aurora backed toward the kitchenette, where a kettle sat cold on the counter amid Eva's herb bundles. Her heart hammered, betraying the cool she aimed for. At 5'6", she met his gaze level, but his 5'11" frame loomed , filling the room's every corner.
He set his cane against the wall, the ivory handle glinting . "I came because I can't stop thinking of you. That night—the way your mind cut through the lies, sharper than any blade. And the way you looked at me, Rory, like I was more than the fixer in the shadows."
She swallowed, throat dry. Attraction coiled tight, pulling her toward him despite the ache. "You think pretty words fix the hurt? I trusted you. Let you in, after Evan, after everything. And you shut me out."
Lucien closed the distance in two strides, stopping just shy of her space. His heterochromatic eyes locked on hers—one warm amber, promising secrets; the other void-black, swallowing light. "Evan was human poison. I'm something else. But I never meant to wound you." His hand rose, hesitated, then brushed a strand of her straight black hair behind her ear. The touch lingered, electric .
She shivered, blue eyes flashing. Things unsaid bubbled up—how she'd craved his world, the thrill of outsmarting demons with her quick thinking, even as fear clawed at her. "Then why now? Why show up at Eva's door like some uninvited specter?"
"Because the underworld's stirring. Avaros whispers reach London, and your name's tangled in them." He leaned closer, breath mingling with hers, carrying a faint hint of clove from whatever cologne he favored. "But that's not why I'm here. I need to know if there's still fire between us."
Aurora's fingers twitched, aching to trace the line of his jaw, to feel the stubble she'd imagined in lonely nights above Silas' bar. Hurt warred with want, but she didn't pull away. "Fire? You doused it when you left. Or did you forget the argument? The way you said I was too fragile for your games?"
His amber eye softened, black one intensifying the pull. "I lied to push you away. For your safety." Lucien cupped her cheek, thumb grazing her skin, rougher than his suits suggested. Ptolemy yowled from the shelf, but they ignored him, the world narrowing to this charged inch between.
She grabbed his wrist, not to stop him, but to hold him there . The scar on her own wrist pressed against his pulse . "Lies build walls, Luc. And I'm tired of climbing them."
"Then tear it down." His voice dropped, a rumble that vibrated through her. He closed the gap, lips brushing hers—not a claim, but a question . Soft at first, tasting of regret and longing, then deeper as she responded, her free hand fisting his lapel.
Aurora kissed him back, fierce, pouring the unsaid into the press of mouths. Hurt lingered in the edges, but attraction flared, hot and undeniable. She tasted salt—tears? His or hers? Didn't matter. The flat's clutter faded, books and scrolls mere backdrop to the heat building.
He pulled her closer, hands sliding to her waist, bunching the fabric of her shirt. She broke the kiss, gasping against his neck. "This doesn't erase the past."
"No." Lucien rested his forehead against hers, breath ragged. "But it starts something new. If you'll let it."
Ptolemy jumped down, weaving between their legs, but Aurora barely noticed. Her mind raced , out-of-the-box paths forming: trust him again, dive into his world, or slam the door on both. She traced the line of his collar, feeling the steady thump beneath. "Tell me everything. No more secrets."
He nodded, amber eye gleaming with promise. "From the beginning. Marseille nights, my father's realm— all of it."
They sank onto the sagging sofa amid the research notes, his arm around her shoulders, her head against his chest. The three deadbolts held the world out, but inside, words flowed—history unpacked, attraction reignited. Hurt ebbed, not gone, but softened by the weight of his hand in hers .
Hours slipped by, the curry house below quieting. Aurora listened as Lucien spoke of Avaros, his voice weaving tales of fire and shadow. She interjected with questions, her intelligence slicing through ambiguities, drawing truths he'd guarded. Ptolemy curled at their feet, purring now, as if approving the fragile bridge they built .
When dawn crept through the grimy window, painting the books in gold, she turned to him. "Stay."
Lucien kissed her temple, cane forgotten by the door. "As long as you want."
The flat, once a sanctuary of solitude, hummed with possibility. Attraction pulsed between them, hurt a scar like the one on her wrist—faint, but part of the story. Things left unsaid hung no longer; instead, they shaped the words yet to come.
She stood, pulling him toward the bedroom, the cramped space no barrier. His suit jacket hit the floor first, then her shirt, revealing the curve of her shoulder. Lucien's hands explored, reverent, tracing paths of fire across her skin. Blue eyes met heterochromatic ones, locking in silent vow.
They tumbled onto the bed, sheets tangled with Eva's forgotten journals. Kisses deepened, bodies aligning in rhythm born of pent-up need. Aurora arched beneath him, nails digging into his back, drawing a groan that echoed her own sighs. The world outside Brick Lane faded; here, in this haven of books and secrets, they reclaimed what complication had stolen.
Sweat-slicked and breathless, they lay entwined after, his platinum hair mussed against her pillow. She traced his cane's hiding spot on the floor with her gaze, then back to him. "We're in this now. Demons and all."
He smiled, first real one she'd seen, amber eye warm. "Together."
The tabby cat leaped onto the bed, claiming space between them, but neither minded. Dawn fully broke, illuminating the runes on the fallen scroll—symbols of protection, apt for the bond reforming in the light.
Aurora's mind whirred with plans: deliveries by day, underworld nights with him. Hurt had forged strength; attraction promised more. The door that opened to complication now led to redemption, one whispered truth at a time.
As the sun climbed, they dressed slowly , fingers lingering. Lucien retrieved his cane, but left it leaning by the bed. "I'll return tonight."
She nodded, blue eyes steady. "I expect details on that Avaros stir."
He chuckled, pulling her into one last kiss—fierce, sealing the pact. The deadbolts clicked open as he left, but the flat felt less empty, charged with echo of what they'd begun.
Aurora watched him vanish down Brick Lane, heart full. History rewritten, not erased. The romance, complicated as ever, bloomed anew.