AI The door creaked open on rusted hinges, releasing a puff of stale air laced with curry spices from the shop below. Rory peered through the narrow gap, chain still latched, her bright blue eyes narrowing at the figure on the threshold. Lucien stood there, impeccable in his tailored charcoal suit, platinum hair slicked back like he owned the entire shadowed alley of Brick Lane. His heterochromatic gaze—one amber eye glowing faintly in the dim streetlight, the other black as midnight—locked onto hers. He leaned on his ivory-handled cane, the one she knew hid a blade sharper than regret.
"Rory." His voice rolled out smooth, laced with that Marseille accent that used to make her pulse skip. No hello, no apology for the hour. Just her name, like he'd never walked away.
She gripped the doorframe, knuckles whitening. The small crescent scar on her left wrist itched, a phantom reminder of old wounds—childhood ones, and the deeper cuts he'd left. "What the hell are you doing here, Luc?"
He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not quite arrogant, but close . "Eva called. Said you needed a fixer. Something about shadows creeping too close to your doorstep."
"Eva's not here." Rory unlatched the chain with a sharp click, but she didn't step aside. The three deadbolts gleamed behind her, a barrier she'd locked herself after their last encounter . Books and scrolls cluttered every surface inside, Eva's research notes spilling like secrets onto the worn floorboards. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, slunk past her legs, eyeing Lucien with lazy suspicion before vanishing under a stack of ancient tomes. "And I don't need you. Not anymore."
Lucien adjusted his grip on the cane, the ivory handle catching the light. He stepped forward, close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, like brimstone from his father's realm. "You say that, but your eyes tell a different story. Let me in, Rory. This isn't about us."
She blocked the doorway, her straight black hair falling across one shoulder as she crossed her arms. At 5'6", she had to tilt her chin up to meet his 5'11" frame, but she held her ground. Memories flooded back unbidden: stolen nights in hidden corners of London's underworld, his hands tracing paths of fire across her skin, whispers of promises he never kept. Then the fight, the accusations, him vanishing into the night with words lodged in her throat. Hurt coiled in her chest, sharp and familiar . "Everything's about us with you. You show up unannounced, at midnight, and expect me to just... what? Forget?"
He exhaled, the sound low and frustrated. His amber eye flickered, a tell she remembered from their heated arguments—the demon side surfacing. "I didn't come to rehash the past. But if that's what you want..." He reached out, fingers brushing her arm, light as a question.
She jerked back, but not far enough. Electricity sparked where he touched, pulling her into the orbit she'd fought to escape. The flat's cramped space loomed behind her, bookshelves groaning under the weight of forgotten lore, the single bedroom door ajar to reveal a rumpled bed where she'd crashed after her latest delivery shift at the Golden Empress. Curry scents mingled with the musty odor of old paper, wrapping around them like an unwelcome embrace.
"Fine." Rory stepped aside, the door swinging wide . "But make it quick. Eva's out chasing leads, and I'm not in the mood for your games."
Lucien crossed the threshold, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. He surveyed the chaos—scrolls unfurled across the tiny kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of rice pushed aside—with a raised eyebrow . "Still living like a scholar in exile? Suits you." He set his cane against the wall, the concealed blade a silent threat in the room's tension .
She slammed the door shut, twisting all three deadbolts with deliberate force. "It's Eva's place. I'm just... borrowing it. My flat above Silas' bar got compromised. Shadows, like you said." She moved to the kitchenette, grabbing a chipped mug from the counter, anything to keep her hands busy. Water sloshed as she filled it from the tap, but she didn't drink. "You left, Luc. After everything. No note, no explanation. Just gone."
He followed her into the narrow space, his presence filling it like smoke. Ptolemy leaped onto a shelf, knocking a book to the floor with a thud. Lucien bent to pick it up, fingers lingering on the leather cover—a grimoire on demonic pacts, fitting. "I left to protect you. Avaros isn't a realm you wander into lightly . My father... he saw us together. Saw the weakness in it."
"Weakness?" Rory set the mug down hard, water spilling over the edge. She whirled on him, close enough to see the faint scar on his jaw from a deal gone wrong, one she'd bandaged in a dingy safehouse. Attraction surged, unwanted, heating her skin. "That's what you call it? I bared my soul to you, Luc. Told you about Evan, about running from Cardiff. And you vanished like I was just another mark."
His black eye darkened further, the amber one burning bright. He closed the distance, backing her against the counter. "You think it was easy? Walking away from the one person who saw through my masks?" His hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. She didn't pull away this time. "I dreamed of you every night in that infernal pit. Your laugh, your fire. Things I never said... like how you make me feel human."
Her breath caught. The hurt twisted, mingling with the old pull, the spark that had ignited between them in crowded supernatural dens, amid whispers of deals and dangers. She grabbed his lapel, fingers digging into the fine wool. "Then why come back now? Eva could've handled this."
"Because it's you." Lucien's voice dropped, rough with unspoken need. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "And I couldn't stay away anymore."
She shoved him back, but her hands lingered on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart—half-human, half something wilder. The room spun with possibilities, books whispering forgotten spells from the shelves. Ptolemy watched from his perch, tail flicking. "You hurt me, Luc. Left me questioning everything. The attraction... it was real, but so was the pain."
He nodded, expression cracking open. Regret etched lines around his eyes. "I know. And I'm here to fix it. Starting with whatever's hunting you." His fingers intertwined with hers, pulling her closer. The cane stood forgotten against the wall, blade hidden but ready.
Rory's resolve faltered. She searched his face, the heterochromia a map of his divided soul. Memories resurfaced: Shared laughs over cheap wine in hidden bars, his stories of Marseille streets, her confessions about her barrister father and the life she'd fled. The unsaid words hung between them—love, perhaps, or something close. "Prove it. Tell me what you couldn't before."
Lucien's grip tightened. "I love you, Rory. Not the half-demon way, twisted and possessive. The real way. The way that scares me because it's fragile." He kissed her then, fierce and unyielding, his mouth claiming hers with the hunger of lost time.
She melted into it, hands sliding up to tangle in his slicked-back hair. The kiss deepened, erasing the months apart, the hurt dissolving in waves of heat. His body pressed against hers, solid and warm, the suit's fabric a barrier she wanted gone. They stumbled toward the bedroom, knocking over a stack of notes that fluttered like dying moths.
In the dim light filtering through the single window, overlooking Brick Lane's neon glow, Rory broke the kiss, gasping. "This doesn't mean I forgive you."
He smiled, that crooked one she remembered, pulling her onto the bed. "Then let me earn it." His fingers traced her scar, gentle, reverent. "Every inch."
She arched under his touch, the world narrowing to them. Ptolemy meowed from the doorway, ignored. Books lay scattered, lore forgotten in the rush of rediscovery. Lucien's cane rested by the wall, a sentinel , as they tangled in sheets smelling of Eva's herbal teas.
Hours blurred. Whispers filled the gaps—stories of Avaros' fiery landscapes, her Cardiff childhood under rainy skies. He spoke of his mother, human and fierce, and she admitted the fears Evan had instilled, the walls she'd built. Attraction reignited, fierce and unapologetic, bodies moving in rhythm honed by memory.
Dawn crept in, casting long shadows across the flat. Rory lay beside him, head on his chest, listening to the dual beat of his heritage. "What now?" she murmured, tracing patterns on his skin.
Lucien turned to her, amber eye softening. "We face it together. No more running."
She nodded, the hurt easing, replaced by tentative hope. The unsaid words found voice in the quiet, binding them anew. Outside, Brick Lane stirred with morning vendors, curry scents rising again, but inside, they lingered, two souls forced back into each other's gravity.