The House on Dauphine Street

The address burned in Julian’s pocket like a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. He waited until Adrien left for a late-night performance at the club, then slipped into the rain-soaked streets of New Orleans, his heart pounding like a guilty drum.

The street was quiet, too quiet. Dauphine Street, near the Quarter but far enough away to feel deserted. The house was old, its shutters broken, its windows dark. Julian’s breath fogged in the damp air as he pushed the door open.

Inside smelled of damp wood and iron. And something else. Something coppery.

Blood.

His stomach twisted as he stepped deeper, the floor creaking beneath him. A candle burned low on a table, its flame sputtering. And spread across the wood, photographs—grainy shots of the victims. Smiling faces before death had taken them. Notes scrawled in the margins. Times, locations, details only the killer could know.

Julian’s blood turned cold. His hands trembled as he lifted one photo—and froze.

It was him.

A picture of Julian, taken outside Adrien’s loft.

His breath hitched, panic clawing at his chest. He staggered back, nearly knocking the table over. That’s when he heard the sound behind him—slow, deliberate footsteps.

“Curiosity,” Adrien’s voice purred from the darkness, “always was your weakness.”

Julian spun, his pulse a wild drumbeat. Adrien stepped into the dim light, his expression unreadable—half lover, half predator. He wore no mask, no disguise, only that wicked, dangerous smile.

Julian’s throat tightened. “It’s you…”

Adrien closed the distance between them, pressing him against the wall, breath hot, body overpowering. “And still, you can’t run. Can you?” His lips brushed Julian’s ear, his hands sliding down his body, slow, possessive, claiming.

Julian wanted to scream, to fight, to escape—but his body betrayed him. His pulse thundered with desire as Adrien kissed him, hard, cruel, intoxicating.

Between gasps, Julian whispered, “You’re a monster.”

Adrien bit his lip until it bled, then kissed him again, the taste of iron and sin flooding Julian’s mouth. “No,” Adrien growled. “I’m your monster.”

And in that ruined house, with shadows pressing in and blood staining the air, Julian realized the truth: the killer wasn’t just hunting him—he was already claimed.

The candle sputtered, throwing shadows like demons across the walls. Adrien’s breath was hot against Julian’s skin, his grip unyielding, his eyes blazing with hunger and something darker—possession.

Julian’s heart pounded, fear clawing at him. Yet beneath the terror, another feeling pulsed stronger, more dangerous: desire.

He pushed at Adrien’s chest weakly, whispering, “You killed them… you killed them all.”

Adrien tilted his head, the smile on his lips wicked and cruel. “And yet here you are. Shaking in my arms. Wanting me more than you want the truth.” His hand slid lower, tracing Julian’s body with slow, deliberate fire. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Julian’s lips parted, but no words came. His body betrayed him, arching toward Adrien’s touch even as his mind screamed to run. He hated himself for it—this obsession, this addiction. But Adrien had carved himself into his soul like a blade.

Adrien kissed him then, brutal and claiming, swallowing Julian’s protest with heat and hunger. Julian moaned against his mouth, fingers clutching desperately at Adrien’s shirt. Every kiss was a chain, every touch a lock.

“You’re mine,” Adrien growled between kisses. “The city, the blood, the fear—it doesn’t matter. Because in the end, you’ll stay. You’ll burn with me in these shadows.”

Tears blurred Julian’s vision, but his body clung to Adrien, consumed. He wanted to resist, to break free, to scream—but the truth sank like venom into his bones: Adrien was right.

Even if the city knew. Even if the blood never washed clean. Even if it destroyed him.

Because Julian wasn’t just trapped. He was bound—by lust, by obsession, by the velvet shadows that had become his prison.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to escape.

The city did not sleep. Police sirens sliced through the humid night, echoing off the French Quarter’s crumbling walls. New Orleans buzzed with fear—the killer was closing in, and so were the detectives hunting him.

Julian sat on the edge of Adrien’s bed, his fingers tangled in his hair, his chest tight with panic. He could still see the photographs from that house on Dauphine Street, his own face among the victims. The image burned into his mind like a curse.

Adrien entered quietly, still dressed from the club, sweat glistening on his throat, shirt clinging to his lean frame. He tossed his jacket aside and smirked when he saw Julian trembling. “They’re getting closer, aren’t they?” Adrien purred, voice like silk over a blade.

Julian’s throat tightened. “I should go to the police.” The words escaped before he could stop them.

Adrien froze, then laughed—a low, dark sound that made Julian’s blood run cold. “Oh, Julian,” he whispered, stepping closer, his fingers gripping Julian’s chin, tilting it up. “You won’t. You can’t. Because you crave me too much to let me go.”

Julian wanted to deny it, to scream, but his body betrayed him. Adrien’s touch ignited fire across his skin, and when Adrien pressed his mouth to his, Julian melted, moaning into the kiss, consumed by need. Every thrust of their bodies was violent, desperate—fear fueling passion until pleasure and terror became indistinguishable.

When it was over, Julian lay beneath Adrien, breathless, his body trembling. Adrien traced lazy patterns across his chest, his voice soft, dangerous. “The police will come. They’ll knock on this door, whisper your name, tempt you with freedom.” He bit gently at Julian’s throat, making him gasp. “And still—you’ll choose me.”

Julian’s heart raced, his eyes stinging with tears. Because deep down, he knew Adrien was right.

He was already lost.

Already chained.

And even if the city burned, Julian would rather burn with Adrien than live without him.

The night was too quiet. Adrien sprawled across the bed, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers, eyes glowing with that same wicked calm. Julian paced the loft, nerves shredded, every creak of the floorboards echoing in his skull.

Then came the sound.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The knock on the door. Heavy. Commanding. The sound of law and judgment.

Julian froze. Adrien only smirked, exhaling a ribbon of smoke. “Right on time,” he drawled.

“Adrien…” Julian’s voice cracked. “They know. They’re here for you.”

Adrien stood, the smoke swirling around him like a crown. “No, Julian,” he said softly, stepping closer, cupping Julian’s face with warm, unyielding hands. “They’re here for us.”

Another knock. Louder this time. A voice barked through the door: “Open up! Police!”

Julian’s chest heaved. His mind screamed to run, to betray Adrien, to end this nightmare. But Adrien’s lips crashed against his, devouring him, silencing every doubt. The kiss was brutal, desperate, addictive—fire against fear, lust against reason.

When they broke apart, Julian was trembling, breathless. Adrien’s forehead pressed to his, his words a whisper of possession. “Choose, Julian. Them—or me.”

The door rattled under the force of fists. Sirens wailed outside. Julian’s heart thundered.

And in that moment, he understood the truth: there was no choice. He was already bound. By lust, by love, by obsession darker than death.

Julian’s whisper was hoarse, broken, but certain: “I choose you.”

Adrien’s smile was sharp as a blade. “Good boy.”

The pounding on the door grew louder, the police closing in. But inside the loft, Julian and Adrien clung to each other, two souls entwined in fire and blood, ready to burn the world down rather than be torn apart.

The velvet shadows had claimed them both.

Forever.

To be continued.......

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