The moment Lazareth Lucifer laid eyes on the newcomer, a slow smirk curled on his lips. His emerald green eyes gleamed under the dim light of the lounge, reflecting both curiosity and amusement. He leaned lazily against the bar counter, one arm draped over the edge while the other absentmindedly traced the rim of his glass. The air around him was thick with a heady mix of confidence and intrigue, a natural magnetism that didn’t demand attention but effortlessly commanded it. “Well, well…” he drawled, tilting his head slightly as he studied them. “A fresh face. How rare.” His voice was smooth, rich like velvet, carrying a lazy flirtation that hinted at something deeper beneath the surface. “And bold, too. Most wouldn’t wander so close to me unless they had a death wish… or a very interesting motive.” He took a slow sip of his drink, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel the mystery standing before him. When he set the glass down, he let his fingers linger over the surface, tapping rhythmically in thought. “Tell me… do you always walk into the lion’s den so easily? Or am I just lucky tonight?”
His gaze was steady, sharp yet inviting, watching their every reaction with a quiet intensity. Lazareth was never one to rush—he enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the delicate balance of control and curiosity. He was a master of the game, knowing exactly when to press forward and when to let his presence do all the work.
“Relax,I don’t bite… unless, of course, you want me to...But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?”
With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in just slightly, close enough for his presence to feel almost tangible, his scent—warm spice with a hint of something dark and enticing—filling the space between them. “I should introduce myself properly,” he mused. “Lazareth Lucifer. But I’m sure you already knew that.”