Luicen
She should have walked away.
That much was clear—clear in the way instinct screamed, in the way the city seemed to hold its breath around them, waiting to see which choice she would make. Venice was not a place that rewarded hesitation.
And yet her feet stayed rooted to the stone.
The man across the canal watched her as though he could hear every thought she tried to bury. His presence pressed against her senses—cold and heat tangled together, restraint layered over something sharp enough to cut.
"You're staring," she said, to break the silence. To prove she still could.
His gaze didn't waver. "You didn't leave."
A quiet challenge passed between them.
She crossed her arms, more for something to do with her hands than for warmth. "You talk like you've been expecting me, "I have."
The word settled heavily in the air. Expectation implied hope—or fear, neither sat comfortably in her chest.
"Why?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately Instead, he stepped onto the narrow bridge that arched over the canal, boots echoing softly against stone ,each step shortened the distance between them, tightening the invisible thread pulling at her spine.
She told herself she wasn't moving.
Then she realized she was walking too.
They met beneath the arch of the bridge, moonlight spilling down like a confession neither of them wanted to make. Up close, he was more unsettling—too still, too aware, as though every part of him was under control except the way his eyes lingered on her mouth.
She swallowed.
"You still haven't told me your name," she said.
He hesitated. Just for a second.
"That's not something I give lightly."
"Then don't give it," she replied. "I didn't ask for lightly."
Something flickered in his expression—approval, maybe. Or amusement. He exhaled slowly, as if surrendering a small, dangerous truth.
"Lucien."
The name brushed against her skin like a touch. It fit him too well—old, elegant, edged with darkness.
"I'm—" She stopped herself.
Names had power here. He had warned her.
Lucien noticed. "Wise."
She tilted her head. "Or cautious."
His gaze dipped to her throat again, where her pulse betrayed her. "There's a difference."
The silence stretched, thick and intimate. She became acutely aware of how close they stood close enough that she could feel the cold radiating from him, feel it kiss the warmth of her skin.
You should be afraid of me," he said quietly.
She searched his face. "Are you going to hurt me?"
"No."
The certainty in his voice sent an unexpected thrill through her. "Then why should I be afraid?"
His jaw tightened. "Because wanting me will cost you something."
Her breath caught.
The words sank deep, awakening a dangerous curiosity. She had spent years running from anything that demanded too much of her heart. And yet here she was, standing beneath a Venetian bridge at midnight, drawn to a man who spoke in warnings instead of promises.
What if I don't want you?" she asked.
His eyes darkened—not offended, not wounded. Interested.
Then the city has misjudged us both."
A ripple passed through the canal beneath them, silver light threading briefly through the water before fading. Her skin warmed again, responding without permission. Lucien's gaze snapped downward, catching the subtle glow at her fingertips.
His breath hitched.
"Do not touch the water," he said sharply.
She pulled her hand back, startled. "Why?"
"Because you're not ready to know what answers you.
She studied him, seeing the strain beneath his composure now—the way his hands curled slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach for her.
Lucien, she said softly,do you want me to leave?
The question landed between them like a blade.
Yes, he said immediately.
Then, more quietly, and no.
Her heart thudded painfully. Which one is the truth?
His gaze locked onto hers, raw and unguarded for the first time.
Both the honesty undid her.
I didn't come back to Venice for this, she whispered.
I know.
"Then why does it feel like I've been walking toward you for years?"
Something dark and tender crossed his face. He lifted a hand—stopped himself inches from her cheek. The space between his fingers and her skin burned hotter than any touch.
Because some bonds don't break," he said. They wait.
Her chest ached with the weight of it. She wanted to lean into his hand, wanted him to close the distance, wanted things she knew she shouldn't.
Instead, she whispered, "What happens now?
Lucien lowered his hand slowly, as though letting go hurt him.
"Now, he said, I take you somewhere safe.
"And after that?"
His eyes softened, dangerous and devoted all at once.
After that, he replied, "Venice will decide how much it's willing to take from us."
The bells began to ring again—soft this time, distant, like a warning wrapped in mercy.
He turned, offering her his back and she followed and she knew, with a certainty that frightened her more than any magic, that she was already lost.