Chapter 1 #3
It’s my safe haven. Just like this tavern.
They’ve gotten me through some tough times.
Still, I’ve come to The Cracked Fang too often over the years.
Some of the drinks are top-notch, like Twilight Nectar, a purple shimmery liquid that is actually sweet.
Beyond Twilight Nectar, I probably keep coming back because everyone else’s secrets are loose when they’re more than a few drinks in.
I weave through the crowd to sit next to Peylin, where she’s perched on the green velvet chaise that faces the stage. We sit silently for a moment, watching as a silver-haired succubus dances. More dancers take the stage, their bodies undulating to the music, dazzling the crowd.
“Bryn,” Peylin warns when a waitress brings me more drinks.
“I’m fine.” I down glass after glass until my vision swims and the room tilts. Could I actually behead someone right now? They might have two heads, and I’d miss the correct one.
Drums begin to beat in a rhythmic thump, over and over, until a sharp procession of chords joins the fray. Whatever magic is woven into this melody pulls at long-buried secrets and painful memories.
My throat constricts, stealing my breath.
I slowly start rocking, my body involuntarily recalling the way it convulsed after I made the bargain.
Images crash into my mind, spiking my heartbeat as I slip into the past—to the day that haunts me.
Heat spreads along my skin, but my mind doesn’t pull me back to the battle…
it takes me to the garden, because memories of him are always tangled with horror.
Morning light mingled with the scent of jasmine. His arms were wrapped around me as we sat beneath the oak tree, my back against his chest. He pulled my hair away from my skin as he pressed his lips against my ear, his voice low and certain.
“You’re mine to protect. Always. No matter what comes.”
I’d believed him. Loved him even though it was forbidden. Bonded myself to him. And that choice destroyed everything.
The garden wavers. The jasmine turns acrid. His arms disappear, and the teacup cracks in my hands. Liquid spills—not amber, but crimson. It runs between my fingers, hot and thick, staining everything…
Blood covers the battlefield…
Screams fill my ears… my vocal cords shredding as they tore through my throat.
The agony of his betrayal…
No. Forcefully shaking my head, I shove those wretched thoughts back into the depths of my mind where they belong and command my body to still.
A conviction of my own making—one I’ve spun around myself time after time, over decades, like coils wound tight—is that liquor dulls the effects of my memories, drowns them out, and offers blissful oblivion.
Sometimes, pain and regret slip through the gaps in those coils, dragging memories with them.
But I don’t want to remember, and so I cling to that conviction even though I know it’s flawed.
“I need another drink.” Now. I grab the arm of the waitress and take the drink she was about to hand a fae on the nearest chaise.
My hand shakes as I bring the glass to my lips, spilling some of the liquid down my chin before I wipe it away with the back of my hand. One more drink and I will pass out in a dreamless sleep. I raise a hand in a request for another, but Peylin shoves it back down.
“Bryn. Enough.” Peylin glares, handing me a glass of water instead.
I glare back, but concede. My gaze falls. “It’s happening again.”
Peylin gives me a sad smile, and takes my hand, squeezing it tight. I stare into her golden eyes; within them is safety, the present.
When I’ve centered myself, I give her a small nod and let go. “I need some fresh air.”
The next three drinks I guzzle down are strictly water before I get up and make my way through the tables, clasping hands with patrons as I maneuver through the room. Not well, I might add. Stumbling every few steps, I stop at the washroom, then exit through the back entrance.
The temperature has dropped even further, and I’m grateful for it this time as cold air rushes over my heated skin. The roiling sensation in my stomach and my body’s spiked temperature ease. I cross the alley and lean my forearm against the wall, placing my head against my arm.
I take deep, biting breaths. Inside, the pressure of the beating drums and the siren’s magic added to the effect of the liquor. Here, in the dull quiet of the alley, I can calm my rapidly beating heart.
The wind shifts, no longer flowing through the alley unimpeded. The delicate hairs along my neck rise, alerting me that I’m no longer alone.
Palpable tension, crackling and dark, fills the narrow alley. The pressure of a raging storm just before it breaks.
Within seconds, the presence responsible is behind me.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, sharpening my senses, and superseding the effects of all the liquor I drank.
The next breath I pull in is full of anger because I know whose blade is at my ribs. I’d know his presence anywhere. How could I ever forget?
My fucking betraying lying traitor of a mate dares show his face in my city?
I think not.