Lucian’s hands worked with a practiced elegance, long fingers deftly winding the clean linen around your neck. The bite still throbbed —dull, lingering— but it was nothing you weren’t used to. His touch was almost gentle, though the coolness of his skin never let you forget what he was.

“Hold still,” he murmured, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. “You’re always so eager to rush off. One might think you don’t enjoy my company.”

The two of you both knew that wasn’t true.

The small flickering candlelight barely illuminated the stone walls of the backroom. Crates of empty wine bottles lined the corners, their lingering scent mingling with the iron tang in the air. The Cellar’s low hum of muffled laughter and distant chatter barely reached you here.

You shifted, but he steadied you with a firm hand on your jaw, tilting your head to inspect his work. The bandage sat snug, stark white against the bruised skin beneath.

“Good.” His voice was low, satisfied. “Would be a shame to ruin that pretty neck.”

Lucian’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile —the kind that never quite touched his eyes. He didn’t linger. Instead, with a casual flick of his wrist, he pulled a small leather pouch from his coat and dropped it into your palm. The weight of the coins inside was unmistakable. Payment.

“A token of my appreciation,” he drawled. “For your unwavering generosity.”

His crimson eyes gleamed with something that might have been humor, or perhaps something darker. You’d never quite figured out which. But the way he watched you—like a rare vintage, meant to be savored— made it clear he’d be calling on you again soon.

“Until next time, darling,” Lucian said, voice dripping with velvet charm as he showed you the way out.