AI Rory twisted the third deadbolt with a sharp click. Ptolemy wove between her ankles, his tabby tail flicking like a metronome. The stack of ancient grimoires on the side table teetered as she yanked the door open, cool night air from Brick Lane slicing in.
Lucien stood there, framed in the dim glow of the streetlamp. His charcoal suit hugged his frame, crisp despite the drizzle beading on his shoulders. Platinum hair slicked back, not a strand astray. Ivory cane hooked over his arm, the handle catching the light. One amber eye gleamed; the other, black as pitch, swallowed it.
Her breath hitched. Fingers tightened on the doorframe. That scar on her wrist itched, the old crescent pulling tight.
"Lucien." His name scraped out, low and edged.
He tilted his head, lips curving into that half-smile that always promised secrets. "Rory. Or should I say Laila tonight? Eva's security rivals a vault."
She crossed her arms, blocking the threshold. Bookshelves loomed behind her, scrolls spilling from every shelf like frozen waterfalls. The curry house below sent up cumin and garlic through the floorboards. "Eva's not here. Piss off."
His gaze flicked past her shoulder, lingering on the chaos of notes pinned to the walls—occult symbols, scribbled Latin. Ptolemy hissed from the floor, fur bushed. Lucien ignored the cat, stepped closer. Rain dotted his lapels. "I know. I need you."
Heat flushed her cheeks. Not the good kind. Memories crashed in: his hand on her thigh under the table at that dive in Soho, whispers in French that melted her bones, then the fight—his secrets about Avaros, her ex's shadow still clinging, words hurled like knives. She slammed the door shut? No. Her body betrayed her, rooted.
"Need me for what? Another job? Another lie?" She gripped the door harder, nails biting wood.
He rapped the cane once on the frame, a hollow thunk. "May I come in? London rain doesn't flatter even me."
Ptolemy yowled, darting behind her legs. Rory's blue eyes narrowed , scanning his face. That jawline, shadowed stubble. The scar throbbed . She stepped aside, jerking her head. "Five minutes. Then you're out."
He slipped past, cane tapping the worn floorboards. The flat shrank around him—too small for his presence, his cologne of sandalwood and smoke filling the air. He shed his coat, draped it over a chair buried in Eva's research. Suit jacket next, revealing a crisp white shirt stretched across his chest.
She shut the door, three deadbolts snicked home. Leaned against it. "Talk."
Lucien turned, heterochromatic eyes locking on hers. He moved to the cluttered kitchenette, picked up a chipped mug from the counter—half-filled with cold tea—and set it down with care. "Silas mentioned you'd been here. Hiding?"
"Not hiding." Her voice sharpened . Shoulder-length black hair swung as she stalked forward. "Working. Eva's got a lead on that relic from Avaros. The one your father wants."
His laugh came soft, dark. Amber eye flared. "My father wants many things. You know that." He circled the room, fingers trailing a spine of leather-bound tome. Dust motes danced. "But this isn't about him."
Ptolemy leaped onto the table, stared Lucien down. The half-demon paused, extended a hand. The cat sniffed, then butted his head against pale fingers. Traitor.
"Then what?" Rory snatched a scroll from the table, rolled it tight. Her pulse hammered. Last time they'd parted, his flat in Mayfair—silk sheets tangled, her nails raking his back, then dawn: his confession about the demon blood, her panic over Evan still fresh. She'd bolted, left her scarf behind. Things unsaid choked her now.
Lucien faced her fully. Cane propped against the wall. He closed the distance in two strides, stopped inches away. Heat radiated off him. "You. I've combed every shadow from Cardiff to the Thames. No sign of Evan, but whispers say he's sniffing around Yu-Fei's deliveries."
Her stomach twisted. Ex's face flashed—bruises he'd left before she fled. "I can handle him."
"Can you?" His voice dropped, velvet over steel. Fingers brushed her wrist, ghosted the scar. Electricity sparked. She jerked back, but not far enough.
"Don't." Breathless. Damn him.
He didn't retreat. Loomed closer, black eye endless. "I couldn't then. Too tangled in my own hell. Avaros pulling strings." Thumb traced her jawline now, feather-light. "But you felt it. That night."
Fire licked her veins. She grabbed his wrist, shoved it away. Or tried. His grip held, gentle iron. "Felt what? Your lies? The way you vanished after, left me chasing ghosts?"
Amber eye softened. "I protected you. Demon politics—"
"Bollocks." She shoved his chest. Solid. He didn't budge. Pinned her against the bookshelf with his body, books digging into her back. His scent enveloped her. Heart thundered .
"Rory." His forehead touched hers. Breath mingled, warm. "I never stopped wanting you."
Words hung. Her hands fisted his shirt. Pulled him closer? Pushed? The line blurred. Ptolemy jumped down, tail lashing, vanished into the bedroom.
She tilted her chin, lips brushing his. "Prove it."
His mouth crashed onto hers. Hunger raw, no hesitation. Hands cupped her face, then slid to her waist, bunching her shirt. She arched into him, fingers threading platinum strands, yanking. Tongues battled—salt and storm. He tasted of whiskey and forbidden realms.
She broke free, gasping. "Not that easy."
"Nothing with you is." He nipped her lower lip, trailed kisses down her neck. Goosebumps erupted. His cane clattered forgotten. She hooked a leg around his thigh, pulling flush. Friction ignited.
But hurt surged. She twisted, pinned him against the opposite wall. Scrolls fluttered down. "You left. After everything."
His hands roamed her hips, thumbs circling. "Feared I'd drag you under. My blood—it's poison."
"Liar." She ground against him, felt his hardness. A groan escaped him. Victory. "You ran."
Amber eye burned. "Stay, then. Let me fix it."
She kissed him again, fierce. Buttons popped on his shirt—hers or his? Fabric whispered off. Her bra clasp snapped under his fingers. Cool air hit skin, then his mouth—hot on her breast. She moaned, head thrown back. Books tumbled.
Ptolemy yowled from the corner, ignored.
Lucien's hands explored, mapping scars and curves. He lifted her onto the table, papers scattering. She wrapped legs around him, urging. Zipper rasped. Her jeans shoved down, his slacks followed.
Skin met skin. He paused, eyes searching hers. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare."
He thrust in, deep. She cried out, nails scoring his shoulders. Rhythm built—slow, then frantic. Table creaked. The flat echoed gasps, flesh slapping. Sweat slicked them. Her blue eyes locked on his mismatched gaze, worlds colliding.
Hurt melted into need. "Lucien—"
"Shh." He captured her mouth, drove harder. Tension coiled, snapped. She shattered first, waves crashing. He followed, growl muffled against her throat.
They slumped, tangled. Breath ragged. His fingers stroked her hair.
But the door—three deadbolts—rattled. No. Imagination? No knock.
Reality seeped. Eva's notes crunched underfoot. Ptolemy glared from afar.
She pushed him off, gently . Pulled up jeans. "This doesn't erase—"
"I know." He straightened shirt, retrieved cane. Eyes intense. "But it's a start."
She raked fingers through black hair, pulse still racing . "Evan. The relic. What's the play?"
He smirked, that fixer glint . "We team up. You, me, Eva when she returns."
Outside, rain pattered harder. Brick Lane hummed.
Her scar tingled. Fingers brushed his. Lingered.
"Not over, then."
"Never was."
Ptolemy leaped between them, demanding attention. Lucien scratched his ears. Rory watched, chest tight. Attraction reignited, hurt banked but smoldering. Words still unsaid, but the door—metaphorically—ajar.
The front door buzzer shrilled. Eva?
Lucien tensed. Hand to cane blade.
Rory grabbed her shirt. "Stay hidden."
He nodded, melting into shadows.
She crossed to the intercom. Voice steady. "Yeah?"
"Rory? It's Silas. Trouble at the bar."
Her gaze flicked to Lucien. His amber eye winked.
Round two.
But first—Evan's shadow loomed larger now. Together?
The buzzer screamed again. She hit release.
Lucien pulled her close one last time, whispered. "We finish this."
Lips met. Promise sealed.
Ptolemy purred approval? No. Hissed.
Door swung wide. Night swallowed Silas's silhouette.
Inside, heat lingered. History rewritten, one beat at a time.
No. Scene pulsed on.
Silas burst in, soaked. "Rory, Evan's boys hit Yu-Fei's. Golden Empress in flames."
Lucien's cane tapped. Emerged. "Then we hunt."
Her blue eyes flashed. Hand found his. United.
Curry scent thickened. Books waited. Relic called.
Romance in the underworld—complicated as ever.
(Word count: 1247)