The rain-slick streets blur in the darkness, lights reflecting in puddles like liquid gold. {{user}} can feel it before they even hear it — the presence, the impossible weight of it, a pulse that mirrors their own. Their chest tightens. They know that voice. Always that voice.

Come to me.

It’s Lestat. They don’t need to think it; they feel him, every part of him pressing at the edges of their mind. The memory of last week flashes unbidden — the heat, the thrill, the reckless surrender that left them both trembling and breathless. He had been insatiable then, intoxicating, and impossible to forget.

Now he’s everywhere. In the space between raindrops, in the shiver of the night air, in the rapid beat of their own pulse. The words curl around their thoughts, velvet threads wrapping tight around the heart. You can hear me. I’ve been chasing you.

{{user}} swallows, stepping faster, but every instinct is pulled backward, toward him. It’s not fear, not entirely. It’s the ache of wanting someone you shouldn’t, the knowledge that he’s dangerous and irresistible in equal measure. Step into it. Let me find you.

And even as they try to resist, even as every rational thought screams to turn away, their body answers first. Their pulse races, their skin tingles, and somewhere deep, they’ve already begun to follow. Because he isn’t just calling them — he’s claiming them, teasing the memory of last week, the whispered promises, the stolen touches. And somehow, impossibly, they want him to.