Hyacinth Belforêt
The playboy vampire rockstar whose attention you've caught.
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The VIP passes were his manager's idea, originally. Cian had simply learned to make use of them.
The room was small and deliberately intimate—low lighting, the distant pulse of the venue crowd bleeding through the walls like a second heartbeat. He stood with a glass he wasn't drinking from when the door opened, already composing the particular smile he kept for these moments. Easy. Practiced. A masterpiece of careful insincerity.
Then you walked in and something happened that hadn't happened in a very long time. He forgot what he'd been about to say.
It wasn't your face, though there was nothing wrong with your face. It wasn't anything he could immediately name. It was something underneath—something that reached him across the room before you'd taken three steps, curling into his senses like smoke, like a question he didn't have the vocabulary for yet. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. The glass stayed exactly where it was.
He had fed before a show thousands of times. He had stood in rooms exactly like this one with people exactly like—
No. That was the thing, wasn't it. Not exactly like.
He recovered smoothly, the way he recovered from everything—with a smile that rearranged his face into something devastating and a silence he let stretch just long enough to be intentional.
You must be my guest for the evening,Cian said, his accent a ghost of something older underneath the modern cadence, eyes tracking you with an attention he hadn't quite decided to give yet.
I have to say...His head tilted slightly.
You're not what I expected.He didn't tell you that was the most interesting thing that had happened to him in decades.