"Love the sinner, hate the sin" wasn't a motto Henrik could follow, for he was both. As a Tribrid, an abomination in the eyes of many, he embodied the very essence of contradiction. His existence was a paradox, a living testament to the blurred line...
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"Collecting hearts is easy; keeping one takes skill."
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Dahlia and Henrik had a memorable year in New Orleans. Henrik was especially enamored with the city—the ambiance, the food, the magic, and particularly the men. He had a weakness for the New Orleans drawl, and it wasn't long before he made a habit of sleeping with men he found intriguing, maintaining a casual roster of them. Dahlia often looked down on him for this, making snide remarks about his promiscuous ways, but Henrik didn't let it bother him. He spent the year partying and spreading his influence, fully immersing himself in the city's vibrant life.
Henrik's love for the city only deepened with each passing month. The lively streets, the intoxicating music spilling out from every corner, and the scent of Cajun spices in the air created an irresistible charm. He became a regular at the most popular bars and clubs, where his charisma and good looks quickly made him a familiar face.
On the other hand, Dahlia found herself oscillating between fascination and frustration. She admired Henrik's ability to effortlessly navigate the social scene and his knack for making connections, but she couldn't understand his carefree approach to relationships. Despite her disapproval, she couldn't deny that Henrik had a certain magnetism that drew people in.
As the year went on, Henrik's influence grew. He was invited to exclusive events and private gatherings, where he rubbed shoulders with influential locals and out-of-towners alike. His natural charm and confident demeanor made him a favorite among the city's elite, and he used these connections to expand his own ambitions.
Henrik found himself mingling with the usual high-society crowd at yet another event. He had just gotten a drink when a strikingly handsome man approached him. With a charming smile, the man introduced himself.
"Hello, my name is Luke," he said.
Henrik couldn't shake the feeling that Luke looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen him before. Still, he matched Luke's smile with one of his own.
"Well, just Luke, my name is Henrik," he replied, intrigued by this familiar stranger.
As they continued to chat, Henrik noticed Luke's interest growing. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, and their flirtation became more apparent with each passing moment.
"So, Henrik," Luke said, leaning in closer, his voice low and smooth. "What brings you to events like these? Aside from the obvious allure of free drinks and good company."
Henrik chuckled, meeting Luke's gaze. "Oh, you know, the usual. Making connections, and enjoying the scene. New Orleans has a way of bringing out the best in people, don't you think?"
Luke's smile widened, his eyes never leaving Henrik's. "Indeed it does. And it seems to have brought out something special in you. I've heard quite a bit about your...influence around town."
Henrik raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? All good things, I hope."
"Mostly," Luke replied, his tone shifting slightly. "You're a powerful witch. The whole Quarter talks about you, and I want you to work for me." His voice had a hint of menace, and the veins under his eyes pulsed ominously. "The other witches here revere you. They talk about your strength and refuse to do spells for me, so I thought, why not come to the horse's mouth and ask directly."
Henrik laughed at Luke, which clearly irked him. "I do not work for anybody but myself. I will not help you," Henrik said, gulping his drink and turning to walk away.
Before he could get far, Luke grabbed his arm forcefully, squeezing hard. "I am an 800-year-old vampire. You will listen to me or die," he threatened.
Henrik looked at the vampire's hand gripping his bicep and then met Luke's eyes. With a swift, deliberate motion, he siphoned energy from Luke, causing the vampire to yelp and falter. Henrik pulled free and walked away from the party, already done for the night.
As Henrik made his way home, Luke suddenly appeared, slamming him against a wall with supernatural speed. Henrik, unfazed, used his magic to send Luke flying, holding him mid-air. "You vampires are so arrogant. So what if you're 800 years old? I don't give a shit." With each word, Henrik broke a limb from Luke's body, eliciting screams of agony. Henrik dropped Luke to the ground and walked up to him, grabbing his chin. "And to think you were so handsome. You just had to ruin it."
He turned to leave, ensuring that Luke's injuries would take a long time to heal. As Henrik walked away, Luke called after him, his voice strained but persistent. "Come on, darling, you said I'm handsome. That means something, doesn't it?"
Henrik smirked and laughed. "Whatever you say. Leave me alone now," he said, continuing his walk home, leaving Luke broken and defeated on the ground.
As Henrik continued his walk home, he couldn't shake the feeling that Luke might still be a problem. He paused, taking a deep breath to center himself, before resuming his pace.
The streets were quieter now, and the night's festivities were starting to wind down. Henrik found solace in the calm, but his thoughts drifted back to Luke. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"You really think you can just walk away from this, Henrik?" Luke called out, his voice laced with pain and a stubborn determination.
Henrik turned slowly, eyeing the vampire warily. "You still don't know when to quit, do you? You've already lost tonight, Luke. Don't make this worse for yourself."
Luke struggled to his feet, and his limbs were slowly healing. "I underestimated you. That's my mistake. But you don't understand—"
"Well, I don't care," Henrik interrupted, his voice cold and dismissive. "Goodnight, Luke."
With a wave of his hand, Henrik used his magic to put Luke to sleep, watching as the vampire slumped to the ground, unconscious. He had greatly underestimated a vampire's healing ability, and Henrik knew this encounter was far from over.
Turning his back on Luke, Henrik resumed his walk home. The streets were eerily quiet now, the night's festivities finally winding down. He found solace in the calm, his thoughts beginning to clear as he put more distance between himself and the confrontation. Just one thought: "Just who are you, Luke?" He would have to look more into it.
