The office door clicked shut behind her. Eric sat behind his desk, looking up as she entered.
God, he is handsome.
Stop.
Lucine killed the thought, locking her mental shields down tight. Across the desk, his blue eyes tracked her movement.
"Sit."
Eden sat in the chair opposite his desk. Her outward composure was placid. Inside, her instincts were screaming. She knew why she was up here, but she couldn't guess his next move.
Eric leaned back, spinning a pen lazily between his fingers. "You caused quite a scene in my bar tonight," he noted. He stopped spinning the pen and leaned forward. "I could fire you. Or, I could drain you right here for disrupting the peace." His expression was unreadable. "But it's hard to justify that when you brought in more tips in one shift than Roxie and Rio combined.
"He grabbed my ankle and tried to pull me off the platform," Eden said, her voice tight but calm. She offered no apology. "I protected myself."
"The humans we cater to are pathetic creatures," Eric remarked. "They come here begging to feel proximity to danger. Tonight, you gave them exactly what they paid for. Beginning tomorrow night, you take my private stage. I like my performers to have an edge. Do not disappoint me."
✦☽✦☾✦
Lucine arrived home, changed, and collapsed onto her bed. She let her eyes close as the quiet stillness of her apartment washed over her.
It didn't stay quiet for long. Suddenly, she was in her old bedroom in Avignon. She turned her head on the pillow, and Gautier was lying right beside her, asleep.
He looked entirely serene. The moonlight caught the sharp slope of his jawline and soft, dark brown curls against the pillow. Even with his broad shoulders relaxed, he carried a quiet strength. She watched the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, taking comfort in his presence.
The peace was shattered. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. The outer wards collapsed, causing the illusory shield to flicker.
Gautier’s eyes opened, his steady gaze sharpening with panic. He sat up, his large hand gripping her shoulder. "They're in the hallway," he whispered, his voice tight. "Corbant and the Royal Guards. You have to use your light. You could kill them all and we can escape."
She stared at him, paralyzed. "I can't," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know if I can control it."
"Lucine, please," he begged, his brown eyes desperate. "There is no time."
She hesitated, and that single second cost them everything.
The bedroom door splintered to pieces. Her brother, Corbant, stepped through the ruins, his gaze cold and unyielding. Before they could react, a guard lunged, clamping a heavy iron shackle around her left ankle. The raw iron burned into her skin, stifling her magic and binding her in place.
Powerless, she could only watch the horror unfold. Two guards seized Gautier, dragging him to his knees on the floor. He fought hard against their grip, but he was outmatched.
Her brother stepped closer, looking down at her with a merciless gaze. "Mother demands your return," he stated. "Your little rebellion is over. This commoner has no place in our lineage."
"Por amor, laissiez le vivre!" Lucine begged, but the words dissolved as he raised the heavy blade.
In a swift strike, he brought the metal down, executing Gautier right in front of her. Dark blood gushed outward, pooling into the grooves between the floorboards.
She woke breathless. Her heart hammered. She reached down, clutching her ankle. There was no iron shackle. There were no Fae guards. There was no Gautier. Her fingers found only the scorched filigree of her scar, still buzzing with a phantom heat. She drew a shaky breath and wiped her cheek. In the dark, her wet skin sparkled with a faint, silver glow before fading into nothing.
✦☽✦☾✦
Nothing remained of the quiet dark by the time her shift began. Heavy bass thundered through the club, swallowing her thoughts whole.
Pam wrapped up the pre-shift lineup, and Eden headed out into the main lounge. Stepping out in a tiny burgundy slip, she left her feet bare against the concrete. Rio sat at the main counter with a basket of fries. Behind the bar, Booker quietly prepped the taps.
Rio looked down from his stool, his eyes tracing to her bare toes before a grin broke across his face. He slid his fries over. "Honey, I love the wild goddess vibe. But this floor hasn't been mopped since the Clinton administration. You’re gonna catch something even vampire blood can’t cure."
Eden cracked a smile, the genuine warmth of his voice lifting her dark mood. She stole a fry from his basket, popping it into her mouth with a casual shrug. "C'est la vie," she replied, her voice smooth and unbothered.
Pam interrupted them, dropping a clipboard on the bar counter. "Sign this, rookie," Pam stated. "It's your updated rider. Go get Eric's signature before the doors open."
Eden picked up the board, her eyes drifting toward Eric's office. "Is he in there?"
Pam smirked, checking her nails. "He's in there. Might be havin' a little snack," she added. "Enter at your own risk."
Pam turned and sashayed away. Eden picked up the clipboard, glancing at Rio as his eyebrows raised. She leaned against the bar. "Roxie's in there, isn't she? This could be entertaining."
Rio let out a quiet laugh. "What are you gonna do?"
"Get my signature," Eden said simply.
Rio lowered his voice. "Girl, go get it. But I want a full breakdown the second you get back."
Eden walked across the empty floor, her bare steps light against the concrete. Reaching Eric's office, she knocked rhythmically on the closed door.
When no one answered, she turned the handle and pushed.
As the door opened, Roxie was bent forward across the desk, her fingers gripping the edges. Eric was a blur of movement behind her, pinning her hips. The moment he sensed Eden, he froze mid-stride. His fangs were extended, a trace of dried blood at the corner of his mouth as his gaze flicked to her at the threshold. Roxie panted beneath him, exhausted.
He was completely naked, his tall frame broad-shouldered and lean.
Eden didn't look away. She didn't even flinch. Stepping into the office, she walked straight to the desk and plucked a pen from the holder.
Eric smirked, thoroughly amused by her nerve. "I don't recall requesting a third," he stated. "But I'm flexible."
"Just sign my rider if you want me on your stage tonight," Eden said.
He watched her for a silent beat, tracking her steady pulse. Then he reached across the desk and took the clipboard, quickly scrawling his name on the line.
Before the ink could dry, Eden grabbed the clipboard and tucked the pen back into its place.
"Thanks," she added.
She turned and sauntered out. Eric’s eyes traveled down her legs to her bare feet as she crossed the threshold.
"Eric!?" Roxie snapped from the desk.
The door clicked shut behind her, cutting off the sound. Pam was standing just outside, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
Eden handed her the clipboard as she walked past.
"Good girl," she drawled, before turning and walking away.
Eden returned to the bar. Rio watched her approach, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Bitch, you've got balls of steel," Rio chuckled. "You were only in there for a minute. Did he actually sign it?"
Eden slid onto the stool next to him, stealing a fry. "I didn't plan on staying for the show. He signed it mid stroke."
Rio snorted. "Roxie is definitely gonna try to ruin your night."
"Let her try." Eden shrugged, eating the fry.
✦☽✦☾✦
Thirty minutes later, heavy bass pulsed through the club as it filled to capacity.
Eden moved toward the private stage. Eric was already seated on his throne, observing.
As she reached the bottom step, a hand tapped her arm. She turned to find Roxie leaning close to cut through the music.
"Look, I'd love nothing more than to ruin your shift, but Eric would have my throat," Roxie said.
Eden met her stare. "Good to know."
Roxie let out a reluctant laugh, her tense expression softening slightly. "You're a little crazy, you know that? But I respect it."
Eden nodded. "Thanks."
The bass thudded in her chest, and flashing lights washed over her silk slip as she continued up the steps.
She reached out, wrapping her hand around the brass pole. Pulling herself up, she swung into a slow, mesmerizing spin.
Eric watched her command the space, his face unreadable. His eyes traced the curves of her body as she moved.
There was something about her that was...
"Different, huh?" Pam asked, stepping up beside his chair.
"It's almost disturbing," Eric said above the noise. "Certainly distracting and undeniably profitable."
He turned his head, "I want you to find out everything you can about her."
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading chapter three of Eden Untamed! Stay tuned to see what Eric learns about our girl "Eden".
While Eric and Pam command the club, Rio rules his VIP stage with warmth and magnetism. He’s a fun-loving dancer with the best dressing room gossip and a loyal friend. He is the living, breathing reminder of what humanity is supposed to feel like in a room full of monsters.
Lucine pulled her backpack over one shoulder. She grabbed her garment bag and locked her car. It was 6:45 PM, and the dark, twilight sky was fading to reveal the first evening stars.
She walked across the cracked pavement toward the employee entrance. A heavy static vibration bled through the brick wall and penetrated her senses. Pulling open the door, she followed the quiet corridor. It was a massive relief to find the dressing room completely empty upon walking inside. Claiming a stool at the corner vanity, she took comfort in the silence. She needed a moment to center herself before the other dancers arrived.
A warm glow framed the mirror. She plugged in her curling iron and began curling and pinning long, wavy strands of chestnut hair. Once finished, she blended a few drops of a satin foundation over her pale, flawless skin. She leaned a fraction closer to line her green eyes. The distinctive gold rings around her irises were emphasized by the warm light. She was dusting her face with powder when the silence was broken by the sound of laughter.
"—and he’s standing there trying to look tough in front of Eric," Roxie scoffed, pushing the door open. Her long acrylic nails tapped against the wood. "It was so fucking embarrassing, Rio. I couldn't even look at him."
Rio snorted, juggling a duffel bag and a pair of boots. "Please tell me Booker kicked his ass out."
"Definitely. He didn't even—"
Roxie stopped short. She stared at the corner vanity, sizing up her new competition. Dropping her bag at an empty station, her eyes fixed on Lucine. "Didn't know we were onboarding tonight."
"Excuse Roxie," Rio said, sliding onto the vanity stool next to Lucine. "She’s a fucking bitch who thinks she owns the place because she dances on Eric's private stage." He rolled his eyes, dropping his duffel bag onto the scuffed counter. "I'm Rio. What do we call you?"
"Eden," she answered, meeting his gaze in the reflection. "Nice to meet you."
Roxie let out a sharp, condescending laugh from across the room. "I dance on that stage because I pull the highest numbers in the room, Rio. Your locker ain't the only thing dusty in here." She unzipped her tote with a harsh tug.
Rio rolled his eyes instantly and leaned closer to Eden. "Don't let her play you," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. "She ain't pullin' big tips because of her routine. Eric and Pam pass her around after hours. A regular Fuck n' Feed."
His eyes drifted down to the shimmering garment she held in her hands. "Damn, that is absolutely gorgeous. Is it chainmail?"
"Rhinestone mesh," Eden said, holding it up. The crystals shimmered under the warm vanity lighting.
She stood up to slip out of her street clothes, stepping into the liquid-like weight of the dress. It draped low across her chest and split high at the hip. From the hem, delicate rhinestone thigh-chains hung in glittering tiers. Behind her, Rio and Roxie started their makeup, settling into their usual routine. Eden reached behind her neck, her fingers blindly tracing the delicate metal. She fumbled, trying to hook the tiny clasp.
Rio set his makeup brush down, catching her movement in the reflection. He rose from his stool with a relaxed chuckle. "Let me help you with that. Those things are a nightmare to get on your own without breakin' a damn nail."
He stepped back with an appreciative whistle. "Perfect. Now get the heels on. Let’s see the full visual."
She sat back down to slip into six-inch heels. As she stood upright, the clear platforms glinted. They had an intimidating arch, but her natural grace kept her completely steady. She turned slightly to check her reflection.
From her vanity, Roxie scoffed under her breath. "Enjoy the bar stage, sweetie. It's a rough crowd."
Reaching up, Eden slid the bobby pins from her hair, letting the long chestnut curls drop down her back. Rio caught her gaze in the mirror and gave her a supportive wink before picking his brush back up. For the next hour, hissing hairspray and casual banter filled the dressing room. Through the walls, a faint, rhythmic thumping vibrated steadily.
At exactly 8:25 PM, the door cracked open. Ginger peeked her head inside, her messy, blonde ponytail askew. She cast a wide-eyed look around the dressing room. "Pam, incoming," she warned. "She's already on a rampage, so don't be late."
Ginger didn't even wait for an answer before disappearing back down the hall. At exactly eight-thirty, they lined up shoulder-to-shoulder near the bar area. Pam glided over. Her heels clicked sharply against the concrete floor.
She stopped first in front of Rio, her icy gaze traveling down his frame. "Nice," Pam murmured, running her finger over his tan skin to trace the edge of his sheer black crop top. "Your ass looks great in those shorts. Let’s hope they inspire some decent tips in VIP tonight. Try doin' more than just standin' there lookin' pretty. Shoulders back."
Pam drifted to the right, her eyes narrowing at Roxie. "Well, look at you," Pam drawled, reaching out to tug a strand of her bleach-blonde extensions. "Your hair actually looks halfway decent tonight. It almost makes up for that trashy pink leopard print corset you decided to wear. Almost. Keep your energy up on Eric's stage. You're only up there until somethin' more interestin' walks through the door."
Finally, Pam pivoted to face the new girl. "Eden," she said, her eyes sweeping down the glittering fabric. "Now this is an outfit. You’re on the bar stage tonight. Let's see if they eat you alive."
✦☽✦☾✦
By midnight, the club was in full swing. The air was heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and overpriced drinks. Red neon cut through the shadows. The light washed over a pulsing crowd of thrill-seeking humans and predators. A dark bassline throbbed through the floor.
Lounging in his elevated throne, Eric watched the floor with a blasé expression. His gaze casually swept the room, his eyes shifting with subtle precision. Beside him, Pam stood statuesque, one arm draped over the top of his throne.
Up on the bar stage, Eden moved with mesmerizing fluidity. The rhinestones on her dress caught the club lights and fractured into a liquid shimmer as she moved. Her balance was entirely effortless. She commanded the room with a weightless poise that felt altogether otherworldly.
Near the platform, a drunk customer pushed past the barrier. His face was flushed. He lunged sloppily and gripped her ankle, trying to pull her towards the floor.
Eden flinched at the sudden contact. Bracing her right foot, she yanked her ankle back to tear free from his fumbling fingers. He stumbled forward, pressing his palm against the stage. Eden instantly drove her stiletto down, pinning his hand firmly.
"Fucking bitch!" he yelled sharply.
Holding steady pressure, she didn't look down at the man. Her eyes cut straight to Booker behind the bar. A dark blur crossed the floor and he was suddenly there. He hauled the guy off the stage by his collar, dragging him toward the back exit. The door slammed shut.
Eden stepped back into her performance, her body moving effortlessly again. She caught Eric's unreadable gaze from the main stage. Flawless start, Lucine, she thought sarcastically. You'll either be fired or drained.
✦☽✦☾✦
By 3:00 AM, the crowd was gone. The dancers sat at the bar in their regular clothes while Ginger and Booker closed up.
Rio slid a glass of dark red wine across the counter toward her. "A scrappy bitch on night one," he joked lovingly. "I like your style. You didn't take no shit from that asshole."
"Thank you," Eden said, taking a slow sip. The scent of the pressed grapes reminded her of home.
A few feet away, Roxie leaned back against the rail with a snarky smirk. "Well, it was nice knowing you," she chimed in. She was convinced her new competition was getting the boot for assaulting a customer. "First shifts are usually trial runs anyway."
"And how are you so sure Eric's violent ass didn't find that shit attractive?" Rio snapped back, cutting his eyes toward Roxie with a dry chuckle.
Eden ignored her, turning her head as Booker walked up behind the counter to wipe down the taps. She extended a hand toward him, polite and deliberate. "I don't think we've been properly introduced," she said. "I'm Eden. Thank you for your help out there."
Booker paused, his eyes shifting from her hand up to her face. He accepted the gesture with a brief, firm grip. "Booker," he replied. "Seemed like you had him under control. I just took out the trash."
Nearby, Ginger paused her sweeping. She placed a hand on her hip. "You're a badass. I probably would have just screamed," she remarked, shaking her head as she resumed.
Pam strode over from the office.
"Eden."
The room went quiet as she spoke.
"Eric wants to see you in his office. Now."
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you're enjoying getting to know these characters and exploring the backstage world of Fangtasia. Chapter Three is up next, and the stakes are about to get a lot higher. See you all in Eric's office!
The wind off the Mediterranean always tasted like sea-salt and crushed lavender. It was a biting cold that stung the throat. The sun over the Camargue delta was blinding, a blazing dome of white gold. Below, it turned the marshlands into a sheet of silver. She rode a white stallion, its muscles shifting fluidly beneath her. A half-stride ahead, her father’s mount matched the thunderous rhythm. Her father turned his head, his deep moss-green eyes crinkling at the corners. His laughter cut clear through the roar of the surf. “Hold your line, Lucine,” he shouted, a Fae lord commanding his daughter with absolute grace, “never look down at the muck. Look at the horizon.”
Then the memory ripped away, fractured by the piercing shriek of the tea kettle on the stove.
Lucine gasped, her eyes flashing open as she pulled her hand back from the counter. The sudden noise sent a sharp jolt through her chest. She switched off the burner, silencing the mechanical scream as her pulse settled.
She wasn't on the white salt-flats of southern France. She stood in the kitchen of her historic Shreveport apartment. Overgrown pothos vines and hanging ferns draped the brick walls in quiet comfort. Her father was gone, executed by her mother’s enforcers in 1230 AD. Now, she was a ghost operating under a fabricated human paper trail.
She took a steady breath and poured the steaming water over a spoonful of dried rosebuds. Inside the glass teapot, the pale pink petals swirled and began to steep. The faint, sweet aroma of rose tea filled the small kitchen. It acted as a fragile shield against the anxiety tightening in her chest.
She carried her cup of fresh tea into her bedroom, setting it on the nightstand before changing out of her soft loungewear.
She pulled on a thin black sweater and bootcut jeans before stepping into her worn canvas sneakers. Her black backpack was already packed with her dancewear. She slung it over her shoulder and paused by the nightstand.
She took a slow sip of her tea and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her loose waves and soft makeup were already flawless. Satisfied, she massaged a few drops of a spell-bound perfume oil into her pulse points. It was a mask, engineered to smother the intoxicating, addictive scent of her Fae blood. She needed it before she stepped into Fangtasia.
With her magical armor locked in place, she grabbed her keys and headed out. She locked the door behind her and turned down the hallway. Her soft footsteps faded as she headed for the stairs.
"Heading out early tonight, Cara?"
Lucine paused, her natural guard softening as she turned to face Mr. Henderson. Her elderly landlord stood near the stairwell holding a stack of mail. His face held a warm, grandfather-like curiosity.
“Yes, Mr. Henderson,” Lucine replied, her voice smooth as she offered a polite smile. She leaned into the easy rhythm of her human alias, letting the name wash over her like a necessary shield. “Heading south near the loop for an audition. I'm hoping to pick up a few extra night shifts.”
"Well, break a leg," the old man chuckled, waving a hand of encouragement as he turned back toward his door. "Be careful on those Shreveport backroads after dark, kiddo."
“Always am,” Lucine murmured. She kept her expression light as she watched him disappear into his apartment.
The brief conversation left a lingering weight in her chest. It was a sobering reminder of the double life she had woven. She adjusted her bag strap, exhaling a slow, grounding breath as she walked down the stairs. Her human cover was airtight. Her sanctuary sat locked behind her. And the sandalwood and oud on her skin kept her safe. Sometimes, the safest sanctuary was the mouth of the lion. The vampire bar was a terrifying risk, but her mother's enforcers would never look for her there. Tonight, she braved the lion's den that was Fangtasia, hoping to use Eric Northman's domain as a shield.
The cool October air hit her as she walked to the curb. Her old, dark green sedan sat waiting in the shadows of the streetlights. In the dim twilight, fallen leaves rustled as they drifted across the hood. She unlocked the door and slid into the worn driver’s seat, tossing her backpack onto the passenger side. The engine hummed as the sedan pulled away, steering toward the isolated backroads.
✦☽✦☾✦
Ten minutes south near the loop, a different hum vibrated through Fangtasia's floorboards. The empty room was thick with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap, sweet perfume.
Pam sat rigidly at a cocktail table near the main stage. Her champagne-blonde hair and bold red lipstick stood out in the dim light. She wore a leopard-print dress, sheer black pantyhose, and towering heels. Irritation tightened her expression. She tapped her manicured fingers against a clipboard of audition names.
Beside her, Eric looked entirely unimpressed. He was lounging back in his chair, his towering frame clad in a dark track suit. He propped his feet up onto the edge of the table. With his hands folded over his stomach, his vacant stare remained fixed forward. He was completely indifferent to the human spectacle unfolding just a few feet away.
“Next!” Pam snapped, waving a hand dismissively without looking up from her clipboard.
The first girl hurried off, making way for the next dancer who stepped straight up to the sound system. She popped a disc into the player, and a generic 80s metal song blared through the speakers. The girl threw her head back to shred an air guitar, launching into a vigorous headbang.
“Oh, stop. Stop!” Eric called out, his deep voice effortlessly cutting through the music.
The girl instantly paused, scrambling to turn off the sound system.
Eric blinked once, his expression bored and mildly annoyed. “Thank you, but we're looking for something a little less, um… ridiculous."
“I can tone it down,” the girl offered quickly, her hands hovering at her sides.
“I'd rather see you turn it off,” Eric replied, his tone flat.
The girl scoffed, marching back to the sound system to snatch her CD. She aggressively tossed it into her bag. “I know ya'll are vampires n' all, but you don't have to be such bitches about it.”
Pam stared blankly, “Actually, we do. Next!” She glanced down at her clipboard, scanning the next line, “Clara?”
Backstage, Lucine took a slow, grounding breath. As her anxiety faded, an effortless confidence took over. A deep red satin two-piece wrapped around her body, hugging her chest and hips. She stepped out onto the stage with hypnotic grace. Poised in six-inch heels, she walked to the sound system to load her disc.
Pam and Eric exchanged a subtle, satisfied look across the cocktail table. Their annoyance faded into a quiet, calculating interest as they watched her.
A crisp click echoed through the empty club as she pressed play. A slow, descending bassline dropped, filling the room with a sultry rhythm.
Lucine tilted her chin, slowly running her hands over her body as she eased into a seamless head roll. Her loose waves spilled around her shoulders, seeming to float under the low lights. She slid down into a slow crawl, arching her back with a liquid grace.
She was barely thirty seconds into her routine when Eric stood up from the table. As he strode toward the sound system, Lucine flowed seamlessly back up to her feet. He clicked the player off, plunging the empty club into an abrupt silence.
Standing tall on the elevated stage, she let out a slow breath. An intoxicating, exotic scent drifted from her warm skin. The fragrance immediately cut through the stale club air. It hit Eric with a strange, magnetic pull. She was utterly mesmerizing, stirring a primal physical desire inside him. It had absolutely nothing to do with club profits.
Pam rose from the cocktail table and glided over to join Eric at the stage edge. Looking up at Lucine in unison. The two spoke in a low, appreciative chorus.
“Well, hello.”
Eric didn’t break his gaze from her. “I'll handle this one alone, Pam.”
“Oh, I could not possibly let you do that,” Pam replied, her voice laced with dry amusement.
Eric countered in low Swedish. “Stick härifrån. Den här är min.”
Pam gave a snarky head nod. “Selfish.”
“Insubordinate,” Eric countered smoothly.
Pam rolled her eyes at Eric's stubbornness, recognizing when she had lost a battle. Turning on her heel, she strutted back toward the bar and left them alone.
Eric stepped closer to the stage, looking up at Lucine with quiet appreciation. “Follow me to my office. We’ll handle your paperwork.”
Eric extended a hand, helping her down from the stage. Taking his hand, Lucine stepped onto the main floor, and he led her across the empty club toward his office.
✦☽✦☾✦
Eric’s office was a cluttered backroom with grey metal file cabinets and extra bar stock. A massive Viking sword hung on the wall behind his heavy desk. He gestured toward the seat opposite him. He handed the standard new hire paperwork to her across the desk, then sat back in his leather chair.
“On the clipboard, your name is Clara,” Eric noted, his deep voice carrying a quiet composure. “What do we call you on the floor?”
“Eden.”
A faint smirk touched the corner of Eric's mouth. “Eden. Very well.”
He leaned back in his leather chair, his tone completely casual. “The standard rules apply, Eden. You will perform your scheduled sets on the floor and private dances. I will feed and fuck as I please.
Eric's gaze remained completely relaxed, as if he were stating a mundane fact rather than a demand. He assumed she would jump at the chance to offer herself up, just like every other girl who had ever sat in that chair.
Lucine stared right back at him, her tone cool. “I am not a fangbanger. I'm here to dance, but no one drinks my blood.”
Eric’s calm composure tightened into a cold glare. He wasn't used to humans standing their ground. The tension in the small room peaked, but his sharp business mind ruled his instincts. Her mesmerizing allure would make the club a killing, and he was patient enough to play by her rules for now. There was no point in losing a high-value asset over a technicality.
He gave a slow, conceding nod. “Just the dancing.”
Lucine reached across the desk to pick up a pen. She pulled the paperwork closer, but paused right above the signature line.
“Before I sign, I have a question,” she stated, her tone carefully even. “What are your poles made of?”
Eric watched her with a quiet, evaluating focus. “Pure brass. Why?”
Lucine glanced down. A thin, delicate scar wrapped around her left ankle. It was a permanent reminder of the iron shackle her mother and brother once used to hold her captive.
“I have an iron allergy,” she lied smoothly, returning her attention to him. “It irritates my skin. Won't make much money if I look contagious.”
Eric accepted the excuse without a second thought. He completely dismissed the detail as a boring human problem. “The three smaller platforms all use identical brass. You’ll be fine.”
Satisfied that her Fae skin was safe, Lucine put pen to paper. She signed Clara Montgomery in an elegant, looping script.
Lucine glanced down. A thin, delicate scar wrapped around her left ankle. It was a permanent reminder of the iron shackle her mother and brother once used to hold her captive.
Lucine blinked the memory away and lifted her gaze. She slid the completed paperwork back across the desk. “When do I start?”
Eric picked up the sheet, his eyes tracking her across the desk. “Friday night. Seven o'clock. Don’t be late.”
Lucine stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “I'll see you Friday.”
She stepped out of the office, nearly running into a man carrying a crate of alcohol.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, his frame dwarfing hers. Steel dog tags glinted against his deep brown skin under the dim neon lights. A cluster of jagged, uneven scars tracked across his right bicep. Despite his imposing size, his brown eyes carried a quiet, steady calm as he stepped back to give her room.
“Excuse me,” he murmured, his voice deep and perfectly even-keeled.
He didn't smile or attempt to flirt. He simply gave her a polite, cordial nod before carrying the crates across the room to the bar. Lucine watched him for a split second. Her senses picked up the heavy vibration of his vampire nature. Her eyes lingered on his glinting dog tags. An aching memory flashed behind her eyes and quickly vanished. The bartender wasn't Gautier, but the resemblance in their posture was striking.
✦☽✦☾✦
Swedish Translation:
"Stick härifrån. Den här är min." translates to "Get out of here. This one's mine."
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Eden Untamed! This project is a absolute labor of love, and I can't wait to share her journey with you. Chapter Two drops soon.
Title: Eden Untamed
Pairing: Eric Northman x Original Character (Eden)
Setting: Shreveport / Fangtasia
Rating: Mature (18+ / NSFW)
Tropes: Dark Romance, Heavy Angst, Forced Proximity, Vampire Politics, Hidden Identity.
“Sometimes, the safest sanctuary is the mouth of the lion.”
Eden doesn't fear the heavy, suffocating dark of Fangtasia. To her, it’s a refuge from the Fae past that shattered her across the Atlantic. She moves under synthetic neon lights in six-inch heels, claiming her place on stage while blending in as another disposable human.
But you cannot exist in Eric Northman's domain without catching his eye. From his throne, his unyielding stare commands the room and tolerates no anomalies. As his eyes linger, she wonders if she has traded one cage for another.
✦ ✦ ✦
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