AI The knock came at an hour too late for most, too early for others, and precisely wrong for Rory. She’d just stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped precariously around her wet hair, another around her body, the scent of jasmine steam still clinging to her skin. Her flat above Silas’s bar was usually quiet this time of night, the last patrons having staggered out an hour ago. No one came calling unannounced. Eva called, Yu-Fei buzzed from the restaurant below, but never a sharp, insistent rap on her door.
She padded across the worn floorboards, a frown pulling at her brow. A sliver of irritation prickled her. It couldn’t be another forgotten delivery, not this late. Even the thought of a lost parcel made her muscles tense. She didn’t work for Yu-Fei tonight.
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob, its cool metal a small anchor in the rising tide of her irritation. She peered through the peephole, her bright blue eyes narrowing.
A perfectly tailored charcoal suit filled the tiny lens. A flash of platinum blonde hair, damp and slicked back as if he’d been caught in the drizzle that had started an hour ago. And then, as he shifted his weight , his head tilted just so, two eyes. One amber, bright and predatory, the other a void of midnight.
Lucien.
Her breath hitched. A dozen protests died on her tongue, unspoken . For a beat, she considered pretending she wasn’t home, but the light spilled from under her door, and besides, he wasn't the kind to give up easily. He knew. He always knew.
Slowly, deliberately, she unlatched the deadbolt, the click echoing too loudly in the sudden quiet of her flat. She pulled the door open, leaving the chain on, enough to allow a narrow gap.
His gaze, those unnervingly mismatched eyes, slid over her, sweeping from her towel-wrapped hair to her bare feet. A ghost of a smile, almost imperceptible, touched his lips. It was a practiced smile, one that belied nothing and promised everything.
“Aurora,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum against her chest, smooth like aged brandy. He always used her full name, a formality that somehow felt more intimate, more possessive than a casual ‘Rory.’ “A vision, as always. Though I confess, I was anticipating a different ensemble.”
Her cheeks flushed, a warmth that had nothing to do with the lingering steam from the shower. She hated that he could still do that to her, make her feel vulnerable and exposed with a single glance, a single word. Especially now, standing half-naked in her hall. The small crescent scar on her left wrist, usually hidden, felt hot beneath the towel where her hand clutched it.
“Lucien.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, a brittle shield. “What do you want?”
His head tilted further, considering her. He held his ivory-handled cane in his left hand, the tip resting on the worn welcome mat, a silent, elegant sentry. Rain glistened on his broad shoulders, making the charcoal fabric of his suit shimmer. He smelled of rain and something expensive, a scent that conjured memories she’d tried to bury.
“Am I not permitted to inquire after your well-being?” he asked, his tone laced with a mock innocence that grated on her nerves. The amber eye glinted.
“We parted on terms that made follow-up calls rather redundant, wouldn’t you say?” she shot back, gripping the doorframe, knuckles white. The unsaid hung between them, heavy and suffocating. The sudden, brutal way he’d disappeared. The anger, the hurt, the confusion she’d felt. The sting of betrayal.
He sighed, a soft sound, almost theatrical. “Always so direct, Aurora. One of your more charming qualities.”
“Cut the bullshit, Lucien. Why are you here?”
He pushed lightly against the door, and for a terrifying second, she thought he meant to force his way in. She braced herself, ready to slam it shut, to call for Silas, but he merely tested the chain. “May I come in? This is hardly a conducive environment for a nuanced discussion, wouldn’t you agree? I imagine your neighbours wouldn’t appreciate the sight.”
He had a point. The hallway was narrow, the lighting dim, and the lingering smell of stale beer from below was hardly romantic. But letting him in felt like surrendering . It felt like stepping back into a dangerous game she’d barely escaped.
She remembered his hands, long and elegant, capable of such unexpected gentleness. She remembered the way he’d looked at her, as if she were the only woman in the world, as if he could see into her very soul. And then she remembered the cold emptiness when he’d vanished. Her stomach tightened.
“No,” she said, her voice firmer this time . “Whatever it is, say it here.”
His eyes, the amber and the black, held her captive. He seemed to search her face, delving past her anger, past her exhaustion. He knew every flicker of emotion she tried to hide. It was unnerving.
“Very well,” he conceded, though his lips twitched, as if he knew he’d win in the end . He leaned slightly on his cane, a posture of casual authority. “I received… intelligence. Rumours circulating through certain less savoury channels about you. Something involving a rather volatile artefact. It concerned me .”
Rory scoffed. “You’re concerned? After all this time?” She nearly laughed, bitter and harsh. “I’m a delivery girl, Lucien. The most volatile thing I deal with is a pissed-off customer whose curry is cold.”
“You are more than a delivery girl, Aurora,” he corrected, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent a shiver tracing down her spine , despite her resolve . “You dabble. You inquire. You draw attention to yourself in ways that, let us say, are not prudent. Especially in our peculiar corner of London.”
He knew. Of course he knew. He was Lucien Moreau, the fixer, the information broker, the man who knew everything that happened in London’s supernatural underworld. Even her quiet attempts to understand the strange things Eva was always researching , the odd jobs Eva sometimes took that bled into the truly bizarre – he’d have tracked it.
“My dabbling is none of your business,” she said, pushing back, though a flicker of fear wormed its way into her gut. If Lucien was hearing whispers, they were serious. He wasn’t one for petty gossip.
“Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t,” he mused, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips again . “But your safety, Aurora, has always been my business. Or had you forgotten?”
The implication hung in the air , thick with unspoken history. He had, once, protected her. Stepped in when Evan’s shadow had stretched too long, too dark. He had been her unexpected refuge, her unexpected… everything. It was a dangerous, manipulative gambit, reminding her of his past protectiveness now.
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” she bit out. “Least of all that you abandoned me when things got complicated.”
His expression hardened then, the mirth leaving his eyes. The amber seemed to burn, the black to deepen. “That is not entirely accurate. Circumstances, Aurora, were beyond my control.”
“Bullshit,” she repeated, the word tasting like ash. “You just… left. No warning, no explanation. Just a note on the table telling me not to look for you.”
“And you obeyed,” he observed, a touch of something like disappointment in his voice . “A testament to your good sense, perhaps. Or your lack of… audacity.”
“What was I supposed to do?” she demanded, the dam of her composure threatening to burst . Her voice trembled . “Go after a half-demon information broker who vanished into thin air? I nearly called the police, Lucien! For weeks, I thought you were dead. Then I moved on. I had to.”
He was silent for a long moment, simply observing her, letting her anger wash over him. His eyes, fixed on hers, seemed to absorb the hurt she couldn’t quite hide . When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, less guarded.
“I was not dead. Nor am I now. And you, it seems, have thrown yourself headlong into the very chaos I tried to shield you from.” He extended a hand, his fingers long and elegant, just past the door chain. “Please, Aurora. Let me in. Or at least… let’s talk somewhere less public. I have information you will want to hear.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, then to his cane. He wasn’t threatening her. Not physically. But his mere presence was a threat to the fragile peace she’d built. She thought of Evan, of the careful distance she now kept, the walls she’d erected around her heart. And then she thought of the strange power Lucien had over her, a pull she’d never quite understood, a vulnerability she hated. He wasn’t Evan, no, but he had hurt her just as deeply in a different way.
She took a shaky breath. “Five minutes. You tell me what you know, and then you leave.”
He nodded slowly , a ghost of his old charming smile returning, a quiet triumph in his eyes. “Agreed.”
With a sigh that felt like a surrender, Rory reached for the chain, sliding it out of the lock with a metallic rasp. The door swung inward. She stepped back, still clutching the towel, pulling it tighter around her.
Lucien Moreau stepped into her cramped hallway, bringing with him the scent of rain and expensive cologne, a sudden chill in the warm, jasmine-scented air. He paused, looking around at the stacks of books in the corner, the worn rug, the hastily discarded delivery uniform draped over a chair in the living area. His gaze settled on her small, round dining table, cluttered with a half-eaten bowl of ramen from earlier, and a messy pile of handwritten notes. Eva’s influence, no doubt, on the obscure texts.
He raised a finely sculpted eyebrow . “A touch… domestic for a woman embroiled in affairs of arcane significance.”
“It’s home,” Rory said, defensively . “It’s *my * home. And I wasn’t embroiled in anything until you showed up.”
He didn’t contradict her, simply nodded. The silence stretched between them, thick with an unspoken history as potent as the rain he’d tracked in. His platinum hair, so stark against his pale skin, was still damp, a few strands clinging to his temples. She noticed the slight stubble on his jaw, a departure from his usual perfectly shaven look, and wondered if he’d been chasing this 'intelligence' for days, neglecting his meticulous grooming. A tiny, almost imperceptible crack in his usual flawless facade .
"So," she prompted, folding her arms over her chest, acutely aware of the towel barely covering her. "Spill."
He took another slow breath, letting his gaze drift over her once more. This time, it wasn't possessive or challenging, but something softer, more analytical. "There's a gathering. A convention of… less altruistic entities. They are interested in recent movements regarding an object of great power. An artefact linked to the realm of Avaros."
Rory's heart gave a slight lurch . Avaros. His home realm, or rather, his father's. The place he'd never talked about in detail, only hinted at. And a powerful artifact. She knew Eva had been researching something similar. This was far too close to home.
"And you think this concerns me ?" she challenged, though her voice lacked conviction now .
"I believe you have inadvertently drawn the attention of certain parties interested in identifying human go-betweens, 'proxies' as they call them, for securing said artefact," Lucien explained, his voice even, yet infused with an underlying urgency. "Your recent inquiries, your friend's… academic pursuits, they have not gone unnoticed."
Rory swallowed. Eva. Ptolemy, the flat cat, was probably curled up on a stack of ancient texts right now, oblivious to the storm brewing. "What kind of parties?"
"The kind who do not hesitate to remove obstacles," he replied, his eyes finally meeting hers, intense and serious . "Permanently." He took a step closer, and Rory instinctively recoiled, bumping against the door frame. "You found yourself in London to escape one kind of danger , Aurora. Do not blindly walk into another, far more lethal one."
The proximity was stifling . She could smell the faint leather of his gloves, the crisp starch of his shirt. Her vision narrowed to his face, to the flecks of gold in his amber eye, the unfathomable depth of the black. She remembered the nights they'd spent tangled together, the way his body had felt against hers, a powerful, comforting weight . The memory was sharp, painful, and dangerously alluring.
"And you, of all people, are here to warn me ?" she whispered, the hurt bubbling up again, mixed with a reluctant gratitude and a renewed surge of anger. "After months of silence ? After letting me think I meant nothing to you?"
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He took another step, closing the remaining distance. Now he was fully within her personal space, his height towering over her, his presence utterly consuming. He didn’t touch her, but the air around them vibrated with unspoken electricity.
“You never meant nothing to me , Aurora,” he rumbled, his voice low, rougher than before . “Never. Do you truly believe I could simply forget you?”
His hand, the one that wasn't holding the cane, lifted, hovering inches from her face. She felt the warmth radiating from it, the implicit promise of contact. Her breath hitched. Her body hummed in anticipation , betraying her. Every rational cell in her brain screamed *danger *, but every other cell cried out *yes *.
He saw it, of course he did. He always read her perfectly . A flicker of something raw, something almost vulnerable, crossed his features before it was quickly veiled.
“I left because I had to,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper . "To protect you from what I knew was coming. From *me *." His eyes, full of a strange, potent cocktail of regret and longing, held hers. "I thought… if I disappeared, if I severed all ties, you would be safe. You would move on, live your life without the… complications that come with my world." He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips, and then flickered to the pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat. “It seems I underestimated you. Or perhaps,” he added, a wry, self-deprecating smile finally touching his lips, “I underestimated how deeply entangled you already were, and how foolish I was to think I could simply walk away.”
The unspoken apology hung in the air , heavier than any spoken word. He didn't say 'I'm sorry,' but the sentiment was present, tangled in his admission of a misjudgment. The way he looked at her, the way he moved now, cautiously , as if approaching a skittish wild thing he cherished . It cracked something open inside her, a carefully constructed wall that had stood for months.
"You don't get to do that," she murmured, a fresh wave of tears pricking her eyes. "You don't get to hurt me and then walk back in here, six months later, and claim you were protecting me ."
"Perhaps not," he agreed, his fingers finally, gently , brushing a damp strand of hair from her temple. The touch sent a jolt through her, warm and undeniable. "But I am here now. And you are in danger , Aurora. Real danger . Whether you wish to acknowledge it or not." He stepped back, breaking the spell, and the sudden absence of his presence was a physical ache. His gaze was now firmly pragmatic, the fixer resurfacing. "I need to know what you and your friend have uncovered. And you need to allow me to help you navigate this. For your sake, and for hers."
He gestured to the notes on her table. "You have five minutes. Use them wisely, Aurora. Or risk far more than just a cold delivery."