Everything was going as planned.
The enticing winnings, the endless praise and applause from the employees, the beverages on the house meant to keep adrenaline high and inhibitions low — all of it folded together into the perfect illusion of luck and destiny. Mark had hit a win, of course. The group naturally rejoiced, laughter spilling like champagne as coins clattered and machines sang. It was expected.
But Nikolai wasn't watching Mark.
His grey eyes trailed instead to the man standing beside him — the one Mark clung to like a tether. Something about him stood out, not for flamboyance or noise, but for the way he moved. Wariness, cautious restraint, that coiled tension of someone forced into the wrong den. A deer among wolves. And that alone sparked something in Nikolai, a low animalistic burn curling in his gut.
Oh, he could wait. He could savor. The reward would taste all the sweeter for it. For now, he would simply enjoy the show.
His gaze never left him. Dark, slightly wavy hair framing ivory-pale skin, the kind of pallor that gleamed beneath the harsh casino lights. Eyes deep, shadowed, set against high cheekbones. Rarely did Nikolai feel the urge to sink his fangs into another man — let alone one so stubbornly guarded — and the novelty of it thrilled him. That scent didn't help either. Faint but insistent, threaded through the air: rain soaking into forest soil, the resinous bite of pinewood. It was maddening. It clung to him, teased at Nikolai's senses, stirred things lower, sharper.
Without another thought, he rose. Cigarette balanced casually between his lips, he moved with that deliberate ease of someone who knew exactly how much space belonged to him. The crowd parted instinctively, chaos folding around him like stage curtains, but his gaze was locked. Target acquired. Every step wound the tension tighter.
Lucien felt it before he saw him. That crawling itch skittered up the nape of his neck, the subtle prickle of unseen eyes dragging across his skin. His muscles tightened, scanning sharply through the smoke and haze, but he couldn't find the source. Too many bodies, too many colors, too much perfume and alcohol turning the air thick, cloying, sour enough to churn his stomach.
His jaw flexed. Maybe I should just leave. They wouldn't miss me. They're too busy throwing money like it isn't even theirs. The thought curled humorless at his lips.
And then he saw him.
The tingling sharpened, cutting a livewire jolt down his spine. Blonde. Sharp-featured. Cigarette perched too perfectly at the corner of his mouth. Eyes feral, but feigning boredom. Handsome, yes — but not in a way Lucien trusted. No, it was the way he moved that sank claws into Lucien's nerves. Predatory. A panther circling. A body that apologized to no one. Instinct stirred — that raw whisper of fight or flight — screaming at him to back away.
Instead, he held.
Because Lucien, never ran away.
Nikolai drew closer, smoke trailing behind him, presence pressing against Lucien's awareness with suffocating subtlety. Heat radiated off him, magnetic, invasive. Those silver-grey eyes raked him deliberately: the dark hair falling over his forehead, the faint flush of ivory skin, the stubborn set of his shoulders, the way he seemed separate even in a room full of bodies.
A smirk curled across Nikolai's lips. Head tilted, he closed the distance just a hair more.
"I take it you're not interested in…" His hand gestured lazily toward the machines, toward Mark's noisy celebration. "…this kind of excitement, hm?"
Lucien's jaw tightened, though his posture never broke. He gave the faintest pull backward, but his feet stayed rooted. "I'm not a gambler," he said, voice low, tone honed with dry amusement. His gaze cut to the cigarette, the flick of ash, then back to that wolfish stare. "But you look like you enjoy it."
The smirk sharpened, his lavender-grey eyes narrowing. "Still… it's almost entertaining to watch."
Nikolai flicked ash with a practiced snap, letting smoke curl in the air between them. His eyes lingered far too long on Lucien — a man who, stubbornly, refused to drown himself in the intoxicating ecstasy the casino promised. Rare. Unyielding. Even now, Nikolai's composure cracked slightly as the aroma intensified. That same rain-and-pine sting, earthy, raw, crawling under his skin and striking straight into his groin.
A groan nearly threatened his composure.
Control. Hold it.
He pulled a long drag from his cigarette, then exhaled slowly, masking the shudder in his chest as a sigh of disappointment at the machine. "I told myself I wouldn't come back here," he murmured, hand gesturing vaguely at the chaos around them. "But there's something… addicting about the idea of winning big, you know?" The smoke curled in lazy rings, a veil for the hunger in his gaze.
Lucien almost laughed. The act was too polished, too charming. The exaggerated sigh, the faux self-deprecation — oh, he was good. Sure. And I'm the bloody Queen of England.
"Really? I wouldn't know about it." Lucien finally turned to face him fully. Shoulders relaxed, chin tilted up, smirk cutting sharper as his eyes glinted with stubborn defiance. They were almost of same height, "First time here. And anyway—" He let the pause draw, gaze steady. "I don't like being controlled. Things like this become an addiction way too quickly. And addictions… control you. Not my thing."
He tipped his drink back, eyes flicking toward Mark and the others making fools of themselves. He didn't have to look to feel the stranger's gaze glued to the hollow of his throat as he swallowed. God, could he be more obvious? He was disgusted. Something about this man just rubbed him the wrong way. It had never happened to him before, to dislike someone without reason.
"See, those kinds of urges?" His voice dropped, teasing, edged. "I don't like them. Doesn't sit right with me." Was he even talking about the gambling anymore? Perhaps not, but it didn't seem like the blonde understood the innuendo.
Nikolai hummed as if in agreement, though the thought of restraint amused him. He pretended to study Lucien — as if he hadn't already memorized the slope of his shoulders, the pale line of his throat, the exact place he wanted to bite. He nodded once, feigning casualness. As if all Lucien said was the only truth.
"Oh, by the way," he added idly, "Are you the designated driver or the guy with the wallet. But with that in your hand…" His eyes slid deliberately to the glass. "…I'd say it's the latter. Am I right?"
Lucien's brow arched. He knew a conversational trap when he heard one. This stranger wasn't interested in small talk. He was too intent, too determined not to let silence sit.
For a heartbeat, Lucien studied him back. That stare — it was the look of someone who never lost. Someone who expected the world to fold. His lips twitched, one corner pulling into something between amusement, wariness, and disgust.
"I'm just indulging them," he said finally, nodding toward his friends. The tilt of his glass was careless. "Someone's gotta play the adult, yeah?"
The curt tone, that sharp assertion of control, drew a low, hungry hum from the Alpha male. He'd dealt with cocky partners before — those who swore they could handle his appetite, his preference, his relentless hunger. They never lasted. They shattered, choking on their own bravado before the game even turned savage. But this one? This one was different. Proud. Sharp. Defiant to the bone.
It made his pulse spike, heat curling dark and vicious in his gut. Oh, what a sight it would be — that arrogance dragged down, forced to the floor, this man on his knees, begging, pleading, voice cracked raw, pride splintering as he clawed for mercy that would never come....
Lucien caught the way the blond man looked at him — sharp, unfiltered interest, not the glazed stare of some drunk at a bar but the measured weight of a predator sizing prey. Not unfamiliar. He'd grown up beneath stares like that: men who wanted to be him or break him, women sketching rings and honeymoons in their heads. He knew how to handle interest — always had. Nothing new.
But this… this was peculiar. The man's gaze wasn't admiration, wasn't hate. It was lust. Naked,hungry, and somehow worse for it — worse in a way that prickled beneath Lucien's skin and sparked heat he refused to acknowledge. It reminded him of the way women at shoots would whisper perfect lay through painted lips when they thought he wasn't listening.
Nah. No fucking way, Lucien thought, amusement tugging at his mouth. He really thinks he can get me? Not even my type. Too pale. Too fake.
But his thoughts weren't keeping up with his body — and maybe it was for the best they didn't because soon chaos intruded.
A body shoved past, hard enough to knock Lucien forward. His drink sloshed dangerously close to Nikolai's shirt. Instinct snapped — his hand shot out, gripping Nikolai's shoulder with firm, reflexive strength. Steadying both of them.
The world narrowed.
Nikolai had words on his tongue, but they evaporated as heat bloomed under the man's touch. Taut muscle coiled beneath his shirt, tightening in reflex. Liquor dampened the fabric against his chest, but what seared was the press of Lucien's hand on him. His body, unbidden, craved it — more contact, more weight, more heat. But his expression? Still carved in calm amusement.