" we all thought
you were dead . "

v. angelene
6077 words.

LUCIENNE STARED AT HER HANDS, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows across her pale skin as her fingers fidgeted in silence. Each sound in the room seemed to amplify as if the world around her was growing louder, more intrusive with each second. "Lucienne," came Daniel's voice, cutting through the din and pulling her from her reverie. She turned her head towards him, his casual posture betraying his curiosity. "You with us?" he asked, his tone almost playful.

Her gaze drifted to Louis, whose eyes were already locked onto her, his brows furrowing slightly in concern. "Right," she murmured, her voice calm, as if shaken from a trance. "Where was I?"

Before the answer could form on her lips, Angelene swept into the room unannounced, her presence a sudden disturbance in the air. Louis's head tilted ever so slightly, the flicker of irritation clear in his voice. "What are you doing here?" he asked, the calmness in his tone doing little to mask the annoyance beneath.

Angelene ignored him, her attention solely on Lucienne as she moved with deliberate grace. In her hand, she carried a small glass bottle, placing it gently before Lucienne. "Luci," she called softly, her voice laced with an unsettling familiarity.

Her hand brushed Lucienne's shoulder, the touch featherlight but sharp, like a sting. "Daniel," she acknowledged before her eyes flicked to Louis. "Connard," she spat in French, her words rolling off her tongue with venom, though her face remained impassive.

The exchange between them passed without need for further words—Louis's cold, tired stare, Angelene's indifference. Lucienne barely glanced at her hand as Angelene released her touch and exited the room, leaving an odd tension in her wake.

"Charming," Daniel quipped with a smirk. "She seems lovely."

Lucienne didn't miss a beat. "Delightful," she replied dryly, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long, deliberate sip. The room fell into a brief silence, save for the soft, liquid sound of her drinking. Louis's gaze trailed her every movement—the way her lips pressed against the glass, the way her throat moved as she swallowed the crimson liquid, thick and rich.

"She's... what? A girlfriend? Part of the vampiric folklore now?" Daniel's words held a teasing edge, but Lucienne rolled her eyes in that familiar, smooth gesture of dismissal.

After a moment, Lucienne pulled the bottle from her lips, her gaze never once meeting Louis's. "Possibly," she mused, her voice light. "She's my girlfriend... soon-to-be wife."

The word wife landed like a heavy stone, and though she didn't glance at Louis, the tension radiated from him instantly. His head turned away sharply at her declaration, though he said nothing.

"Mazel tov," Daniel offered, his tone dry and unenthusiastic. "I'm sure Louis understands." He burst into laughter then, a loud, grating sound that filled the room, oblivious to the charged silence between the two vampires. "Really though, I need to know the story between you two. What happened? You had each other... so what changed?"

No one answered.

Daniel, undeterred by their silence, pushed further. "She's getting married—just not to Mr. De Pointe Du Lac or Mr. De Lioncourt." He laughed again, enjoying the tension he was stirring.

Lucienne's eyes locked on him, cold and unwavering. "Do you think we can get through the rest of this interview without me leaping across the table and ripping your head from your shoulders?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm, laced with sarcasm.

"Lucienne," Louis said, his voice cutting through the air, firm yet gentle. "She's only tired," he added, addressing Daniel with an air of finality.

"I'm wide awake," Lucienne replied sharply, her gaze never softening.

"Lucienne," Louis repeated, quieter this time.

Daniel, sensing the shift in the room, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Right then," he muttered, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Apologies. Let's move on." Lucienne exhaled softly, the tension easing only slightly, though the atmosphere remained heavy, like the calm before an inevitable storm.

"Right," Lucienne drawled, her voice laced with boredom as her eyes flicked toward Daniel. "I can hardly recall what I was saying, thanks to the incessant rambling of a certain man." Her gaze sharpened on him, a wry smirk tugging at her lips. "Ah, yes. Louis' recovery... blah, blah," she waved a hand dismissively as if swatting away the weight of the past.

Her thoughts drifted, and the memory flooded back, vivid and untamed.

"Luci, stop!" Lestat's voice echoed through the house, sharp and commanding, his accent rich and dripping with authority. It ricocheted off the walls, reverberating through the grand, ornate halls, yet Lucienne only laughed, her steps light and airy as if she were dancing on air, on the very edge of skipping like a girl unburdened by the world.

"You will not frolic under this roof. We've discussed this." Lestat's tone carried both warning and exasperation, the thick timbre of his words curling through the air like smoke.

She came to an abrupt halt, her laughter trailing off as her expression twisted into a playful grimace. Her nose scrunched, lips pursed, the picture of defiance—albeit silent. She didn't respond, instead quickening her pace with deliberate steps, the heels of her shoes clicking against the polished wooden floors, echoing softly as she ascended the winding staircase.

Each step was careful, measured, though the mischievous gleam in her eyes spoke volumes.

The house seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for her next move.

Reaching their room, Lucienne slipped inside with an urgency she didn't bother to hide. The grand space was shadowed in the evening's dim light, but her hands moved with practiced familiarity, fingers brushing against an old, ornate box that sat untouched in the corner. She pulled it closer, opening it with a soft creak. The velvet lining of the box cradled a necklace—an intricate, delicate thing, sparkling faintly.

Her fingers curled around the cool metal as she lifted it from its resting place, her movements suddenly slow, reverent, as if the weight of the object carried memories too heavy to speak of. Lucienne draped the necklace around her neck, its cool metal brushing against her skin as she carefully clipped it at the nape.

   She stepped toward the mirror, the dim, flickering light casting soft shadows on her face as the red jewel caught the glow, gleaming against her pale throat. It sparkled like fresh blood in the moonlight. Just as her fingers dropped from the clasp, the door creaked softly.

   Louis leaned against the frame, his gaze tracing her movements, a silent observer. His presence filled the room like a heavy mist, thick with unspoken words.

   "Lestat's been fussin' over you all day," came Louis' soft murmur from the corner. His voice was casual, though his eyes were far more intent as they lingered on her.

   She turned, meeting Daniel's gaze. A quiet smile curled at the corner of her lips. "It wasn't a switch day," Lucienne remarked, her tone thoughtful as her mind returned to the present. "Or at least, that's how Lestat would put it. I wasn't bitter. I wasn't angry. In fact, I was happy." The word rolled off her tongue almost wistfully.

   "As a woman, I wouldn't usually go flaunting that happiness in the light of day—though, of course, I couldn't if I wanted to." Her smile grew, a soft chuckle escaping her. "But back then, I was his light—Sa Lumière, he called me. Lestat's light." Her voice softened, as if the memory itself was a delicate thing, fragile in her hands.

   Louis' eyes drifted down to the necklace, the deep red stone gleaming ominously between them. "That's because Lestat has no sense of being," she continued, her voice teasing yet with a hint of truth. She reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his as she gently pulled him along. Her movements were fluid, smooth as water, leading him from the room and down the sweeping staircase. The scent of candle wax and old wood lingered in the air as they moved together.

   "Aren't you hungry?" she asked, her voice light, almost playful as they descended the stairs. But before Louis could answer, Lestat appeared at the base of the staircase, his expression one of displeasure, dark eyes narrowing. His presence was like a sudden storm cloud, casting shadows over the moment.

   "You're running," Lestat remarked dryly, his tone clipped.

   "I walked with speed," Lucienne replied, her smile mischievous, as if daring him to argue. The hint of amusement in her voice danced between them.

   "That's the same thing," Lestat retorted, his tone sharp, bitter, like the snap of a twig underfoot. Lucienne only grinned, her hand still entwined with Louis'. Lestat's eyes narrowed as he watched her. "Do you have any idea how harshly your feet strike the floorboards?" he asked, his voice sharp, every word edged with irritation.

   Lucienne didn't miss a beat, her tone dripping with sarcastic charm. "Yes, but I'm sure you'll soon paint me a vivid picture of the agonizing pain I cause by merely existing under your roof, once again."

   Lestat's jaw clenched, and he launched into one of his usual tirades, waving a hand dramatically. "It makes my ears feel as though they're splintering, cracking with each step you take. The agony is so unbearable that I'm tempted to grab a dagger and start—"

   Before he could finish, Lucienne deftly placed Louis directly in front of him, blocking Lestat's path and silencing him in an instant. She walked away with an effortless grace, her skirts swishing lightly against the floor as Lestat sighed, his annoyance hanging in the air.

   Louis, caught in the middle, glanced over his shoulder at her retreating figure. "Is she always like that?" he asked, his voice soft, laced with mild curiosity as he watched her settle onto the couch with casual elegance.

   Lestat shook his head slightly, hands finding his hips as he stood there, looking more exasperated than ever—like a father at his wit's end. "Mm," he muttered, his gaze following her, a mixture of fondness and frustration flickering in his eyes.

   Lucienne, lounging comfortably with her arms stretched over the back of the couch, eyed the two of them with an amused smile. "You two should live a little," she said lightly, her voice almost teasing, though there was a softness beneath it as if she truly meant it.

   Lestat's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile, his tone quickly returning to its usual imperiousness. "We have more pressing matters to attend to. We should be honing Louis' skills, working on his hunting." His words were crisp, almost mechanical as if this was something he'd rehearsed countless times before.

   Lucienne tilted her head, regarding him with a knowing look. "And we will," she replied smoothly, her tone calming, effortlessly deflecting his impatience. Then, with a soft smile, she extended her hands toward them, her fingers beckoning. "But for now," she paused, her voice a whisper in the air, "come here."

   The room seemed to still as she waited, her outstretched hands inviting them into her world, a world that was softer, lighter, for just a moment. Louis hesitated for just a moment, but then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, he moved toward her. There was an unspoken understanding between them, something that went beyond words.

Lestat followed, his gaze lingering on Lucienne with that familiar mix of amusement and impatience. They both sat on either side of her, creating a quiet symmetry, a balance that felt natural and yet so unnatural all at once.

Lucienne's lips curved into a soft smile, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she gently took their hands in hers.

"I rather enjoyed having two men at my side," she mused, her voice slipping into the present-day with a lazy drawl. "Double the trouble, double the fun. Especially in those early months when we were guiding Louis through the dark beauty of his new existence." Her voice dipped lower, as though recalling a secret. "I enjoyed it... perhaps more than I should have."

The memory washed over her, vivid as daylight she would never again know. Lucienne peeked around the corner of the parlor, her bare feet soundless save for the slightest creak of the old floorboards beneath her weight. Louis sat on the velvet settee, his posture heavy, no doubt fresh from one of Lestat's relentless training sessions. His hands rested loosely on his knees, and his dark eyes stared into the silence as if trying to make sense of it.

As usual, Lucienne couldn't help but intrude. Nosy by nature, she lingered in the shadows, savoring the quiet before breaking it. But before she could step forward, Lestat appeared from the adjoining room with his characteristic grace, a glass of crimson in hand. He offered it to Louis, barely glancing his way before his gaze darted knowingly toward the shadows.

"Luci, come out," Lestat commanded, his tone abrupt but not without a hint of amusement. Louis blinked at the sound of her name, turning slightly as if still unsure of her presence.

Sighing, Lucienne slunk out of the darkness, the soft folds of her gown whispering against the wooden floor. "How do you always know?" she muttered, feigning annoyance as she crossed the room. Her dark eyes flicked toward Louis, who watched her with a kind of wary curiosity, still trying to get used to her.

Lestat grinned, his eyes gleaming as he took a languid sip from his glass. "I hear everything, ma chérie." His tone was light, but the edge of it made clear just how attuned he was to her every movement. As he reclined onto the couch, he shot Louis a brief glance, adding, "It's a little game she plays, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost." He gestured toward her without looking, a wave of his hand summoning her to his side.

Lucienne sighed but allowed him to guide her to the space between them, her presence a quiet force that completed their unholy trio. "Are we going out later?" Lucienne asked, her gaze fixed on Lestat as he savored the crimson liquid in his glass, the flickering candlelight dancing across his features.

   "We will," he replied, his voice smooth as silk. "Anything in mind?" He raised an eyebrow, intrigue flashing in his eyes. Lucienne bit her bottom lip, a hint of mischief sparking within her as she turned to Louis, their hands entwining with a delicate grace.

   Oh, she had many ideas swirling in her mind, each more thrilling than the last. When they finally stepped out into the night, the air was thick with anticipation. The sky, cloaked in deep indigo, wrapped around them like a velvet shroud. Lucienne wore a gown that dripped with elegance and a hint of audacity, tailored to catch the eye of every man in the room. The cabaret was their destination, Le Voile de Sang, a sanctuary for night creatures, where whispers of laughter and music mingled in the sultry air.

   "For the night," Lucienne sang, her voice soaring through the cabaret as she took the stage. The melody flowed effortlessly, a soft and enchanting echo against the vibrant tapestry of life surrounding her. Bodies swayed and spun, lost in the rhythm, while she poured her soul into every note, her allure captivating all who dared to listen.

"The place was a spectacle," Lucienne continued, her voice quiet yet fervent as she recounted her experience. "It was the night—an invitation to revel. Everyone did as they pleased, embracing their desires with wild abandon. The air thick with freedom; those who danced, who drank, who kissed... even more. A heavy atmosphere of longing. Ladies waiting, yearning."

She sighed, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "It was all too easy to catch the bait—drunken, lustful souls just waiting to be entangled."

   Descending from the stage, Lucienne's heels clicked softly against the polished floor, each step an echo of her confidence. As she reached the ground, a dapper stranger stepped forward, his hand extending toward her, guiding her down with an elegance that mirrored her own.

   "Magnificent performance," he breathed, his voice low and smooth. "Your voice is as enchanting as your beauty."

   Lucienne flashed him a radiant smile, her charm as intoxicating as the drinks flowing freely around them. "You're too kind," she replied, allowing him to take her hand and lower his lips to kiss the back of it, a gesture of courtly admiration.

   From a distance, Lestat and Louis watched, the tension obvious between them. Louis's instincts flared, his body coiling like a spring, ready to pounce if necessary. But Lestat restrained him with a mere flick of his wrist, amusement dancing in his eyes as he observed the unfolding scene. "Now, now, Louis," he murmured, his voice thick with playful authority. "Let her have her fun."

   "After all, it's not every day our little songbird spreads her wings."

   Lucienne's lips curled into a smile as she held the man's hand, feeling the weight of Lestat's gaze, his eyes trailing over her like a lingering touch. Even when she wasn't singing, her voice seemed to weave a spell, the soft lilt of it wrapping around those who listened. The man standing before her was no exception, caught in her thrall, his expression slack as though under an enchantment. The trance was only broken when someone brushed past him, jostling his shoulder gently.

    They both turned. The woman before them was striking, her beauty otherworldly—like something sculpted from moonlight and shadow. Her skin was a flawless canvas, kissed by the sun just once, giving her a cool, ethereal glow. High cheekbones carved her face with an elegance that demanded attention, while her dark, almond-shaped eyes held secrets, framed by long lashes that softened their sharp intensity.

   A smile ghosted her lips—soft yet devastating—and dark waves of hair tumbled over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. She was a vision that stole breath away without effort.

   The moment Lucienne's eyes locked on hers, a flicker of recognition passed between them, a silent current that shifted the mood. The smile faded from Lucienne's face, her hand slipping from the man's grasp. That beauty—it was unmistakable, a remnant from another life.

   "Luci," the woman breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if the sight of Lucienne had startled her into silence.

   "Angelene," Lucienne replied, her voice thick with disbelief, as if speaking the name summoned a ghost from the past.

   The man, Marcel, glanced between the two women, oblivious to the tension that now rippled between them. Lucienne cleared her throat, forcing a smile to her lips though it felt fragile.

   "Ah, Marcel, this is Angelene," she introduced, though her voice held none of its usual charm. Marcel, ever the gentleman, wasted no time in bowing slightly, taking Angelene's hand and brushing his lips against it. She offered him a forced smile in return, her gaze still locked on Lucienne.

   Lucienne's thoughts drifted, forgetting for a moment the ever-watchful eyes of Lestat somewhere in the room, the electricity between her and Angelene pulling her in too deeply.

   "Marcel," Lucienne murmured, turning her attention back to him, "I'm feeling quite parched. Would you mind...?"

   "Of course, I'll get you ladies something to drink," Marcel nodded eagerly, oblivious to the undercurrent between them, before disappearing into the crowd.

   As soon as he was gone, Lucienne turned back to Angelene, their eyes meeting again with the weight of unspoken history. The bustling energy of the cabaret seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them standing there, lost in the momentary stillness. In that brief silence, the memories of the past, long buried, began to stir, and Lucienne felt the weight of it all come rushing back.

   "Angelene," Lucienne's lips curved into a polite smile, her voice a touch lighter than before, though tension lingered underneath. "How wonderful to see you."

"Wonderful, indeed," Angelene replied, her voice steady, though there was a sharpness beneath it. "Especially after so long. After you disappeared."

"I didn't disappear," Lucienne said softly, her gaze flickering away for a moment. "I only moved on."

Angelene's eyes narrowed, her words blunt as ever. "We all thought you were dead. Your mother and father were worried."

A heavy silence fell between them, the kind that pressed on the air like a weight. Lucienne stared past her for a moment, her thoughts seemingly far away, before she felt the familiar sting of Angelene's gaze on her.

"Your eyes," Angelene broke the silence, her voice softer, almost curious. Lucienne glanced back at her.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Lucienne's lips quirked into a wry smile as her gaze shifted just over Angelene's shoulder, landing on Lestat, who watched them from across the room, his eyes burning with their usual intensity. Angelene's own gaze followed, narrowing when they settled on the man, her voice lowering as she turned back to Lucienne.

"That man... Is he your husband?" Angelene's words were almost a whisper, but there was a touch of disbelief in them.

Lucienne shook her head quickly, eyes flicking back to Angelene with a dismissive smile. "No. Nothing of the sort." Her voice cooled as she added, "Besides, if they cared so much, they should've considered that before trying to marry me off for money."

Angelene's brow furrowed. "Your mother—"

"—is as naïve as ever," Lucienne cut in sharply, her words final. Her expression hardened, her face becoming a mask of calm indifference. "I should be getting back to Marcel."

"Of course," Angelene said, her voice faintly bitter at the clear dismissal.

Just as Lucienne turned away, Marcel reappeared with two drinks in hand, offering each woman a glass with a charming smile. Angelene's eyes lingered on Lucienne for a moment longer before she nodded, excusing herself with a curt smile, vanishing into the dim crowd.

Lucienne's eyes followed Angelene until she disappeared from view. She then turned to Marcel, the soft clink of her glass meeting her lips as she sipped her drink, her mind still wandering somewhere in the shadows of the past. The weight of Lestat's gaze hadn't left her for a moment, and though she sipped the drink Marcel had brought her, her thoughts were elsewhere, caught between the memory of what once was and the dangerous allure of the present.

It didn't take long for Lucienne to lead Marcel out of the cabaret, her every move deliberate, calculated, as if she'd been playing this game for centuries. Marcel, like so many before him, was utterly enchanted, helpless against the spell she cast. Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent a wave of calm through him, an inexplicable sensation he couldn't put into words, nor did he want to.

   The dark, narrow streets of New Orleans soon gave way to the imposing grandeur of Lucienne's home, a shadowy mansion that loomed against the night sky. She led him by the hand, her touch light but commanding.

   "This house..." Marcel glanced around as they entered, his voice tinged with awe. "It's quite..."

   "Big?" Lucienne's voice was soft, almost playful, echoing through the stillness of the space. "Yes, I know."

   "A little lady like you, living in such a big home... alone?" Marcel asked, his voice trailing into uncertainty, though his smile hinted at something else.

   Lucienne's lips curved into a smile, coy and knowing. "You could say that," she murmured, the flicker of something dangerous flashing behind her dark eyes.

   Their coats were discarded near the door, forgotten in the shadows, and Lucienne wasted no time in guiding him toward the parlor. With a graceful yet sudden motion, she pushed him onto the velvet couch, his body sinking into the plush fabric as he stared up at her, breathless.

   Before he could speak, Lucienne moved like a predator—swift, seamless. She straddled him, her legs draped across his lap, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but gentle. Her lips were ravenous, demanding, her hunger palpable. Marcel responded in kind, lost in the whirlwind of her passion, completely unaware of the darker hunger that truly drove her.

   Lucienne's hunger, however, was far more than mere desire. It was deeper, insatiable, and far more dangerous.

   "I couldn't tell," Lucienne began, her voice soft yet carrying a weight of recollection, "if it was the hunger that consumed me or the sudden, blistering rage." Her words lingered in the air like smoke, curling and heavy with meaning.

"Rage?" Daniel leaned forward, his pen still for a moment, intrigued by this shift in her story.

Lucienne's gaze drifted, settling on Louis, who sat quietly, his face as impassive as ever but the tension between them palpable. "After seeing Angelene," she continued, her voice dipped in quiet venom, "I wasn't the happiest, to put it mildly."

The room seemed to shrink under her words, the weight of old betrayals and unspoken emotions pressing down like the heavy New Orleans night. "She wasn't supposed to be there," Lucienne whispered, almost as if confessing to herself. "Seeing her—like a ghost from a life I thought I'd buried—stirred something in me. It wasn't just hunger, Daniel. It was something much darker."

Lucienne continued to kiss Marcel, her lips moving with a slow, predatory hunger. His hands wandered clumsily, though she barely noticed, too wrapped up in the dance of seduction. She knew. She knew even as she kissed him, tasting his life on her tongue, that Louis and Lestat stood in the doorway behind her, watching like silent specters in the night. The thought only made her more eager, more reckless, her kisses trailing down to his throat where his pulse beat so temptingly.

   Marcel, unaware, surrendered completely—until his eyes fluttered open. Panic spread across his face as he saw the two men standing there, shadows against the light of the room. He jerked, heart pounding, trying to pull away from beneath her.

   "What the hell," Marcel muttered, eyes wide with fear, struggling now as Lucienne's eyes darkened, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips. She turned briefly to glance at Lestat, who stood amused, watching her with that knowing smile. He could feel her anger, the simmering rage beneath her elegance. Rage she had taken out on poor, oblivious Marcel.

   "Apologies," Lucienne said mockingly, her voice low, silky. "They're not the best with company." Her eyes glimmered as her lips parted, revealing her sharp fangs. Marcel's gasp echoed in the silence, just before her teeth sank into his neck, and his world turned to pain and confusion.

   He thrashed weakly beneath her, but his strength—his very will—was no match for the power that held him there, pinned and helpless. His cries echoed briefly through the room before fading, his life slipping from him as Lucienne drank deeply, too deeply. The blood, hot and thick, filled her, her hunger an all-consuming fire that blinded her to his struggles.

   Then Lestat's hands were on her, firm yet careful, pulling her away and placing her gently on the opposite end of the couch. "Enough," he whispered, voice soft as velvet, but with an edge that could not be ignored. Louis, silent and composed, took her place, sinking his fangs into the other side of Marcel's neck.

   Lucienne's breath caught as she watched them, her chest heaving. Her hands trembled, her throat tight with unshed tears. She couldn't look away, the sight of Marcel's fading life stirring a dreadful sadness deep within her. Human emotions, she thought bitterly.

   Lestat, sensing her turmoil, pressed his cheek to her head, stroking her hair with a gentleness that was almost fatherly. "Oh, Luci," he murmured, his voice a dark lullaby, attempting to soothe the storm in her. "Don't let those emotions overtake you."

   But Lucienne's eyes stayed on Louis, the sorrow in them undeniable. She didn't notice the slight nod Lestat gave to him, urging him closer. Lestat's voice dropped lower, his words like a dark whisper wrapping around her. "She was nothing, Luci. A fleeting memory," he said, his fingers gripping her chin gently, tilting her face to meet his gaze. "But we—we care, don't we?"

   Louis finished his feast, his movements slow, calculated, and wiped the blood from his lips. His eyes met Lucienne's, and in their depths, she saw something different—softer, more humane than Lestat's cold, calculated intensity. Louis' gaze always brought her a strange kind of peace.

   Lestat, ever the orchestrator, motioned Louis closer, his hand trailing softly down his arm in a silent command. "Go on," Lestat purred, his voice low, almost predatory.

   Louis leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, and Lucienne's breath hitched, their faces inches apart. She could feel his hesitation, the softness in his approach, as their noses brushed ever so slightly. The kiss that followed was brief, a mere whisper of lips—a test.

  But Lucienne wanted more. Her hand slid gently to the back of Louis' neck, pulling him closer, their lips meeting again in a kiss far more urgent, far more desperate. There was something raw in the way they moved together, a hunger that wasn't just physical. Their kiss deepened, tongues tangling in a way that sent a shiver down Louis' spine, his hands finding their way to her waist.

   Lestat watched them both with a quiet satisfaction, his fingers combing lazily through Lucienne's hair, his eyes gleaming with a possessive amusement. He loved to watch her like this—vulnerable, yet powerful. There was something about the way Lucienne and Louis came together, an intensity that even he, with all his centuries, found thrilling.

   As the two melted into each other, their lips moving in desperate sync, Lestat smiled. There was nothing more beautiful than this—the twisted intimacy they shared.

   Lucienne's lips pressed deeper into Louis', her hunger matching his with an almost feverish desperation. She could feel Lestat's hands trailing over her body, possessive, each touch sending a slow burn through her. With every brush of his fingers, the fabric of her dress loosened, slipping further down her shoulder until her skin was exposed to the cool air, a contrast to the heat of their bodies. The silk of her gown became a fragile barrier, easily parted by Lestat's deliberate movements, as if he enjoyed the slow unveiling of her with each lingering touch.

   Lestat's lips ghosted over her shoulder, planting kisses that were both tender and hungry, his fangs grazing her skin in delicate, teasing nips. She was dizzy with it all—the heat, the need, the way they consumed her, like two predators sharing a feast. The weight of Lestat's body against her back grounded her, his breath heavy and warm on her neck as Louis' hands continued their exploration.

   She could hardly remember how she had fallen into their grasp, how she had let herself surrender to this moment, but the comfort of it was undeniable. The dead man discarded at their feet was all but forgotten.

   Lestat moved with his usual grace, orchestrating the scene like a conductor guiding his symphony. His hands roamed her now-exposed skin with a familiar ease, each touch deliberate, each kiss placed with intent. He reveled in her surrender, in how effortlessly he had drawn her into this intoxicating web. Her body, no longer concealed by layers of clothing, felt almost weightless against him, as though she had shed not only her garments but the weight of her human emotions as well.

   Louis, a complete contrast to Lestat's insatiable hunger, trailed his lips from her mouth to the tender curve of her neck. His touch was softer, slower, as if savoring each moment, as if he needed the connection to tether himself to the present. Lucienne leaned her head back onto Lestat's shoulder, her breath ragged, as the two vampires marked her skin with kisses and bites that were both worshipful and possessive.

   The overwhelming sensations blurred together—Louis' lips, Lestat's hands, the pulse of their shared hunger—and Lucienne's body responded to it all, lost in the chaos of the moment. She could feel their need, their desire to consume her in every way, and in her emotional state, she found it both overwhelming and strangely comforting.

   Lestat's fangs grazed the curve of her shoulder once more, his voice a low, dark murmur against her skin. "Ma belle Luci," he whispered.

   Louis' lips pressed against the other side of her neck, his breath trembling, as if her very pulse beneath his mouth was a temptation he could barely resist. The two of them together, their contrasting energies, their predatory grace—it was almost too much. Lucienne's eyes fluttered shut as she let herself sink into it, a willing offering to their dark desires.

   The room was bathed in shadows, the flicker of candlelight casting eerie patterns on the walls. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mixing with the heady smell of lust and the faint remnants of death, though Marcel's lifeless body had become nothing more than an afterthought.

   Lestat's fingers trailed through her hair, his touch both comforting and commanding, while Louis' lips lingered on her neck, drinking in her presence without ever breaking the fragile line between restraint and indulgence.

   Lucienne's world narrowed to the feel of them—their hands, their mouths, their fangs. And as she lay back against Lestat, cradled in the arms of both men, she felt the heavy weight of their love, their hunger, and their eternal darkness pressing in around her.

   And though the intoxicating pull of their touch overtook her—Louis's lips tracing her skin, Lestat's teeth grazing her shoulder—Lucienne's mind wandered, restless. Their hands and mouths sought to drown her in pleasure, yet something tugged at the edges of her thoughts.

   Angelene.

   Her face, her voice, lingered like a specter in the recesses of Lucienne's mind. Even in this haze of desire and hunger, the memory of her stirred, refusing to be forgotten. The kisses, the touches, all should have consumed her, made her forget. Yet Angelene lingered, the weight of the past pressing down on her, as real as the dead man lying nearby.

   In the present time, Lucienne abruptly stopped speaking, her silence drawing Daniel's attention.

   "Just as we're getting into the unknown woman lurking in our shadows," Daniel sighed, exasperation slipping through.

  "I need a break. If that's alright with... the old man." Lucienne's words dripped with sarcasm, her eyes briefly flicking toward Louis before she corrected herself with a sly grin. "Boy?" The correction was teasing, but sharp, like a knife hidden in velvet.

   Daniel squinted at her, but before he could respond, she rose from the table, her movements fluid and deliberate. Louis watched her, his gaze following every step as she left the room. There was something unspoken in his stare, something tethered between them, but Lucienne didn't look back.

   Her idea of a break was never just about catching her breath. It was about Angelene. No matter how much they fought, Angelene remained an anchor in her mind, pulling her down dark corridors she couldn't resist. She moved swiftly through the dimly lit halls, her thoughts consumed, until she bumped into someone.

   She halted, her gaze locking with that of a man—Louis' assistant. He looked at her with a dull expression, as though her presence was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

    "My apologies," he said flatly, his tone betraying no emotion.

   Lucienne's eyes narrowed, her stare cold and unyielding. "Does Louis just hire anyone?" The insult was sharp, cutting through the air. The man's eyes squinted ever so slightly, his unease barely visible but present nonetheless.

   She grinned, a slow, sinister curve of her lips that chilled him in a way he couldn't quite place. There was something in her look, something that made him feel as though he'd just been marked by a predator.

   "Memory's a bitch," she said, her voice soft but laden with meaning. Before he could muster a response, she turned on her heel and walked away, her steps calm, almost mocking in their casualness.

    It wasn't just a throwaway remark.

   No, Lucienne wanted him to know exactly what she meant. She wanted him to understand that she was not some fragile echo of Louis. She wasn't bound by the same melancholic chains.

   No, she had lived with both Louis and Lestat far too long for that. She was a creature of Lestat. And in that, there was power.

   Because Lestat knew everything.

⛧

authors note:

this is sort of like another little chapter just to introduce Angelene and also shed a little (freakilishish) light. next chapter we're gonna do a bit of a time skip obviously and yk louis's sister is gonna be pregnant.. and their gonna go see his very unwelcoming family so that's where it'll start

i'm so sorry i took so long to give you guys this chapter. this act shit is kicking me in the ass bc wth. it's crazy that we've literally been practically for the sat for like 3 years and NOW im fucked (i failed that practice test) like i just like i did. i hate science so much so that makes it even worse.

this year is lowk hard and ain't nb tell me nothing 😔. like omg.

but yeah i've mostly been writing this chapters at school to get them done so here you guys go. i'm gonna try to update this book quicker along with the update of monarchs muse coming soon so stay tuned if you read that as well

also did yall peep the little references 👀

anyways hope you enjoyed. love you all mwah mwah