The city smelled like wet iron and regret.

Rain fell in sharp needles as Asher Vale jogged across the cracked pavement, the weight of another miserable shift at the bookstore pressing on his shoulders. The collar of his hoodie was soaked, and his worn sneakers squelched with each step. He hated the rain—hated how it crawled down his skin like fingers that didn’t belong there.

He turned down a narrow alley, shortcutting through the darker side of downtown. Asher knew it wasn’t smart, but after a twelve-hour day of dealing with rude customers and nosy co-workers, he didn’t care. He just wanted silence.

Then he heard it—shuffling footsteps behind him. Slow. Measured.

He picked up his pace.

“Not smart to cut through here alone,” came a voice like velvet dipped in ice.

Asher froze. A tall figure stepped from the shadows behind a dumpster, the rain strangely avoiding his black coat, as if the drops dared not touch him. Pale skin, high cheekbones, and eyes that glowed faintly gold in the dark.

Asher’s heart thundered once. Then again. Too fast.

“You following me?” he asked, trying to sound brave but failing.

The man stepped closer. “Only because you look like you’d get eaten alive by someone less...gentle.”

Asher scoffed, though his fingers curled tighter around his bag strap. “You threatening me or protecting me?”

“Both, maybe.” The man tilted his head. “Name’s Lucien.”

Asher didn’t answer right away. Something about the man felt unreal. Too graceful. Too still.

And too beautiful.

Lucien studied him like a painting, gaze trailing over his soaked clothes, the curve of his jaw, the tension in his stance. “You’re cold. Come here.”

“No,” Asher replied, backing up a step. “I don’t—”

In the blink of an eye, Lucien was in front of him. No footsteps. No sound. Just there.

Asher stumbled back, tripping over a broken piece of concrete and landing hard on his hip with a grunt.

Lucien crouched beside him, expression unreadable. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late,” Asher snapped, trying to scramble up. Lucien’s hand caught his wrist—cool, firm, but not cruel.

“I smell blood,” Lucien murmured.

Asher looked down. A shallow scrape ran along his palm from the fall.

Lucien’s eyes darkened. He brought the hand closer. “You should be more careful.”

“Let go.”

Lucien’s lips parted slightly, fangs visible for just a second—sharp, elegant, too beautiful to be natural.

Asher’s breath caught. His pulse skipped. “You’re not human.”

“No,” Lucien whispered. “But I won’t hurt you.”

Lightning cracked above them, and for a second, Asher saw something ancient behind those eyes—grief, desire, hunger. A loneliness deeper than centuries.

Lucien stood slowly, helping Asher up with more gentleness than expected.

“You saved me,” Asher muttered.

Lucien smirked. “From a scraped hand and some rain?”

“From worse.” Asher’s voice dropped. “I’ve seen worse.”

Lucien’s gaze lingered. “Then maybe we have something in common.”

Asher didn’t reply. But he didn’t pull away, either.

The vampire leaned in, just slightly, breath brushing Asher’s cheek. “Be careful walking home, Asher Vale.”

“How do you know my name?” he asked, suddenly breathless.

Lucien’s smile was slow, unreadable. “I’ve been watching you.”

Then he was gone—vanished into the mist like he’d never been there at all.

Asher stood in the alley, heart pounding. Wet. Shaken. And for the first time in a long time… not alone.

He didn’t know what Lucien wanted. Didn’t know what he felt. But something inside him had shifted.

And in the dark, a heartbeat other than his own echoed faintly behind.

Asher hadn’t slept.

He lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the water-stained ceiling of his apartment as the last of the storm faded into silence. His body was still, but his mind pulsed with the same question over and over.

Who was Lucien?

The vampire’s name stuck in his throat like smoke—elegant, dangerous, strangely intoxicating. There was a memory imprinted in him now: the coolness of Lucien’s breath, the way his fingers had closed around his wrist, and that impossible stillness he moved with.

“I’ve been watching you.”

It should have terrified him more. Instead, it burned like something forbidden.

Asher turned onto his side, groaning. He wanted to forget it. Forget the way his body had betrayed him—how, for one second, he’d wanted to lean in, just to see what Lucien’s lips felt like.

“You’re not human.”

He should run from that.

But he didn’t.

Instead, as the morning sun struggled through the gray clouds, Asher got out of bed, cleaned the scrape on his hand, and pulled on his oversized hoodie. He caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror—pale, with shadows under his eyes and rain-dried curls falling into his face.

“You’re losing it,” he told himself. “He’s probably gone. Just forget it.”

But he didn’t believe that. Not for a second.

---

By late afternoon, Asher sat in the back corner of the bookstore café, nursing a coffee he didn’t want and pretending to read a poetry collection he’d already memorized.

He’d been jumpy all day—half-waiting for Lucien to appear again like some cloaked phantom from a dream. But hours passed. Nothing.

Until dusk.

The bell above the shop door jingled softly.

Asher didn’t look up at first. Then he felt it—something cold brushing across the back of his neck like a shiver with no source.

He looked.

There, leaning against the far wall like he belonged to the shadows, was Lucien.

He wore a long black coat, buttoned high, with damp hair swept elegantly from his face. Eyes like molten gold flicked toward him. No smile. Just heat. Intent.

Asher’s heart slammed once in his chest.

Lucien moved slowly this time, respectful—measured steps that felt almost human. He stopped at Asher’s table without asking and nodded toward the empty seat across from him.

Asher hesitated. “Is this… normal for you? Stalking?”

Lucien tilted his head. “Not stalking. Watching. It’s different.”

“Not really.”

“I disagree.”

Asher sighed, closing the book. “Why me?”

Lucien’s eyes didn’t waver. “Because you look like someone who doesn’t want to be seen—but still hopes someone will see you anyway.”

Asher froze.

Lucien sat, his body moving like silk under the coat, graceful in a way Asher couldn’t explain. “Do you believe in fate?”

“No.”

“Then believe in choice.” Lucien leaned forward. “I chose you.”

Asher’s breath caught.

“You don’t know me,” he whispered.

“I know more than you think.” Lucien’s eyes flicked to the scrape on his hand. “I’ve seen your loneliness. I’ve felt it in the way you walk, the way you hide behind sarcasm and books.”

“Are you always this intense?”

Lucien’s lips quirked. “Only when I’m hungry.”

Asher’s throat went dry.

“Hungry for blood?” he asked.

Lucien’s gaze lowered, then slowly slid up again—dragging over Asher’s neck, his lips, his expression.

“Not just that.”

Asher gripped the edge of the table, pulse loud in his ears. “I’m not some fantasy for you.”

“I know,” Lucien murmured. “But you’re not afraid.”

“I’m not sure I’m smart enough to be.”

Lucien’s smile was faint. “Or maybe you’re just tired of being untouched.”

That silenced him.

Lucien stood after a beat. “Come with me, Asher. Just for a walk.”

Asher stared at him. At his pale hands. At the eyes that had already seen too much. Part of him wanted to say no. He should say no.

But the other part—the part that kept him awake at night—stood up without protest.

Lucien didn’t touch him. Not yet.

But as they stepped out into the cold evening, Asher realized something terrifying.

He wanted him to.

The city was quiet when they stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but the streets still gleamed, reflecting the yellow of tired streetlamps and the faint shimmer of moonlight trying to push through dark clouds.

Lucien walked just ahead, coat shifting around his legs like shadows that followed only him. Asher shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, watching the way Lucien moved—silent, fluid, like he belonged to another world entirely.

They didn’t speak at first. The only sounds were the echo of their footsteps and the distant hum of traffic.

Asher hated silence. But this one didn’t feel empty. It felt like the pause before something dangerous.

“You always this dramatic?” he finally asked, voice low.

Lucien turned his head slightly. “Dramatic?”

“Long coats. Vanishing into shadows. Brooding looks. You’re basically every vampire cliché wrapped in one tall, smug package.”

Lucien actually laughed—soft and amused. “I’ve had centuries to master aesthetic. Should I wear jeans and a hoodie like you?”

“I look comfortable.”

“You look like you’re hiding.”

That hit harder than expected.

Lucien stopped at the edge of an old footbridge that spanned over a dry canal. The air smelled of wet stone and rust. He leaned against the railing and glanced back. “Come here.”

Asher hesitated. Then, because he didn’t want to look afraid, he stepped forward.

They stood shoulder to shoulder. Close enough to feel Lucien’s chill through his coat. Close enough to hear Asher’s heartbeat racing.

“You can hear it, can’t you?” Asher murmured, not looking at him. “My heart.”

Lucien’s voice came quiet and intimate. “Yes. It’s fast.”

Asher swallowed. “Because I’m scared.”

“Liar.” Lucien turned to face him. “It’s not fear. It’s desire. Or confusion. Maybe both.”

“I don’t want to want you,” Asher said before he could stop himself.

Lucien didn’t flinch. “Then don’t.”

“You make it hard.”

Lucien reached out, fingers brushing along the side of Asher’s neck. He didn’t press, didn’t grasp—just traced the warm skin above his pulse. “This is where I would bite you. If I were cruel.”

Asher shivered.

“I’m not,” Lucien added. “Not with you.”

“Why?” Asher asked. “You don’t know me.”

Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to just feed. I want to be known.”

The world spun gently on that word. Known.

Asher turned to face him, heart racing harder. “I’m not the kind of person who lets people in.”

“I know.”

“I don’t do this.”

“Then don’t.” Lucien’s eyes held something raw. “But if you do… I’ll go slow.”

The moon slipped out from behind the clouds, bathing them in pale light. Lucien looked ethereal under it—every angle of his face kissed by silver, his fangs just barely visible as his lips parted.

Asher’s breath came shallow. “You’re dangerous.”

Lucien nodded once. “To everyone else. But with you… I don’t want to hurt.”

Asher didn’t know what possessed him, but he leaned in. Barely an inch. Close enough to smell Lucien’s scent—old books, rain, and something sweet underneath, like blood and vanilla.

Lucien didn’t close the gap. He let Asher come to him.

But just before their lips met, Asher froze.

He stepped back, chest heaving. “I can’t.”

Lucien’s expression didn’t change. No disappointment. No push.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said simply. “I just wanted to walk with you.”

Asher’s throat tightened. “You’ll walk me home?”

Lucien gave a slow nod.

They didn’t speak again.

But the space between them carried tension like a wire pulled taut—charged, quiet, waiting to snap.

And somewhere inside Lucien, buried beneath centuries of cold, something fragile had started to beat again.