AI The third deadbolt snicked open. Rory twisted the doorknob, left wrist brushing the splintered oak frame, the crescent scar there pulling just a little like it always did when east London’s perpetual rain seeped through the building’s mortar. She’d ordered lamb rogan josh half an hour prior, expected a teen in a logo puffer clutching a crumpled plastic bag, not Lucien Moreau.
Rain beaded on the shoulders of his charcoal suit, seeping into the fabric to leave dark splotches that matched the stain on the landing’s threadbare carpet. A few strands of his usually immaculate slicked-back platinum blond hair had escaped to fall over his amber eye; the black, inky iris of his other eye stayed half-shrouded by the fedora he clutched in one fist. The ivory handle of his cane dug into the step, and for a beat Rory only stared, the burn of three months of silence clogging her throat.
You’ve got the wrong flat.
She moved to slam the door. Lucien’s cane shot out, the polished ivory tip catching the oak before it could latch, the pressure firm enough to hold her off but not hard enough to splinter the wood.
I’m not here to cause trouble.
Trouble follows you like the stench of burnt espresso follows Silas’s weekend barman. Rory stepped back anyway, her socks slipping on a loose floorboard, because she’d never leave someone out in that rain, even someone who’d gutted her and left her to bleed out alone. She slid all three deadbolts back into place once he’d crossed the threshold, the heavy metal clicks loud enough to cut through the curry fumes that seeped up through the floorboards from the shop below.
Lucien side-stepped a stack of Eva’s grimoires that teetered by the door, his suit sleeve brushing a roll of vellum scrolls that slid off the arm of the threadbare velvet sofa to land in a heap at his feet. Eva’s flat had never been anything but cramped, every horizontal surface piled high with her research, but it felt smaller now, with Lucien’s sharp, expensive energy crowding the space. Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby, streaked out from the bedroom to rub against Rory’s ankle, then lifted his head and hissed, his back arching like he’d scented something wild and not entirely human on Lucien’s shoes.
He only likes people who bring tuna. Rory scooped the cat up, pressing his warm fur to her chest to calm him. You never brought anyone tuna.
I’ve never had the chance. Lucien set his fedora on the only clear patch of coffee table, next to Eva’s half-spread tarot deck and a chipped mug of cold tea. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, and Rory spotted the ragged, half-healed cut slicing through his jaw, the scab dark against his pale skin.
You stood me up. She set Ptolemy down on the windowsill, where the cat immediately turned to groom a paw, his hiss fading into a low grumble as the streetlamp outside gilded his fur. She crossed her arms over her chest, her straight black shoulder-length hair falling into her face to hide the way her eyes burned. I sat outside Silas’s with my duffel, in the rain, for six hours. I thought you’d bailed because you didn’t want the hassle of a human’s stupid ex-boyfriend problems. I thought I was just another job you’d decided wasn’t worth the effort.
I didn’t stand you up. Lucien pulled a crumpled stack of papers from his inner pocket, slid them across the coffee table until they stopped in front of her. The coven in Camden that owed me a debt turned. They’d been selling info to a demon lord out of Avaros, and I’d threatened to turn them in to the Coven Council if they didn’t pay up. They grabbed me off the street two blocks from Silas’s, the night before I was supposed to pick you up. Held me for three weeks. Carved their mark into my side to prove they could. I couldn’t send a message, couldn’t even access enough magic to break a lock. By the time I got free, you’d vanished from your flat, and Eva wouldn’t return my calls. No one would tell me where you were.
Rory stared at the papers, her gaze skimming over the police report peeking out from the top, Evan’s mugshot staring back at her. The same ex who’d beaten her so bad she’d missed two weeks of delivery shifts, who’d threatened to kill her if she left him, who she’d run from six months prior. She’d thought she was safe in London, that Evan would never find her outside Cardiff. That lie cracked wide open in that second, and she sank onto the edge of the sofa, her knees weak.
That’s him.
He was outside Golden Empress yesterday. Lucien leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and for the first time she saw the exhaustion in his face, the lines around his eyes that she’d never noticed when they’d spent their nights drinking cheap beer at Silas’s, talking about everything but what was growing between them. Followed you back to your flat above the bar. Waited across the street until you turned your light off. I spotted him, moved him along. Left him with a warning that if he ever came within ten miles of you, I’d carve his heart out and feed it to the stray cats in Whitechapel. He’s up north now, hiding in some B&B in Leeds, but I wasn’t gonna take the risk that he’d come back. I tracked you to Eva’s, and I showed up because I couldn’t let anything happen to you. Not when I’d already failed you once.
Rory remembered the night they’d met, eight months prior. She’d been delivering a order of salt and pepper prawns to a contact of Lucien’s outside Silas’s, had turned a corner too fast and crashed straight into him, spilling sweet and sour sauce all over the front of his perfect suit. She’d expected him to yell, to demand she pay for the dry cleaning, but he’d just laughed, the sound warm and rough, and bought her a pint to make up for the fact that she’d have to explain the ruined order to Yu-Fei, her boss at Golden Empress. They’d spent every night that week at the bar, her leaning on the counter while he traded info with underworld contacts, him walking her back to her flat after her shifts, their hands brushing once or twice like neither of them was brave enough to lace their fingers together. The night before he was supposed to pick her up to drive her to Scotland, where Evan would never find her, they’d stood in her entryway, his hand cupping her jaw, and she’d leaned in, sure he was going to kiss her, but he’d pulled back, muttered a quiet I’ll see you tomorrow, and vanished into the dark. She’d replayed that moment a thousand times, wondered if she’d misread the pull between them, if he’d never cared at all.
I thought you didn’t want me. The words came out quiet, rough, before she could stop them. She lifted her left hand to push her hair out of her face, the crescent scar on her wrist glowing pink in the fairy light strung above the sofa. I thought you bailed because you didn’t want to be tied to someone with my mess. I thought the kiss I was sure was coming that night in my entryway was just something I made up in my head.
Lucien stood, crossed the room in three long steps, and stopped a foot away from her, close enough that she could smell the rain on his clothes, the faint sandalwood cologne he always wore. He lifted his hand, brushed his thumb over the scar on her wrist, the touch so light it felt like a dream . I didn’t kiss you that night because I was scared I’d never stop if I started. I was scared that if I let myself have you, I’d put you in more danger than Evan ever could. Half-demon, info broker, the kind of guy who makes enemies for a living? You deserve better than the mess I bring with me. But I couldn’t stay away. Not when I knew you were in trouble. I’d rather put you in danger for the rest of our lives than spend another minute not having you. I spent three months thinking I’d never get to tell you that. I’m not wasting the chance.
A knock pounded on the door, making both of them jump. Rory fumbled to undo the deadbolts, her face hot, and paid the delivery driver for her rogan josh, her hands shaking so bad she dropped a five pound note on the landing. She brought the food back inside, set it on the coffee table, and when she turned around, Lucien was still standing there, watching her, his amber and black eyes glowing faint in the low light. Ptolemy jumped off the windowsill, trotted to the sofa, and curled up between them when they sat down, forcing them to shift close enough that their sides pressed together. Rory split the naan, handed him half, and they ate in quiet, the only sound the rain tapping against the window and the murmur of customers in the curry house below.
When the takeaway boxes were empty, stacked by the couch, Rory leaned her head on Lucien’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. She could feel his heart beating under her ear, fast and steady, the same rhythm as hers.
Don’t leave again. She spoke into the fabric of his suit, her voice muffled but clear. I don’t care what danger comes with you. I’d rather have you and the mess than be alone again.
Lucien tilted her chin up, kissed her, soft at first, then deeper, like he’d been waiting years to do it, and Rory kissed him back, her hands fisting in the front of his suit, all the hurt and the missing and the longing of the last three months melting into that touch. Ptolemy huffed, jumped off the couch, and stalked back to the bedroom, leaving them alone in the glow of the streetlamp. When they pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, Lucien brushed a strand of hair off her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.
I’m not going anywhere. Ever.