Chapter 9: Blood in the Rain
734 Words
Glass exploded inward like a scream. Lucien hit the floor instinctively, shards raining over him, stinging like icy teeth against his skin. The wind howled through the busted window, ripping the curtains open like a throat exposed.
Someone was in the room.
No time to think. No time to breathe.
He scrambled backward as a figure stepped through the shattered window with boots crunching over glass. All black—hood, gloves, knife. No face, just the glint of steel and intention.
Lucien’s breath caught.
> “You don’t belong to him,” the figure growled.
Lucien’s pulse thrashed like a caught bird. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
> “Yes, you do.”
The man lunged.
Lucien barely dodged. The blade kissed his cheek, shallow but enough to draw blood. He cried out, kicking blindly, knocking over a lamp as the room filled with shadows and chaos.
Then the door exploded open.
Gunfire.
Just one shot.
The man staggered. Blood blossomed from his shoulder. He turned with a snarl, but Zarek was already there—jacket soaked, gun in hand, eyes black with fury. His presence filled the room like smoke and fire.
> “Touch him again,” Zarek said, stepping forward, “and I’ll peel the skin off your bones.”
The man didn’t wait. He leapt back through the broken window, vanishing into the rain.
Silence. Except Lucien’s ragged breathing and the thunder in Zarek’s chest.
Zarek dropped the gun and crossed the room in three strides, grabbing Lucien by the face—hands shaking but gentle.
> “You’re hurt.”
Lucien’s voice barely came. “How did you—?”
> “Your apartment’s been watched since the moment you walked out of that club with me. I saw him coming up the fire escape.”
Lucien blinked. “You’re stalking me?”
> “I’m protecting you.”
“By dragging me into this world?” Lucien hissed, pushing Zarek’s hands away. “By leaving me alone after that night? By making me feel like I meant something and then disappearing like it was nothing?”
Zarek’s jaw tightened. “You meant something.”
Lucien’s breath caught.
Zarek reached into his coat and pulled out a small black velvet box. He opened it.
Inside was a key.
> “To my place,” he said quietly. “Come with me. Tonight. Now.”
Lucien stared. “I—what?”
> “He’ll come back. Others will. You’re not safe anymore, not outside my walls. I thought I could keep you out of this. I was wrong.”
Lucien’s voice was hoarse. “This is insane.”
> “So is dying in your living room,” Zarek snapped.
Lucien looked at the glass-strewn floor, the blood on his hands. His own blood. He could still feel the tremor of that man’s voice. That knife.
> If you love him, run.
But he wasn’t running.
He took the key.
---
Later – Zarek’s Penthouse
The view was all city lights and storm clouds. Floor-to-ceiling glass wrapped around the edges of the world, as if nothing outside could touch them. Inside, it smelled like leather, cologne, and something darker—gunpowder and memory.
Lucien sat on the edge of Zarek’s massive bed, the cut on his cheek now stitched and cleaned. Zarek stood across the room, facing the window.
Lucien watched him. The scar on his chest, the tension in his shoulders. There was violence in him, yes—but something else too. Something lost.
> “Why me?” Lucien asked.
Zarek didn’t turn around. “Because when you touched my scar, I felt it heal.”
Silence. Lucien’s breath caught.
Zarek turned at last. “I’ve killed men for less than the way he looked at you tonight. If I hadn’t made it in time—”
Lucien stood, voice firm. “But you did.”
Their eyes locked.
Zarek crossed the room. “I can’t promise to be good, Lucien. I’m not a hero. I’ve burned this city more than I’ve saved it.”
Lucien reached for his hand. “I don’t need a hero.”
Zarek’s voice dropped. “Then what do you need?”
Lucien leaned in. “Someone who won’t vanish in the morning.”
Zarek kissed him.
And this time, he didn’t disappear.
---
- Writer
