"The Stranger in the Rain"

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.

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