Page 12 of Lucien

But then, she never had.

She’d chosen death over eternal life with him. Had finally revealed the fear she’d always had of him and his kind. Of becominglikehim.

Luc drained the rest of his whiskey in a gulp, wishing it were easier for his unnatural body to feel the effects. But he’d need the bartender to leave the bottle on the table for that. Not a good look for a first…date? Scheduled encounter with a mysterious stranger?

Luc wouldn’t freeze this time. And he wouldn’t scare the young man off either. He’d be…charming. He’d be patient. He’d learn everything he could about this little desert flower he’d found.

He wouldn’t repeat old mistakes.

Luc set his glass down and swept a hand through his hair. It was back to a respectable length, shorn shorter on the sides than on top. He’d compelled a stylist at the recommended hair salon to give him an appointment that morning, baring his teeth when the other customer waiting had raised a fuss. His facial hair was also back to its stylish hint of stubble.

Luc held his breath as the scent of cinnamon wafted into the bar.

Finally.

He watched with a predator’s intensity as the young man from the night before entered, drinking in the sight like it was cool water on a hot day. The human was almost equal in height to Luc’s own stature, probably an inch or so above six feet. A little skinny, perhaps, but there was a wiry strength evident in his limbs. He definitely wasn’t delicate.

But he was…compelling.

Luc kept his gaze fixed as the human approached the bar, greeting the female bartender with familiar warmth.

Luc waited at his table for the young man to order his drink. See? He could be patient.

He tapped his finger on the table.

So fucking patient.

An eternity or three later and his human was arriving in the corner, setting a bottle of beer on the table. That smile—that fuckingsmile—lit up again as the young man sat down. “You showed up,” he said, giving Luc an appreciative once-over.

“I did.” Luc’s answer came out in a low growl. He watched in fascination as the youth’s dark eyes widened at the sound of it.

“And he speaks,” the man said, his voice coming out a little breathless.

“Your name, if you please,” Luc demanded.

The youth—he couldn’t have been much older than twenty, although clearly he was old enough to drink—cocked his head, brushing a lock of green hair out of one eye. Luc noted that he had rings on his fingers and the piercings in his ears were filled with little black stones. “Yours first.”

Luc smirked at the demand. “Lucien Volaire. You can call me Luc, if you like.”

“Luc. Lucien. Luc.” The young man repeated his name, rolling the syllables in his mouth as if taste testing them.

Luc liked hearing his name from those red lips. Maybe a little too much. He cleared his throat. “And yours?”

Slender fingers toyed with the beer-bottle cap. “Jamie. Jamie Hernandez.”

“Jamie,” Luc mused. It suited him. “What did you mean when you said you’d been waiting for me, Jamie?”

A mischievous glint entered Jamie’s eyes. “Exactly what it sounded like.”

“Explain,” Luc demanded gruffly. So much for being charming. So far he was just barking out orders, like Roman on one of his moodier days. But he needed to know.

Jamie pursed his lips, studying Luc’s face. “Take off the sunglasses first.”

Luc narrowed his eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses. “Why?”

Jamie gave him a look like he was wasting both their time asking pointless questions. “Because I want to see your eyes again.”

“Why?”

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