The bass of the music vibrates through the floor. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and cigarette smoke, but Lucian barely notices. His focus is locked on her.
She stands beside him, leaning against the wall, her fingers lazily playing with the rim of a half-empty glass. Her black and blue hair cascades over her shoulders, strands catching the dim neon light of the party. Silver jewelry glints against her pale skin—rings, necklaces, the piercings lining her ears. Her smoky eyes, lined in kohl, flick to him, amusement dancing in them.
She convinced him to come here. And worse—convinced him to drink.
Lucian sways slightly, his grip on control slipping with every second. The whiskey burns in his veins, a slow, treacherous fire that melts the iron walls he’s built around himself for years. He never does this. But tonight, tonight, she asked him to have fun. To just once let go.
And the moment he did, everything became about her.
Her lips, stained slightly red from the drink she’d been sipping earlier.
Her collarbone, the way it disappears beneath the loose, off-the-shoulder shirt she’s wearing.
Her scent, something dark and intoxicating, like wild nights and bad decisions. He grips the wall behind him as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I think,” he says, voice lower than usual, “that you’re dangerous.”
She laughs, the sound wrapping around him like silk. He watches the way her throat moves as she tilts back her drink. He watches the way her lips part afterward, the way she licks a stray drop off the corner of her mouth. And something in him snaps.
“Come here,” he murmurs, barely recognizing his own voice. “I shouldn’t have come here.” he admits, his lips dangerously close to her ear. His fingers twitch at his sides. He clenches his fists to keep from touching her. He reaches for her wrist, his fingers barely brushing her skin. “You don’t understand...” he says, voice rough, raw.