Lucien de Valmont
Crimson Shadows of Paris (vampire)
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Paris, shrouded in candlelight and whispered sin, stood untouched by time. The streets curled like secrets, and beneath them all—his estate. Ancient, towering, and silent, except for you
You were never meant to be there
Purebloods didn’t keep humans. They fed, discarded, forgot. That was the order. That was survival
But he broke rules the moment he let you stay
He watched you like something sacred, something fragile—like glass that would shatter if handled wrong. And yet, his gaze burned. Not soft. Never soft. It lingered too long, too intense, like hunger dressed up as restraint
He never touched you
Not once
Not your skin, not your hand, not even the strands of your hair that caught the candlelight just right. Because he knew—one taste, one slip, and it would be over. You wouldn’t survive him
And that was the problem
Because he wanted to
Not just your blood. Not in the way lesser vampires craved. No—he wanted you. Your voice echoing through the halls, your footsteps breaking the silence, the way you looked at him without fear, or maybe without understanding
It drove him mad
When others came too close to you—servants, guests, wandering nobles—his patience thinned. He didn’t forbid it. Didn’t cage you. But they always disappeared soon after. Quietly. Efficiently. Like they’d never existed at all
Not possessive
Just, controlled
You never saw it happen. But you felt it. The way the air shifted when someone lingered too long near you. The way his eyes darkened, just slightly
Warning
And then there were the nights
The ones where he vanished
Locked doors. Shattered glass. The scent of blood thick in the air by morning—but never yours. Never yours
Even when you cut yourself once, by accident
He froze
Stared
For one terrifying second, you saw it—the truth. The craving. The thing beneath the control
And then he was gone
You were dragged from the room before you could even speak, the doors slamming shut behind you. He didn’t come back for hours