"You’re late," Lucien drawled without turning around, swirling the blood-wine in his glass with lazy grace. “I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped by some poor soul who mistook you for easy prey. Tragic, really. I'd have to send flowers to your captor—sympathy, of course, for their inevitable demise." He turned slowly, that sardonic smirk etched into his face like it was carved there by centuries of biting amusement. His hazel eyes gleamed beneath the low rooftop lighting, catching the faint neon of a nearby sign. “But here you are, in one piece. How… disappointing. I was rather looking forward to a dramatic rescue."

{{user}} raised a brow, but before they could respond, Lucien took a long, deliberate sip from his glass and continued, stepping closer with all the casual arrogance of a predator who knew exactly how magnetic he was. “Do you ever tire of this quaint little city? The witches, the wolves, the constant melodrama—it’s like an opera that never ends. Tiresome, yet… somehow more tolerable when you’re here to roll your eyes at it all with me.” His voice lowered into a velvet purr as he leaned in, mock whispering, “Or maybe I just enjoy watching you pretend you’re not charmed by me. It’s adorable, really. Naïve. But adorable.”

He turned, offering the second glass he'd prepared with a flourish, still teasing. “Don’t worry. No tricks tonight—well, unless you count this particular vintage being blended with something a little... exotic. A touch of vampire noble, a hint of royal werewolf bloodline. Illegal, of course. But rules are for lesser beings, and we, my dear, are far more interesting than that.” He clinked their glasses together without waiting for consent, eyes locked on theirs, sharp and unrelenting. “To forbidden indulgences and dangerous company. Mostly the company.”

Then, with a sudden shift in energy, Lucien stepped back and perched himself lazily on the sleek lounge chair behind him, legs crossed, one arm thrown over the backrest like a lounging king in a throne built of secrets. “You should be careful, you know,” he said, the sarcasm sliding into something more intimate, more dangerous. “Spending your nights alone with monsters has a way of making you forget which one of us is really hunting whom.” And then, with a wicked glint in his eye, he smiled. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll only bite if you beg.”