"I recall already giving your card back," Nikolai said smoothly, feigning innocence. "What more could I possibly have?" He paused, just long enough for the tension to grow teeth. "And even if I did have whatever it is you're missing... is that really how someone would ask for it? Maybe if you asked nicely, I'd reconsider. Maybe even forgive you for ruining our lovely date."
Poking and prodding. That was his game. Each word was a calculated push, designed to draw blood without piercing the skin.
Nikolai could hear Lucien's composure fraying, the tight control straining at the edges. That restrained voice—hoarse, sharp—spoke volumes. He was close. So close.
It thrilled him.
But beneath the thrill stirred something heavier. The simmering heat coiling low in his stomach wasn't just amusement—it was hunger. A yearning that blurred the line between sadism and instinct.
Sure, he liked Lucien's fury, the sharp tongue, the little sparks of defiance. But what he craved was the look that came after—the moment the fight left his eyes, when he gave in, when he'd crawl closer and whisper please.
He wanted to see that again. To feel it.
While Nikolai waited like predator, Lucien pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, trying to steady himself. Fine. Breathe. Don't explode. He could at least try to have a human conversation. Maybe the man had seen the pills. Maybe he'd picked them up by accident.
But God—for once, could Nikolai not make things so damn difficult? The man was impossible. Petty. Maybe he wanted an apology. Maybe he just wanted to see how long it would take Lucien to crack.
Whatever the reason, Lucien gritted his teeth and forced himself to bend. As they said, if you couldn't scoop oil with your finger—curl your hand instead.
"…I shouldn't have lost my cool like that," he said finally, the words grinding out between clenched teeth. "It was wrong of me. But I really need my pills."
It took everything in him not to hiss the last part. He could feel his pulse pounding at his temples, his body trembling with fever and frustration. His throat was dry, lips cracked as he licked them, trying to ignore the heat crawling under his skin.
"So can we meet? Please." The word tasted like poison. He hated it. Hated this.
Begging someone like Nikolai made him feel sick. The man was dangerous—too dangerous to make an enemy of. But that didn't mean Lucien had any delusion of friendship. No. He was already thinking ahead. He just needed to make Nikolai play along, and knowing how shallow he was, the man would—if only for his own amusement.
Nikolai couldn't hold his grin in.
That little, meek, 'please' had him salivating.
"Send me your address," he said finally, his tone lowering, smoother, quieter. "I'll head over soon. Don't be too surprised when you see me, princess~."
Hearing him ask for his address, Lucien clicked his tongue. "Why don't you ask your boss lady about it? She's got my whole Wikipedia memorized, doesn't she?" he muttered, rubbing at his temple, voice exhausted and irritated by all of the games this man kept playing with him. "And besides—I've seen worse. You won't shock me to death." He mocked with a heavy sigh following it.
Nikolai smirked but ended the call without saying anything more and despite Lucien's tantrum, his phone soon beeped with the message from Lucien, sending his address.
A heartbeat later, he was on his feet. The office was left in disarray, papers scattered, laptop still warm. He grabbed what he needed—wallet, phone, keys—and made for the elevator. His men received their orders to stand by, no questions asked.
Loosening his tie, he slipped behind the wheel of his car, the leather squeaking under his palms as he gripped the steering wheel too tightly. He'd never driven this fast, not even during the chase missions. The parking gate barely had time to rise before his matte black Cadillac shot through.
Inside the tower, employees caught only a blur—windows rattling from the force of his departure. One woman lingered at the glass, eyes narrowing, the corner of her mouth twitching. "He hasn't even been paying attention to me lately," she muttered, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.
The drive was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed against the ribs, whispering things best ignored. He kept his eyes on the road, refusing to listen.
When he finally pulled up to the address, his brows lifted slightly. A normal house. Plain. Suburban. Not at all what he expected.
He chuckled under his breath. "You really do surprise me, kitten."
Stepping out, he smoothed his sleeves, rapped his knuckles against the door, and pressed the bell few times.
"I'm here, princess~," he called lightly.
The porch light flickered on, spilling gold across his face—and revealing hair that was no longer sunlit gold but a striking black, ink-dark against his pale skin.
Only then did he realize, with a low curse, that in his rush to get there—he'd forgotten to put on the damn wig.
On the other hand, after he had sent that text to Nikolai, Lucien had let the phone slip from his hand onto the coffee table as he exhaled, sinking into the couch. The scent in the room had grown heavy, that distinct rainfall-and-pinewood musk thick in the air. He knew he reeked of it, but scrubbing himself raw in the bathroom would only make him faint faster. But he couldn't just keep wearing his sweat stricken clothes either and so he got up to at least change his clothes.
Despite how he seemed, he had already taken few showers already.
Lucien went for something simple and pulled on a loose black cotton button-up—mostly undone—and matching pants. No jewelry. No effort. Just enough to not look dead.
He laid on the couch, slowly sinking in, staring at the wall.
His body ached, sharp stabs like something was trying to claw its way out from beneath his skin. He pressed a hand against his ribs, breathing slow through his teeth.
Nervous. God, he hated that he was nervous.
That bastard had a talent for pissing him off, and now he had to ask for help—from him, of all people.
And worst of all, Nikolai would know it.
He almost drifted off before the knocking and ringing began—sharp, insistent, and annoyingly childish.
His eyebrow twitched violently. To ring and consistently knock?
Lucien, who'd had no strength a second ago, suddenly jolted upright, fury dragging him back to life. He yanked the door open and glared, all thoughts of civility burned to ashes.
"Do you have mush instead of a brain? Why the hell are you ringing and knocking so much?"
His breath came heavy, his face flushed, brows drawn tight as his eyes locked on that infuriating face. The black hair suited him—sadly. Shame his personality was still absolute shit.
Nikolai hadn't known what to expect when Lucien ripped open the door. Sure, there was that familiar airy waft of rainfall and earthy pine that always clung to him—but the moment they stood face to face, the potency of Lucien's scent hit him like a truck.
His nostrils flared. Pupils dilated. Every muscle in his body went taut, trembling under his clothes as instinct roared to life.
"Shit…"
Lucien almost slammed the door shut again, but with a stiff motion, forced himself to step aside. "...Come inside."
Then it hit him. A soft undercurrent—floral. Jasmine and chamomile, sweet and dizzying. It clashed with his fever haze, made his head spin until he nearly swayed. God, he wanted to lean in and breathe it deeper. If they were on better terms, he might've even asked what perfume Nikolai used. But he said nothing.
Nikolai heaved a ragged breath, his gaze glued to Lucien. His pulse thundered in his ears. Whatever scraps of self-restraint he had left were slipping fast. With a low growl, he bit down on his forearm—hard. The sting of pain grounded him, teeth sinking until they broke skin.
He had to stay aware. Focused. Anything but the pull clawing at his gut.
But damn, it was hard with that scent—thick, intoxicating, crawling into his lungs until thought itself fractured.
His footing staggered. He gripped the doorframe to steady himself, holding his bleeding arm up as if to keep Lucien at a distance.
"Dude… why is your scent so fucking strong…" His voice cracked, breathless. "Holy shit…"
Lucien froze, his lips parting in disbelief. For a second, his brain refused to process what he was seeing.
Biting. Blood. The wild, glassy look in Nikolai's eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" His voice broke somewhere between anger and panic. "You're bleeding! Fuck— you rabid dog…"
His eyes darted to the wound, then back to Nikolai's pupils, blown wide and unsteady. The way the man's chest heaved, muscles twitching beneath his shirt—it was like staring at a caged animal seconds away from breaking free.
Something in Lucien's gut twisted, primal and instinctive.Don't touch. Don't step closer.
Whatever this was—whatever he was—it was dangerous.