The moment stretched between them, heavy with things neither dared to say aloud.
Elara knew she should leave. She should turn around, take the elevator back to her life—the one filled with cheap coffee, long shifts, and broken dreams. A life where monsters didn't exist, where men with crimson eyes didn't whisper hunger like a promise.
But she stayed.
Lucien watched her in silence. The fire cast flickering shadows across his sharp cheekbones, making him look almost... ancient. Like he belonged to another world entirely.
"You're not afraid," he said finally, voice low and rough.
"I should be," she answered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Lucien smiled, but there was no kindness in it. Only a flicker of something darker. "You're either very brave... or very foolish."
Elara took a breath. "Maybe both."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the fire and the relentless pounding of the rain against the windows.
Then Lucien turned away, pacing toward the wide glass wall that overlooked the city. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
"You don't understand what you're playing with," he said, almost to himself. "I'm not a hero, Elara. I'm not here to save you."
"Then why did you?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was raw, stripped of the cool distance he wore like armor.
"Because the thought of someone else sinking their teeth into you made me... angry."
Elara's stomach twisted. His words should have terrified her. Maybe they did. But tangled up in the fear was something else. A dangerous pull she didn't know how to fight.
Lucien turned back to her slowly.
"I crave you," he said simply. No lies. No pretty masks.
Her breath caught.
"And you're still here."
She nodded, barely.
He moved closer, each step measured, deliberate, until he stood just inches away. His scent was dizzying—sharp and cold, like winter storms and dark forests.
Lucien lifted a hand and hovered it near her face, not quite touching.
"I can control it," he said. "But only if you leave. Now."
Elara's voice trembled when she spoke. "What if I don't want to?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. His restraint was crumbling. She could see it—the way his pupils flared, the way his body coiled like a predator ready to strike.
He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear.
"Then you'll find out exactly what kind of monster I really am."
The air between them snapped tight, electric and breathless.
And Elara, against every ounce of better judgment she ever had, whispered:
"I want to know."
Lucien let out a sound—half growl, half groan—and the last thread of his control snapped.