SCENT OF DANGER

The night air clung to Evelyn’s skin like damp silk, cool and heavy with the scent of pine and earth. Beneath it lingered something sharper, richer—a faint metallic sweetness she couldn’t place, but which made her heart beat too fast. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, trying to keep the chill from sinking into her bones, though she suspected the cold she felt now wasn’t the kind that came from the weather.

The estate grounds stretched wide and shadowed around her, silent except for the faint crunch of gravel beneath her boots. Above, the moon’s pale light fell in fractured slivers through the branches, striping the path in alternating silver and black. She kept to the lighter patches.

She shouldn’t be out here. She knew that. The rules at the manor weren’t there to be broken, not by her. Curfew wasn’t simply a matter of propriety—it was a shield, a wall meant to keep her safe. Every whispered warning she’d overheard from the servants played through her mind now.

When the sun sets, you keep your doors locked.

Don’t answer voices you hear after midnight.

The woods aren’t empty at night, child—they’re watching.

But sleep had been impossible. She had tossed and turned for hours, her body restless, her thoughts worse. Her dreams—when they came—were haunted things, full of long, reaching shadows that spoke in low, velvet voices. Eyes that glowed red in the dark. Cold fingers curling over her wrists.

And somehow, she always woke with the echo of her name still ringing in her ears.

So when the clock had struck midnight, she had slipped out of bed, pulled her shawl tight, and let her feet carry her toward the gardens as though she had no say in the matter. She told herself she only wanted fresh air, but deep down she knew the truth. She was drawn here. Drawn the way a moth finds its way to a flame, knowing what waits for it.

A breeze shivered through the trees, scattering leaves across the path ahead. She took another step—

“Evelyn.”

The voice was deep, measured, and so close that her breath caught. But beneath the control there was a darker thread—danger, or perhaps something that wanted to be mistaken for danger.

She froze, her pulse hammering in her throat.

Lucien stepped from between the high hedges to her right, his black coat blending with the shadows so completely that for a moment he looked like he’d grown out of the night itself. Only his face, pale as porcelain, caught the moonlight, along with those eyes—unsettling in their stillness, like molten garnet sealed behind glass.

He didn’t walk so much as glide, each step deliberate, precise. Even the air seemed to shift to let him pass, the darkness peeling back just enough to reveal him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his tone low, almost a growl.

Her mouth was suddenly dry. “I… couldn’t sleep.” She hated how small her voice sounded, how defensive. “I thought some air might help.”

His gaze swept over her slowly—not like the greedy stares she’d had to endure from other men, but in a way that made her feel known. Seen in places she didn’t remember opening to anyone. It was as if he could hear the very beat of her heart, could feel it stumbling in her chest.

“Air won’t help,” he murmured at last. “Not when the restlessness comes from here.”

He touched two fingers to his temple, then to his chest, and she shivered though the night was still.

She swallowed. “And you? What are you doing out here?”

His lips curved in the faintest smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I walk the grounds at night. Keeps… unwanted things away.”

Her heart skipped. “Unwanted things?”

“Things that would love to find a human wandering alone.”

The way he said human—as though it were an inferior, fragile thing—made her skin prickle. She had heard the rumors whispered in the servants’ quarters, in the back alleys of town: creatures in the woods with eyes that glowed and teeth too sharp, stories of people who left home at night and never returned. She’d never truly believed them. Not until now, with Lucien standing so close, the night bending around him, the air between them charged with something she couldn’t name.

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said simply. “Fear keeps you alive.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world seemed to contract, shrinking down to the narrow space between them. She should turn back. She should put as much distance between herself and this man as possible. Yet her feet remained planted, as though rooted to the earth. His eyes—steady, unblinking—held her in place.

“Come,” he said at last, turning slightly. “I’ll walk you back.”

She hesitated. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and for the briefest heartbeat, she thought she saw it—the faintest flash of fangs catching the moonlight before his mouth shifted back into that unreadable line.

“I’m here,” he said quietly, “because you were.”

Her breath caught. Before she could reply, he was already moving down the path, his coat whispering against the gravel, his figure cutting through the darkness like a shadow with a destination.

And for reasons she couldn’t explain—reasons she didn’t dare admit—Evelyn followed.

The further they walked, the more aware she became of the sounds around them. A twig snapping somewhere to her left. The soft rustle of leaves overhead. Her own breathing, quick and shallow.

Lucien moved ahead of her, silent except for the faint click of his boots. He didn’t look back to see if she was keeping pace—he didn’t need to. She suspected he would know if she stopped, even without turning.

“You dream,” he said suddenly, his voice low but carrying in the stillness. “Often.”

Her steps faltered. “How would you—”

“They leave marks,” he continued, not looking at her. “The kind you can’t see. The kind that never fade.”

Evelyn felt a cold weight settle in her chest. “Do you… know what I dream about?”

He glanced at her then, his eyes unreadable. “I know what hunts you in them.”

A shiver crawled up her spine. She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but a sound interrupted her—a faint thud from somewhere beyond the hedges. Lucien’s head tilted, his body going perfectly still. The night seemed to hold its breath.

Then he moved, faster than she could follow, stepping between her and the sound. “Stay here.”

She barely had time to nod before he was gone, his figure melting into the dark. She listened hard, but there was nothing—no footsteps, no voices. Just the steady drum of her heartbeat in her ears.

Minutes passed. Or maybe only seconds. When he returned, his expression was composed again, though there was a tension in the set of his jaw.

“What was it?” she asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

She wanted to push, but there was something in his tone—something final—that told her she wouldn’t get more from him tonight.

By the time they reached the manor steps, the cold had settled deep into her bones. Lucien paused at the door, turning to face her.

“Next time you can’t sleep,” he said softly, “stay inside. No matter what you think you hear.”

Her brows drew together. “Even if someone calls my name?”

“Especially then.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, as if trying to make her understand something he couldn’t put into words. Then, without another sound, he turned and melted back into the night, leaving her alone on the steps.

Evelyn didn’t move until the door creaked behind her. Only when she was inside, with the bolt drawn, did she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

But even then, in the safety of her room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the darkness outside still knew where she was.

And worse—that Lucien did, too.