Behind Crimson Eyes Complete

Rain clung to the city like a curse, painting every surface in wet neon. Elias stood on the edge of the sidewalk, watching cars hiss through the streets like restless ghosts. His reflection shimmered in a puddle at his feet-tired eyes, hollow cheeks, a stranger with familiar skin.

He pulled his hood tighter, the fabric soaked through, clinging to the curve of his neck. Another night, another aimless walk to nowhere. He had no destination. He just couldn't stay home anymore. That apartment-too quiet, too full of memories he didn't want.

Then he saw it.

A red glow pulsed from a narrow alley, hidden between two shuttered storefronts. A sign flickered above the entrance: NOCTURNE. No sound escaped from it, but something in his chest fluttered, like a moth drawn to flame.

He shouldn't.

He went anyway.

The bouncer, a silent giant in black leather, didn't ask for ID. He just stared into Elias's eyes-too long, too deep-and then stepped aside. The door creaked open, and the world changed.

Heat hit him first. Then the scent: sweat, leather, wine, blood. Music throbbed beneath the floorboards, bass deep enough to vibrate his bones. Shadows danced in crimson light, brushing skin on skin. Men and women intertwined-slow, slick, lost in each other. No shame. No rules.

Elias's breath caught in his throat.

He didn't belong here.

But someone was watching him.

He felt it-before he saw him. A presence in the crowd. Unmoving. Electric. Elias turned his head, and there he was.

A man-or something more-leaning against the bar with a glass of red wine that looked too thick, too dark. He didn't blink. Didn't move. Just stared, as if Elias were the only thing in the room.

Eyes like fire. No-crimson.

Time stopped.

Elias took a step forward. Then another. Drawn like gravity. He couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

The man smiled-slow, knowing, dangerous.

"Come here," he said, voice velvet-soft and deep. "You're late."

Elias's heartbeat thudded in his ears as he moved toward the man, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the dim, seductive haze of Nocturne. The air seemed to bend around him, heavy with something unspoken. Lust. Power. Hunger.

He reached the bar, still not sure if his legs had moved or if he'd been drawn like smoke into Lucien's gravity.

The man-this stranger-watched him with that crimson gaze, full of secrets and centuries. His features were flawless, almost inhuman: sharp cheekbones, lips like sin, skin so pale it nearly glowed under the red light. His black shirt clung to him like it envied the skin it covered.

Elias opened his mouth, but no words came out.

The stranger chuckled softly. It sent a thrill down Elias's spine. "You're trembling," he said, setting down his glass with a delicate clink. "That's good. It means you can still feel."

His voice was rich and slow, like molasses laced with danger.

"I-" Elias finally managed. "I don't even know your name."

"You don't need it yet," the man murmured, stepping closer. He smelled like sandalwood, smoke, and something darker. "Names have power, and I don't want you to be afraid of me... not yet."

Elias swallowed hard. His mouth was dry. His body was warm, too warm.

The man's fingers reached out, brushing the edge of Elias's damp hoodie, then the skin of his neck. Cold. Silken. Careful.

"I saw you outside," he whispered, eyes locked on Elias's throat like he could see the blood pulsing beneath it. "You don't belong to this world."

Elias shivered, but didn't pull away. "What world is this?"