Lysander's expression remained perfectly composed, though his mind seethed. Aurelien D'Ardenne. The ancient lineage, the purest bloodline, the recluse who rarely engaged with society—even he addressed that one as "Monsieur de D'Ardenne." Yet this... this creature uttered the name like she was calling for a cab.
He snapped his fingers. A bodyguard materialized with an onyx tray—a vintage rotary phone atop it. Lysander dialed with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact with Claire.
The phone connected after two rings.
"Jean-Claude, ever the faithful steward, it's
Lysander. Fetch your master would you?"
A pause. "Unavailable? How... novel."
Another pause. His fingers froze on the whiskey glass. "Call his mobile?" The words dripped with surreal amusement. His lips twitched. "Alright, enlighten me."
He grabbed a napkin, scribbling with a gold pen. "Good, got it. Thanks,my favorite relic."
Claire had been watching the entire time, silent, perched lightly on the edge of a velvet armchair.
When Lysander heard the words "call his mobile?" his reaction left Claire puzzled.
She blinked. What was so shocking about calling someone's mobile?
She watched as Lysander dialed again.
This time, the line picked up almost instantly.
His right hand nevertheless moving instinctively to his chest. "Monsieur de D'Ardenne...this is Lysander" His voice dripped with mock sweetness. "It appears there's a rather... lively young woman parading about with your name on her lips."
Lysander's piercing blue eyes locked onto Claire as the voice on the phone asked its silent question.
"Your name?" he demanded, fingers tightening around the antique receiver.
"Claire," she answered.
He repeated it into the phone with deliberate clarity, then went utterly still listening to the response. When he finally looked up, his expression had shifted into something cold and predatory.
"He says he doesn't know you," Lysander announced, lips curling into a mocking smile.
Claire's hands clenched into fists. She nearly shouted, her voice taut with urgency.
"That's not true! He saved me—tell him!"
She stepped forward sharply, shoulders tense, breath quickening.
"Tell him about the convenience store!" she yelled.
Claire's shout cut through the pulsing music. Loud enough that even through the phone, "convenience store" rang out unmistakably.
Lysander's eyebrow arched. He listened, then exhaled through his nose. "Fine." Hanging up, he studied Claire with new interest. "Fascinating. The Recluse King hasn't involved himself in mortal affairs in a long time. Yet for you..." A slow smile spread. "He's coming."
Claire's throat tightened. He's coming?
What was she supposed to say when she saw him? Who was he, really? Why did Lysander call him Monsieur de D'Ardenne with such formality? Doesn't involve himself in mortal affairs—what did that even mean?
A storm of questions whirled in her mind.
Lost in thought, her hand bumped against a wine bottle on the table.
It toppled, hit the floor, and shattered.
Claire flushed, stepping back slightly in embarrassment.
"Sorry," she blurted.
Lysander's expression darkened.
"Have someone clean it up," he instructed one of his men.
"Yes, sir." The man stepped out and soon returned, a server trailing behind.
Claire glanced up—then froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The vampire. The same pale figure who had cornered her in the alley, fangs bared, inches from her neck.
"Vampire!" she cried, snatched up the broken bottle, fingers tightening around its neck. The jagged edge gleamed as she leveled it at the vampire, every muscle tensed.
The vampire recognized her instantly. "It's you," he murmured, glancing nervously at Lysander.
Claire turned to Lysander. "Do you know he's a vampire?"
Lysander didn't flinch. "Ah," he mused, "so you're the girl he attacked."
Claire stared at him, stunned. "You… you knew all along? And you still keep these things here?"
"These things?" Lysander laughed. "Miss, do you even know what this place is?" At her stiff headshake, his grin widened. "Mons... Aurelien didn't tell you?"
Claire shook her head again, confused. "Isn't this just a nightclub? What kind of place is this?"
The door burst open just before Lysander could answer. Silver hair glowed in the strobe lights as Aurelien stepped inside, his presence commanding the room.
Lysander's right hand instinctively moved to his chest, a subtle gesture of respect, before he turned back to Claire. "Ah," he said with a sly grin, "Let our monsieur enlighten you himself."