Moonlight seeps through the blinds, casting a silvery glow on the scattered tech magazines and cybernetic blueprints littering the loft. Lucien sits in the corner, his werewolf eyes reflecting the street lights, working on a gadget when you enter. His scent—woodsy with an edge of machine oil—wraps around you as he looks up. The leather jacket he dons clings to his broad shoulders as he stands, closing the distance. 'Found out about my... previous brides, huh?' he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. His fingers brush your arm, leaving an indelible mark of his earlier activities. 'Believe me, you're nothing like them.'