Chapter 8 Bar Chaos
Bar Chaos
The demon's mark on my inner thigh had been glowing for three hours straight.
It wasn't my fault. Not entirely. The problem was proximity—specifically, the proximity of three supernatural predators who had decided, apparently without consulting me, that I wasn't allowed to leave the manor without an armed escort.
And by "armed escort," I meant Lucien's knives, Darius's glares, and Azrael's unsettling ability to appear directly behind anyone who looked at me for more than two seconds.
I was going stir-crazy. The manor was beautiful and luxurious and filled with more magical artifacts than a fantasy novel, but I'd been living there for over a week without setting foot outside the grounds.
I needed to see other people. Breathe different air.
Remember that a world existed beyond Gothic architecture and supernatural mafia politics.
"I want to go out," I announced at breakfast, slathering jam on a croissant with perhaps more aggression than strictly necessary. "To a bar. A normal bar. With normal people."
Four pairs of eyes fixed on me with varying degrees of concern.
"That's a terrible idea," Lucien said flatly. He was sharpening one of his knives at the table—a habit that would have been alarming if I hadn't grown weirdly accustomed to it. "You're a target now. Anyone who wants leverage against us will see you as the weak link."
"I'm not a weak link. I'm a chaos agent."
"That's worse."
Selene laughed, reaching over to steal a piece of my croissant. "I think it's a wonderful idea. Lizzie deserves a night out. And there's a place in the supernatural district—The Twilight Dive. It caters to all sorts, human and otherwise. She'll be safe there."
"Safe," Darius repeated, his silver eyes narrowing. "In a bar full of vampires, werewolves, and witches."
"Safer than a human bar," Selene countered. "At least there, everyone knows who we are. No one would dare touch her."
I perked up. "The supernatural district? That's a real thing?"
"Hidden in plain sight." Azrael's voice was soft, his golden eyes warm as they met mine.
Since our night together, he'd been different—more present, less prone to disappearing into shadows.
The shrine was gone, replaced by a small shelf in his room that held a single pressed flower I'd given him and the charcoal sketch of my face.
It was still worship, but it was healthier worship.
"Nestled between the mortal world and the spaces between.
Humans walk past it every day without seeing. "
"I want to see it." I looked around the table, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "I've been stuck in this manor since I arrived. I need to remember that I'm a person, not just a... a possession you're keeping safe."
Something flickered in Darius's expression—guilt, maybe, or understanding. He exchanged a glance with Lucien, then Azrael, then Selene.
"Fine," he said finally. "But you stay close. You don't wander off. And if anyone approaches you—"
"I'll let you intimidate them into oblivion," I finished. "Deal."
The Twilight Dive was everything I'd hoped for and nothing I'd expected.
It sat on a street that shouldn't have existed, tucked between a pawn shop and a boarded-up theater in a part of the city I'd driven past a hundred times without noticing.
The entrance was marked by a single neon sign—a crescent moon pierced by an arrow, flickering in shades of purple and blue.
Inside, the space opened up into something far larger than the exterior suggested, a sprawling bar lit by floating orbs of colored light and filled with creatures that made my human brain stutter.
A woman with antlers branching from her temples laughed at a corner table, her fingers trailing sparks.
A man whose skin rippled with shifting tattoos—or were those actual shadows moving beneath his flesh?
—nursed a drink at the bar. Two figures who might have been twins sat in a booth, their eyes solid black from lid to lid, their smiles too wide for human faces.
And everywhere, everywhere, there was the hum of magic—low and constant, like the bass line of a song I couldn't quite hear.
"This is incredible," I breathed, gripping Darius's arm. He'd dressed down for the occasion—black trousers, a fitted black shirt, no cloak—but he still radiated an authority that made the crowd part around us like water around a stone. "Why didn't you bring me here sooner?"
"Because it's dangerous," Lucien growled from my other side.
He was wearing his usual black jeans and leather jacket, his knives hidden but accessible.
His amber eyes scanned the room constantly, cataloging threats.
"Half the people in here would sell you to the highest bidder if they thought they could get away with it. "
"But they won't," Azrael said softly, appearing at my shoulder. He'd been a shadow since we entered, his presence subtle but unmistakable. "Because they know who we are."
Selene led the way to a booth near the back, one with a clear view of the entrance and easy access to the emergency exit.
Paranoid habits, I was learning, were deeply ingrained in supernatural criminals.
I slid into the center of the curved seat, and the others arranged themselves around me like a living wall—Darius on my left, Lucien on my right, Azrael across from me, Selene perched at the end with a clear view of the room.
A waitress appeared—a vampire with neon green hair and eyes that reflected the floating lights like mirrors.
She took our orders without flinching at the company, which suggested either professional composure or a complete lack of survival instincts.
I ordered something pink and sparkling. The men ordered whiskey.
Selene requested a cocktail with ingredients I didn't recognize and probably couldn't pronounce.
"So," I said, looking around the table. "This is nice. Normal. Four supernatural criminals and their human... whatever I am, having drinks like regular people."
"You're not a whatever," Darius said, his voice low. "You're ours."
The possessive made my stomach flip. I hid my reaction behind my drink, which arrived moments later in a tall glass rimmed with something that sparkled like crushed gemstones. It tasted like strawberries and lightning—sweet and sharp and electric.
"I need to use the restroom," I announced after my second drink. The alcohol was hitting harder than I'd expected, warming my blood and loosening my inhibitions. "Don't follow me. I'm a grown woman. I can pee unsupervised."
Three sets of eyes tracked me as I stood. Selene just laughed.
The restroom was down a narrow hallway lined with posters for supernatural events—a full moon gathering, a solstice celebration, something called "The Blood Moon Brawl" that featured artwork of two werewolves tearing each other apart.
I took my time, touching up my lipstick in the mirror, enjoying the brief moment of solitude.
When I emerged, I didn't go straight back to the booth.
The bar was crowded now, the floating lights dimmed to a sultry glow, and the music had shifted to something with a deeper beat.
I found an empty spot at the counter and leaned against it, watching the bartender work.
He was tall and lean, with deep red hair and intricate tattoos that glowed faintly as he moved.
Fire elemental, I guessed, based on the way the flames in the nearby candles seemed to lean toward him.
He caught me watching and grinned. "Evening, gorgeous. What can I get you?"
I smiled back. It was harmless. Just flirting. I was allowed to flirt. "Surprise me. Something sweet and strong."
He set about mixing a drink with theatrical flair, tossing bottles and catching them, making the liquid inside glow and spark. When he slid the finished cocktail across the bar, it was a deep crimson with tiny sparks dancing on the surface.
"Crimson Kiss," he said, leaning closer. "My specialty. Careful—it bites."
I took a sip and nearly moaned. It was perfect—sweet berries and warm spice and something that tingled on my tongue. "That's amazing. What's your name?"
"Rowan." His grin widened. "And you are?"
"Lizzie." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the bar. "So, Rowan the fire elemental, what's your secret? Magic or just excellent bartending?"
He laughed. "A little of both. I infuse a touch of my element into the mix. Gives it that spark."
I was about to ask another question when the temperature around me dropped several degrees.
I didn't need to turn around. I could feel them—three distinct presences converging on my position like sharks drawn to blood.
The mark on my thigh pulsed with warmth, and I knew Azrael was close.
The hair on my arms stood up, and I knew Lucien was right behind me.
And the air itself seemed to thicken with authority, and I knew Darius was about to make a scene.
"Lizzie." Darius's voice was ice. "We were wondering what was taking you so long."
I turned, painting an innocent expression on my face. "Just getting a drink. Rowan here makes an excellent Crimson Kiss."
Rowan, to his credit, didn't immediately flee. His eyes flicked between the three men surrounding me—Lucien's murderous glare, Darius's cold fury, Azrael's unsettling stillness—and he swallowed hard.
"I was just serving the lady," he said carefully. "No harm intended."
Lucien's hand closed around my upper arm, not painfully, but firmly. "We don't share."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
I should have been annoyed—I was an adult, I could talk to whomever I wanted—but instead, I felt heat pooling low in my belly.
The mark on my thigh pulsed again, brighter now, and I saw Azrael's golden eyes flicker toward it, his expression shifting.
Darius leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "You wanted to see what would happen if you flirted with someone else. Fine. You're about to find out."
He guided me back to the booth, his hand a firm pressure on the small of my back. Lucien flanked my other side, his body a wall of heat and menace. Azrael followed silently, his presence a cool shadow at my heels. Selene watched us approach, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Having fun, darling?" she asked.
Before I could answer, Darius pulled me into the booth beside him. Lucien slid in on my other side, his thigh pressing against mine. Azrael sat across from us, his golden eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
And then, under the table, the touching began.
Lucien's hand found my inner thigh first. His fingers were rough, calloused, and he pinched the sensitive skin hard enough to make me jump. I bit my lip to stifle a gasp, and his amber eyes glittered with satisfaction.
"Stay still," he growled, low enough that only I could hear. "Don't let them see what I'm doing to you."
On my other side, Azrael's cool fingers found my arm. He traced a single line from my wrist to my elbow and back again—slow, deliberate, maddening. The demon magic hummed beneath his touch, amplifying every sensation, making the simple caress feel like foreplay.
"You're soaked," he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. "I can smell it. The mark is glowing, Lizzie. Everyone can see."
I glanced down instinctively. The demon's rune on my inner thigh was visible through the thin fabric of my dress, pulsing with soft golden light. Anyone who looked closely would know exactly how aroused I was.
My face burned. My core ached. And Darius hadn't even touched me yet.
He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear, his breath warm and dark.
"You wanted attention. You're getting it.
But you don't get to come. Not here. Not tonight.
You're going to sit in this booth, soaked and desperate, while we decide what to do with you.
" His voice dropped to a whisper. "And when we get home, you're going to take everything we give you.
Every single one of us. Until you can't remember that bartender's name. "
I whimpered. I couldn't help it. Under the table, Lucien's hand slid higher, his fingers pressing against my clothed core. I was soaked—I could feel it, could smell my own arousal thick in the air—and he made a low, approving sound.
"So wet," he growled. "So ready. And you're not going to get a single thing until we say so."
Azrael's cool fingers continued their maddening trail up and down my arm. Darius's whispered threats filled my ear. Lucien's hand pressed against me, not moving, just there, a constant reminder of what I couldn't have.
I was surrounded. Claimed. Tortured.
And I had never been more turned on in my life.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of torment. They kept me on the edge for hours—touching, teasing, whispering—but never letting me tip over. By the time we left the bar, I was trembling, my thighs slick, my mind a haze of unfulfilled need.
In the car, Darius pulled me onto his lap. His hand slid up my dress, finding my soaked underwear, and he made a sound of dark satisfaction.
"Good girl," he murmured. "You didn't come. You waited."
"I didn't have a choice," I gasped.
"No." His silver eyes glittered in the darkness. "You didn't."
The drive back to the manor was the longest of my life. And when we finally crossed the threshold, four sets of hands reaching for me at once, I knew the night was only just beginning.