- CHRIS -

I awoke on the bed with my body drenched in sweat. My skin feels tender like it's been lit on fire and I'm suffering the afterburn.

What the hell happened?

A sharp pain flashes in my head when I try to recall the events. Everything in my mind is a blur, and I can't arrange my thoughts well enough to answer any question with certainty. The last thing I remember was making dinner in the kitchen, then I heard something break, and I was being attacked. But by whom?

The smell of cigarette drifts past my nose, and my whole body stiffens in alarm. Someone is in my apartment, smoking a cigarette that isn't mine. I know that scent - that sweet, smooth-as-silk aroma of tobacco so fine it almost reminds you of cigars. I don't keep Treasurer Blacks in my home. I haven't had them in years.

This isn't my apartment. I suddenly realize when I open my eyes to see the dark wallpaper and the black leather furniture in the room. A pair of large, sliding upholstered doors stare at me on the right. It opens to a walk-in closet the size of my bedroom that I know every inch of and every suit in it. I also know without having to turn the other way that there would be a large balcony on my left, and on it two leather armchairs with a coffee stain on one of the seats.

This is Lucien's apartment in the city. It's his bed I'm lying on. His Treasurer Black I'm smelling. His scent that I'm being enveloped by on these sheets.

A crippling, mind-numbing panic fills my chest as I suddenly recall everything that happened. I've been bitten by one of the werewolves that broke into my apartment. The next think I knew Lucien was there, sucking the venom from my shoulder. Then he offered me his blood. He made me-

No, you didn't. Tell me you didn't.

Somewhere in my conscience, those words scream at me, but I know the truth to that better than anybody. The taste of his blood still lingers in my mouth, its sweet, earthly scent still clings to the tip of my nose, making me ache for more like a drug I've been craving. I can feel his presence now, gleaming in my head like a newly polished silver. A presence I can no longer ignore or shut out from my mind. A presence I have been trying to live without.

I turn to the balcony, and there I find him. Lucien is standing with his back towards me with a hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette as he stares out into nothingness. The sun is low on the horizon, its soft, diminishing ray casts a mild orange light on his ashen hair, turning it rose-gold. His white shirt is wrinkled and stained all over with blood, its sleeves rolled up to his elbow to reveal the scars on his forearms.

Scars I don't know anything about.

I shake that thought from my head. I'm not going to be pulled into it again. Not this time. Not ever.

'Leave, and never come back.' I remember saying those words, how much it hurt when I did, how much it still hurts now. But I've made my decision, and Lucien had made his. It didn't take him a second of hesitation, not one word of apology or goodbye. I watched him turn and walk out the door, walk out of my life like I'm nothing but some wrapping paper of a treat he'd finished eating. He was gone just like that, shutting me out completely from the bond, leaving me in the dark to crawl out of the ditch he'd left me in.

And now he's here, suddenly thrown back into my life, turning my whole world upside down, and I hate myself for it. I hate the fact that I want him back, the longing I have to straighten the mess of his hair, the need I have to ask if he's all right. I want it all back, everything, every moment of it.

The hand that holds the cigarette pauses halfway to his mouth, and I know he must have felt me through the bond. Lucien turns towards me, and my heart aches to see how close he is to collapsing, how pale he looks. His usually warm, olive skin is almost white, his intense yellow eyes seem faded and tired, and from the movements of his chest, I know his breathing is wrong.

It's the venom he'd tried to get rid of from my blood, perhaps also the symptoms I'm feeling that's being shared through the bond on top of it. I know Lucien always keeps that connection open to feel me, but never the other way around. He's powerful and experienced enough to do that. Lucien can feel me anytime he wants to and blocks me out whenever he wishes. I know he's blocking me out from sensing his weakness right now. Lucien never lets me see his vulnerability. He never lets me in that far.

I watch him walk towards me, his every step feels like a noose that tightens harder around my neck the closer he gets. I want to jump out of bed and run before he reaches my bed side, but I can't seem to find the energy to. My limbs are too heavy, too weak for me to move.

He sits down on the armchair he must have dragged over near the bed, and my breath hitches when our eyes meet. The nearness of him falls on me like the weight of the ceiling pressing down on my whole being. The scent of him suffocates me, fills my lungs and occupies every inch of my body for just being in his presence. I've been wanting to run, but now that he's sitting here, looking at me with nothing but gentleness in those eyes, I can't decide if I want to leave or if I want to stay. I never know what I want around Lucien. Every time he steps into the room he takes over my world, and I let him drag me along wherever he wants, however he wants. I'm helpless around this man, and he knows it. That's the problem.

He takes a puff on the cigarette and holds it between his fingers. I know from the way it trembles in his hand that something is wrong. Something is usually wrong if Lucien is smoking. He doesn't turn to cigarettes unless he's driven close to the edge. He doesn't shake like that unless he's pissed enough to murder the entire neighborhood, or when he's just awoken from the nightmares that raided him often when he sleeps.

"How are you feeling?" He asks softly, reaching out a hand to touch my forehead and I grab his wrist before it reaches me. The contact sends a jolt of pain under my skin, straight to my heart.

"Don't," I glare at him in a warning, delivering the words through my gritted teeth, "touch me."

Lucien clenches his fist and draws back quickly like something just burned his fingers. I know it hurts even when I can't feel it through the bond. I want to hurt him, the way he's hurt me or ten times over. But more than that it's because I can't stand it. I can't stand his touch, his warmth, his affection for me however discreet and small they are, not without risking everything I've built to keep him out of my life.

"That wound has to be cleaned and looked after for a few more days before the fever fully subsides," he says, taking a pause to draw another puff from the cigarette, and I can hear the ruggedness of his breath, the tension in it. "You need to rest. I've called Rae and told her not to expect you for at least a week."

I push myself off the bed, grunting at the pain in my shoulder that's screaming at me. I don't have a week. The ball is tomorrow. I have to be there to get Veronica ready and get the men there to guard her in and out of that place. There's a truckload of things I have to get done, but most of all I need to get out of there.

"Don't move. The ball is tonight," he says as if he could read everything in my head. Lucien could always do that. We were close enough to finish each other's sentences, close enough for him to know what I'm thinking from simply observing my gestures. "You've slept for two days. Everything's done. I've made sure of it."

I swear in my mind at that. It's so like Lucien to take care of everything even when he's about to collapse, and I hate having to rely on him to do my job. I don't want to owe him anything. I want nothing to do with him, not if I can help it.

I have to get out of here.

The moment I sit up on the bed I realize I'm wearing nothing but bandages on my upper body and a pair of loose drawstring pants. I still smell like blood, but I can't see a trace of it except on the bandages. He must have wiped me down and changed me into these trousers. The scent of him lingers all over me, on the sheets, on my skin, in my hair. It mingles with mine the same way it did when we were together. I remember how it turned me on, made me want to stay in bed all day, drove him crazy. "Where are my clothes?" I shoot up from the bed at that thought and grumble at the pain on my feet as I put my weight on them. It takes me a moment to remember how I've been running on broken glass during the attack. There must be at least a dozen cuts on each of my feet from what I'm feeling.

Lucien rises quickly from the chair and grabs my arm before I lose my balance, guiding me back on the bed. I hiss at the contact and slap his hand away before I let myself get used to it.

"I said don't touch me." I raise my voice at him, and his grip tightens around my arm.

"You're not going anywhere." The words sound harsher now, a hint of command coming through from the voice that was nothing but gentle a minute ago. "Sit down."

I draw a breath to steady my nerves that have become jittery at the contact and stand my ground. "Get out of my way."

"I can't do that," he says. "They'll come back for you. Those werewolves were sent by Kain. They're after me and they won't stop until you're dead of captured."

I shake my head at that information. It doesn't make sense. "Why?"

Lucien pauses and looks away from me, avoiding eye contact. His breathing is light, and from the way the muscles of his face tightens, I know a blow is coming. "Because he won't win the election without me."

It dawns on me then, why he was there to save me. Lucien is Lord Remus' seneschal, his trusted advisor and best defense against all his enemies. Get rid of Lucien, and the Keeper of the Westgate would be left without protection and his best weapon. They're trying to clip Remus Valentin's wings, and to get at Lucien, they're coming after something they can use as leverage, and that's me.

For all that has been broken between us, I'm still the only man besides Lord Remus that Lucien cares about. I know it, deep down in my heart, no matter how much pain he puts me through. There is a bond between us we can't cut or break, and no matter how many times we fight or break up, Lucien will never let me go, not completely. I'm his weakness, and it was why he'd tried to walk away, to shut me out so whatever he feels for me doesn't interfere with his job. Apparently, it's not working if he's here, looking after my wounds instead of letting me die as he should.

A part of my heart warms at the thought of how much value I still hold for him, but there remains the fact that has been eating away my soul, my pride, my strength for a century. "Why are you here, Lucien?" I hear myself ask the question I already know the answer to, but I can't help it. There's still a part of me that nurtures a hope that he can give me what I want, that I've been wrong, that he is capable of choosing me.

Are you here to save him or to save me? I send those words through our bond, and Lucien sucks in a breath.

"Chris -"

"Why are you here?" I plant my feet on the ground, staring back into his eyes. For a moment, I think about what it would take for me to let him back into my life, how simple it would be for Lucien if he would only say those words.

Tell me you've come for me.

He doesn't respond to it. Lucien just stands there, clamping his mouth shut, and I know immediately what it means.

"It's always going to be about him, isn't it?" I don't even know why I even bothered. When will I learn the lesson? How much more is it going to take before I stop asking for what he cannot give, what will never be mine? "You could have at least lie." I would have taken the lie if he cares enough to offer it. Apparently, he can't even do that much for me.

"You know why I won't," he says sternly, the same way I knew he would.

I close my eyes to the searing pain in my chest I've come to know like the back of my hand. I do know why he won't. His loyalty to Remus Valentin is too strong, too pure for him to taint it with a lie to please me. A century has passed, and I haven't made a dent in it. A century of giving him everything I have and I still can't measure up to that man.

"Get out of my face." I push past him towards the door, ignoring his efforts to coax me through our connection. It's amazing how much he can still hurt me after all this time, how much I'm willing to let him do so again and again.

"Chris." I hear a sigh from behind and then the sound of his step as he turns towards me. "I'm bringing you back to the Westwood Estate," he tells me, his voice unyielding, leaving no room for negotiation. "Or I'm moving you back in here. It's your choice."

I blink twice at the audacity of those words as I turn around. Hot, white rage fills my chest, almost blinding me. "What makes you think you can just walk back into my life whenever you see fit and I'm going to let you?" I hear my voice rising to fill the room. My head is spinning from the venom and the anger I'm losing control over. I've had enough of being dragged around, of being his second choice, of feeling like garbage. Enough.

"Chris -"

"Go fuck yourself, Lucien," I snap at him, "and stay the fuck away from me."

I turn to leave and I slam into an invisible wall. Suddenly, my arms and legs turn stiff and I can't move a finger. I know what's happening the moment I look into those yellow eyes - I just went too far.

Lucien squares his shoulders and takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. My whole body feels like a rock as his presence courses through me, filling every inch of my nerves to pin me in place, taking full control of my limbs. The tendrils of his power reach my mind, occupying every corner, wrapping around it with the force that paralyzes me where I stand.

"You know what happens when you fight me, Chris," he says, raising a hand to my face, cradling it in this palm. The pressure of his thumb on my cheek feels heavy enough to leave a bruise as he sends something down the bond. "Or do you need a reminder?" He leans forward until his lips hover just a hairbreadth from mine. I know that look, that tone he uses every time I go one step too far to defy him, how much of a monster he can become when his control breaks. "I think you do."

The images he sends through the bond makes me want to scream and run, but the pressure of his hand on my face and the power that occupies my body pin me in place, making it impossible for me to even make a sound. For a moment I'm back in that room from a long time ago, standing in a pool of blood, watching as Lucien tore limbs after limbs from those people who'd given me shelter to hide, butchering them alive for me to see. Then he sends an image of my sister, with her throat in his grip, her body hanging limp and lifeless from it.

"Don't. Ever. Assume you can walk out on me without my permission," he whispers sharply against my lips, before dragging his mouth to my left ear, pressing his words and his breaths against my earlobe. "You're mine, and for as long as you breathe you will breathe for me. Get that into your head or I will make sure she suffers until you do. Run, and I will hunt you down and put you in a cage until you understand you can't run from me. I'll give you one week to pack up and leave for the Westwood estate, or to move back in here. Make a choice, Chris, or I will make it for you."

****

A/N: Gosh I love writing this pairing and it's horrible of me to keep wanting to jump out of here to write their backstory. I have no discipline whatsoever when it comes to tragic relationships *_* I hope you like them too and thank you for reading this far.