Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Five

~Lucien’s Pov~ 

The scent of perfume and wine hung thick in the air, laced with swear and lust. Somewhere in the background, low music throbbed with a beat that pulsed in my head like a second heartbeat. 

I hated this place. 

Truly. 

The Royal club was just a facade. More like a thuggery club. It was Nyx’s playground—smoky lounges, pole dancers, women who knew too much about us and still begged for more. I had stopped coming here ever since I got Elias. It felt empty to me. All flash and flesh and nothing real. 

And yet here I was. 

Sitting in the farthest corner of the velvet-lit room, a half-empty glass of dark liquor in one hand, cigarette burning slowly in the other. 

I hadn’t planned to come. 

But Nyx had leaned against my doorway earlier tonight with that smug little grin and said, “you are sulking like a ghost, brother. Get up. Drunk. Distract yourself.”

I didn’t want distraction. I wanted Elias. 

But I came anyway. Maybe just to stop thinking for a second. 

Now Nyx was gone—he had disappeared with two girls hanging in his arms like he was a horny bastard, well he was. He hadn’t even made it past the first drink. Typical. I wasn’t surprised.

Around me, women danced on elevated platforms, hair flying, heels clicking. One was upside down on a pole, her legs perfectly arched. Cheers echoed from a group of nobles near the bar.

Three different women had tried to sit on my lap since I arrived. I ignored them all. One of them had asked if I was “still brooding over that human boy.”

I hadn’t answered.

I took a drag from the cigarette, eyes scanning nothing in particular.

Elias.

That was the only name in my head. The only face. The only scent I craved.

He’d cried so much. I’d seen it in his eyes —the way they were swollen, the red that rimmed them, the way he refused to meet my gaze at first. I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know what to say.

I wanted to hold him, drink from him, worship him—but how do you do any of that when you’re the reason they feel broken?

I was so caught in my thoughts, I barely noticed her until she was sitting next to me.

Tall, dark-haired, glittering in a gown that barely covered anything.

Lora.

One of the only women I’d ever given time to in this place. We’d had a… connection, once. The kind born of hunger and boredom, not affection.

“Thought you’d never come back here,” she said smoothly, brushing her fingers along my forearm. “You look like hell, Lucien.”

I didn’t answer. Just took another slow sip.

She leaned in closer. Her perfume overwhelmed my senses. I flinched.

“Still not in the mood?” she teased, her fingers grazing my thigh.

“Don’t,” I said. Not harshly, but firm.

Lora tilted her head, amused. “Is it because of him? The human I’ve been hearing whispers about?”

I stared at the ice in my glass.

When I didn’t deny it, she smirked knowingly. “It’s fine,” she said, reaching for the bottle and pouring a drink into my glass, then tipping it toward my lips. “You don’t have to speak. Just drink. Forget for a while.”

I parted my lips. She poured the liquor in slowly.

And then—

I felt him.

Like a bolt of lightning to my spine.

His scent. Soft. Familiar. Heart-wrenching. Elias.

My head snapped up, eyes scanning the edge of the room.

And there he was.

Standing in the shadows, looking like his heart had just shattered in his chest.

His eyes met mine.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

And then, slowly, he turned and walked out.

Gone.

Fuck.

I should’ve run after him. I should’ve gotten up, pushed past the women, chased him and grabbed him and explained.

But I sat there.

Frozen.

Burning.

I didn’t even realize my hand had crushed the cigarette between my fingers until smoke hissed against my skin.

How did he even know about this place? How did he find me?

And why… why didn’t I stop him?

⸻

It was long past midnight when I slipped back into the palace. The corridors were silent, the air cool.

I didn’t go through the door.

Instead, I climbed through the window of his room.

The balcony was open—he never locked it.

I stepped in and saw him.

Elias.

Fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, steam still clinging to his skin. His hair was damp, clinging to his cheeks.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look surprised.

But he didn’t smile either.

He looked right at me. Eyes hollow.

I stood there for a second, breathing. Wanting.

Mine. My instincts howled.

But I held back.

“Do you want to talk?” I asked quietly.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, voice flat.

“Elias.” I took a step forward.

“Don’t.”

He moved past me, grabbed a shirt and tugged it on.

“Elias, I didn’t—”

“I said don’t.”

I stopped.

He turned to me, arms crossed, eyes hard. “You had women all over you.”

“I didn’t touch them.”

“Does it matter?” he snapped. “We’re not anything. You never said we were. We never defined it. So you can do whatever the hell you want, Lucien.”

My jaw tightened. “You know it’s not like that.”

He laughed bitterly. “Then what is it? Because you drink from me when you feel like it. You kiss me, and then you leave. You crawl into my bed in the morning and ignore me all day. What the hell is this?”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “It’s confusion, Elias. It’s craving. It’s—something I haven’t figured out yet.”

“Then figure it out,” he snapped. “Because I’m tired of being confused with you.”

“You think this is easy for me?” I asked, voice rising. “Do you know what it means for someone like me to want someone like you? I don’t just want your blood. I want—more.”

He stared. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I mean them.”

He shook his head. “Let’s just keep it platonic. You need my blood, I’ll give it to you. But that’s all this is now.”

My heart twisted.

“That’s what you want?” I asked.

He didn’t look at me. “Yes.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Then, quietly, “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I see it in your face.”

“Leave, Lucien.”

I almost did. I almost turned and walked back out the window.

But instead, I crossed the room slowly. I reached for his hand.

He flinched.

“Don’t push me away,” I whispered.

He looked up at me. And for one split second, I saw it—all of it. The want. The pain. The anger. The confusion.

But then he pulled his hand back.

And said, “Goodnight, Lucien.”

I stood there, heart heavy, lips parted to speak.

But nothing came out.

So I left.