Chapter 3_The Name in the Mist
496 Words
Evi’s breath caught.
The stranger stood just beyond the iron bars, his tall frame wrapped in black. His face was sharper up close—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips carved in something cruel and beautiful.
But it was his eyes that stole her.
Gold. Not hazel. Not brown. Pure, glowing, molten gold—like fire caught in ice.
> “Who… are you?” she asked, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
He tilted his head, as if amused.
Like a predator curious about the prey that dared speak.
> “Names have power,” he said, stepping closer. The metal bars between them hissed with cold. “Especially mine.”
She swallowed. “Tell me anyway.”
A pause. A faint smirk curled at his mouth.
> “Lucien,” he said at last. “Lucien Vale.”
Her pulse fluttered. The name fit. Too well.
> “Why are you watching me?”
> “Because you don’t belong in the dark,” he said softly. “But you walked into it anyway.”
She blinked. “You’re making it sound like a fairytale.”
> “No,” he said, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Fairytales don’t end in blood.”
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She should’ve walked away.
Every bone in her body told her this man was dangerous—not just dangerous, but impossible. His presence pressed against her skin like heat and shadow, and yet…
She couldn’t move.
Didn’t want to.
> “Have you been following me?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, Lucien reached up…
…and lightly brushed his fingertips across the iron bar between them—right where her hand rested.
Evi flinched at the cold.
But didn’t pull away.
> “You smell like moonlight,” he murmured.
“Soft. Warm. Forbidden.”
Her lips parted. Her heart thudded loud enough for them both to hear.
> “And you,” she said, trying to stay steady, “look like a nightmare dressed in temptation.”
That made him smile.
A slow, devastating curve of his lips.
> “You should stay far away from me, little dove.”
> “Then why are you here?” she challenged.
Silence.
Then he stepped back. Just enough.
> “Because I’m a fool,” he said. “And you’re a warning I can’t stop ignoring.”
He turned into the mist, vanishing like he’d never been there.
But before he disappeared, his voice came one last time—whispered on the breeze like silk:
> “Next time, I might not stop myself from touching you.”
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Evi stood frozen, staring into the fog. Her whole body trembled—not with fear, but with want.
Her skin still buzzed where his presence had lingered.
Lucien Vale.
Who was he?
What was he?
And why did it feel like she’d been waiting her whole life just to hear him say her name?
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- Writer
