"Sorry," Lucien muttered. Automatic, edged in annoyance. He didn't sound sorry — wasn't sorry. "Not my fault though." His glare cut toward the bastard who'd shoved past, sharp and unyielding.
So fucking cute. The half-ass apology had Nikolai's lips twitching.
Lucien straightened, fishing a folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over without ceremony. "Lucien Hale," he said casually, as if introducing himself were no more effort than tossing a coin onto the table. "And you?"
Lavender-grey eyes met silver-grey fully now, unflinching. Calm, composed on the surface — but Lucien felt the pulse hammering beneath it, the restless itch only growing. Something about this man was wrong. Dangerous. Wrapped in expensive cologne and a smile that looked careless but wasn't.
Lucien's lips curled into that easy, crooked smirk. Why should he back down? The man stayed unbothered either way, maybe even amused, and that only made Lucien's grin widen, eyes glinting with something sharp, playful, probing. He truly wanted to know, just what the hell was going through that skull of his. Was this man testing him? Judging him? Or intrigued by him?
Nikolai lowered his gaze to the cloth Lucien held, ignoring the question of a name with ease.
Low-quality and disposable.
The kind meant for the lower-middle class. Anyone else in the establishment would have had their head rolling for that. But Nikolai's hand, calloused and scarred, reached out with a slow, deliberate grace, skimming along Lucien's wrist as if measuring the strength in his grip before tugging.
The movement wasn't forceful — it was confident, predatory, almost intimate.
However, it was hardly welcomed.
Lucien's eyebrows shot up in silent surprise at the audacity. He was as amused as he was annoyed on the blodness.
Nikolai kept his gaze on Lucien, reading, observing as he guided his hand, pushing it toward his chest, never tearing his gaze from the napkin.
Lucien almost pulled his hand away but then again, curiosity kept him from doing so, he merely narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. As if wanting to see just how far the other would go. His heart didn't thump, but there was a thrill in the game, in the challenge. To see just what the other would do next.
Nikolai didn't stop either.
Once Lucien's fingers rested on the soiled fabric pressed against Nikolai's shirt, those silver-grey eyes flicked upward, locking with Lucien's, twinkling as if to say, you made this mess, now clean it. A tilt of the head, a teasing smile — provocation that demanded compliance or defiance.
This perverted bastard...
His grin thinned, amusement frosting over with disgust.
Was this an attempt at flirting? If so then, 'You bastard, you suck at flirting,' Lucien's squint seemed to say — but he couldn't deny it was still more fun than watching Mark gamble himself into ruin. Or he would have long pulled his hand away.
Nikolai was truly living this moment.
The amusement in that handsome face, the disgust barely hidden and bare to his gaze to see. Lucien Hale...
He wanted to burrow under his skin, push every button he could find, unravel him layer by layer.
Even as the clamor of Mark yelling at a machine drew Lucien's attention briefly, Nikolai's hand lingered, tethering him in place, as if saying, look at me, don't look away.
"You say you don't enjoy these things," Nikolai purred, eyes fixed on him, "...but still indulge them with your hard-earned money. Quite the enabler, aren't you… Mr. Hale? Might not partake in the act itself, but that doesn't mean you're not involved behind the scenes. Best be mindful of intentions." The words weren't meant to jab at conscience nor belittle; they were an underlying warning that this first-timer might have wandered into a game far beyond slot machines and poker tables. Even normal people dabble in… unexpected situations without understanding the consequences.
Lucien tilted his head, amused but steady. "What can I say? I'm a team player," he drawled, voice teasing, smooth, his gaze flickering to Nikolai's hand. Even though his wrist felt hot, he didn't try to pull away. "First time here — and I'm not coming back." His gaze stayed locked on the blonde, challenging, unflinching. 'Who the fuck are you, mate?' He drained the rest of his drink, setting the glass in the tray as a waiter passed by with a dull 'Thank you,' and moved the cloth across Nikolai's shirt half-heartedly, like a reluctant surrender folded in sarcasm as if saying, Happy now?
"They're harmless at best," he added quietly a beat later, rolling his shoulders, gaze cutting sideways. He wasn't close enough with them to defend them however, in past two years, they hav had a good relationship, "But I do keep my distance from strangers. Got a good sense for danger." The jab was deliberate; Nikolai still hadn't offered a name. Shady. Obviously.
More importantly, why was this blonde bastard still holding his wrist?
His lips parted and his muscles tensed up to pull his arm away when he heard the yelling and Lucien glanced at his friends shouting at machines, scorn curling his lip. "I really don't get it."
However, every amusement had its limit. Lucien no longer cared about the stranger's coy words. The game had ended; the spark of curiosity and sharp, teasing amusement that had flickered through him moments ago had burned out. Even as the blonde's touch lingered, almost glued to him, Lucien's interest had already slipped away.
The casino's chaos hummed beneath them, but Lucien barely noticed, eyes flicking to Nikolai, smirk fading from his lips. That fleeting curiosity, that sharp amusement — "would you let go of me now?" Just as Lucien was about to pull his wrist away, something unexpected happened.
Flicker. Click.
Nothing.
Darkness slammed across the room like a predator dropping on its prey. Lucien's head jerked instinctively towards his friends, only to see the men freeze mid-motion, eyes wide in the dim glow of emergency lighting.
Screams tore across the establishment, yells of panic and terror echoing, punctuated by the metallic shuffle of hurried footsteps.
Through it all, Nikolai moved with an unnatural calm. The wolf in him had no need for lights; his silver-grey eyes adjusted in a heartbeat, watching chaos unfold like a chessboard of terrified humans. Still, he didn't allow it to seem too conspicuous. He let go off Lucien's wrist, only to slide an arm behind Lucien, hand resting lightly on the small of his back — protective, yet possessive.
"…Keep close and don't move." He murmured, low, gravelly, his words brushing Lucien's ear as masked employees encircled them with predatory precision.
With the darkness swallowing everything.
Lucien's body tensed instantly, shoulders coiling, breath snatched from his chest. His eyes needed a moment to adjust but he had always had incredible eye sight so it was no issue to see even in darkness. Screams clawed at his ears, sharp as glass. Footsteps thundered, a thousand hammers in his skull. Rage and overstimulation churned hot in his veins.
"Fuck," he spat, low and sharp, not even acknowledging as his hand was let go. As the heat of a hand, deliberate, brushed his lower back. He recoiled with agitation. It wasn't welcome. "I can take care of myself," he bit out, voice rough, irritation flaring as the chaos gnawed at his senses. "I need to find my friends—"
"…Seems like your friends have more to them than you thought." Nikolai's growl rolled low in the darkness, teeth grinding as he stood beside him, like a guard dog.
Lucien's ears caught the words even before his eyes could react.
'Your friends might have more to them than you thought.'
The chill of that statement dug deeper than any shadow.
"What do you mean?" His jaw tightened, voice clipped, lavender grey eyes flashing in the void. "How are my friends involved—"
Empty sacks hovered in hands that moved like rehearsed dancers, ready to obscure vision. Even as the immediate threat seemed contained, cold metal pressed against Nikolai's spine reminded him otherwise, pulling him away from Lucien. While another gun aimed squarely at Lucien, casual in its danger. Things were happening way too fast.
The masked employees descended on Lucien quickly. A rough hand seized him, pulling, shoving, the sudden grip igniting something primal. Lucien's instincts surged, sharp and immediate. Elbow back, fist into ribs, the satisfying crack under his knuckles spiking adrenaline. Curses echoed. He lunged sideways, teeth grit, muscles straining, feet slipping on the polished floor.
"Fuck off!" he snarled, voice ragged, shoulders jerking to break free. Knee connected, air crushed from his lungs as another arm wrapped around his chest.
Then the sack dropped.
Smothering darkness. Heat, sweat, and stale fabric pressed to his face. Breath echoed in his ears. Lucien's chest heaved, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching until teeth hurt.
Brilliant. Truly brilliant. He should've stayed home.
Under the pressure, something older stirred — a deep-buried snarl, the restless beast that never slept, coiling tight beneath his skin. He couldn't see, but every muscle was ready, every nerve alive, primed for retaliation. Someone was going to pay for this.