Chapter 4 - Marella #2
It also meant that they’d taste terrible, and I might very well end up stumbling back to the square half-drunk myself. But they wouldn’t put up much of a fight either.
After wandering for hours, I found myself standing outside the last place I’d let myself search for the night before giving into my need to feed.
In the north part of the city center, there was a trendy cocktail bar that I knew was heavily favored by tourists and locals alike.
Built in the ruins of an old basilica, it had been transformed into a sprawling club, where strobe lights flashed across ancient frescoes on the ceiling and sweaty bodies pressed against one another until daybreak most nights of the week.
There was always a line out the door, and many people ended up spending their entire evenings standing in it without ever making it inside.
I never had this problem.
The witch had not made the act of fitting into society—at any point in history—difficult.
I wore a tight-fitting black dress that flowed slightly around my calves and dark red boots that disappeared beneath the hem.
A simple black jacket covered my shoulders.
I knew, even without a mirror, that the clothes, in combination with my short, severe bob and soft features, created an intriguingly striking facade, even if I was not outright beautiful by the current standards.
I smiled at the doorman as I walked up the stone steps towards the door, and he nodded at me as I entered, much to the chagrin of the young, denim-clad women in the line.
"Are you fucking serious?" I heard one shout before her argument was drowned by the pounding rhythm of the music inside. As I moved through the crowded press of sweating bodies, I scanned each face, looking for just one of the men I’d seen. It was him I was truly after, but I’d happily drag any one of them into the shadows tonight.
I made my way to the bar, slinking through the line with practiced precision.
I heard a few annoyed snorts from those behind me, but no one said a word.
When I reached the front of the line, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the countertop and letting my arms press my breasts together in a way I knew men here couldn’t resist.
The bartender was standing in front of me with a glass of wine in less than forty-five seconds. I walked away, swirling the dark liquid inside the cup like my own personal whirlpool.
Then I heard his voice.
"Come on, bro. We’ve been waiting for like twenty minutes!"
I froze, smirking against the rim of my glass, and turned slowly back towards the bar.
There he was, leaning against the far side of the L-shaped counter, clearly standing on something—a stool?—to make it look like he towered above the crowd. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned to reveal his chest and tucked into white shorts.
The combination was honestly revolting.
The bartender was paying him little attention, making the universal calm down motion with his hands and gesturing to the waiting crowd.
"I just saw you serve a girl who cut the entire line!" the man yelled. Honestly, his voice was impressive. It was not quiet in this space, and his ability to vociferate above the music and chatter was almost nerve-racking. He was a man used to being heard.
He was also clearly used to getting what he wanted without waiting. So, seeing my opportunity, I began snaking my way in his direction.
It’s disappointing, really, how certain kinds of men are so easily moved. It took me all of thirty seconds to reach him at the bar, where he was now vehemently arguing with a server. For a moment, I worried he might get kicked out with his friends, and I’d lose the chance to get him alone.
But the bartenders here were used to obnoxious tourists. Until and unless he actually raised his fists, he would simply wait longer for the drinks he so desperately wanted.
I sidled up to him and leaned against the counter once more.
From this vantage point, I could see that he was standing on the foot bar of a stool, raising him up precariously.
From this height, however, I knew he could see directly down the center of my dress.
I smiled up at him as if to apologize, blinking through my eyelashes.
He stopped yelling almost immediately, a smarmy grin spreading across his disgustingly smooth face.
"What are you drinking?" I asked, too softly.
"What?" He had to lean down to hear me, making him lose his balance on the stool. He didn’t fall, but the movement forced him to step down to the ground. It was satisfying to see that, with my boots, he was barely the same height as me.
His skin absolutely reeked of alcohol, and given the pristine condition of his all-white outfit, I knew it wasn’t from spillage. He was drunk. Maybe not drunk enough to stumble away, but drunk enough that I knew my job would be easy.
"What are you drinking?" I asked again, louder this time, pressing my face close to his.
He raised an eyebrow at me when I pulled away, then looked me up and down before answering. "Sex on the Beach." His voice was clearer than I imagined it would be, given the smell of alcohol emanating from his pores. It took every ounce of my willpower not to cringe from the obvious come-on.
I turned towards the bartender, who had clearly overheard our conversation. "Make it a double," I said with a grin. He rolled his eyes as he turned away to make the drink.
"Impressive." The man leaned forward to speak into my ear, unnecessary given that I already knew how loud he was capable of being. "Do you know him or something?"
I shrugged, taking a slow sip of my wine. "I know everyone."
"I like a girl with connections." He nodded his approval as the bartender returned with the sickly looking drink. "What’s your name?"
"Marella," I said honestly, knowing that he wouldn’t be alive long enough to tell anyone anyway. "And you?"
"Brian."
I smirked. Of course his name was Brian.
"Anything for you?" The bartender raised an eyebrow at me.
"Another red wine," I answered, not taking my eyes off my new companion as he took a long, slow sip from his embarrassing cocktail. "The most expensive you have."
Brian laughed and shook his head, but still pulled his wallet from the pocket of his pants, and as the bartender once more turned to pour the drink, I took the opportunity to lean forward and whisper into his ear. "Don’t worry. I promise I’m worth it."
It made me feel almost invincibly powerful to watch Brian visibly balk at my brazenness. To know that I was able to elicit such an obvious response from a man as arrogant as him was always a boon to my confidence.
I smiled wickedly as the bartender handed me my glass and Brian handed him the credit card.
Without another word, I turned on my heel and started walking towards the back of the club, hands grasping both glasses.
When I was a few paces away, I turned my head back towards Brian and saw him frantically trying to catch up.
When he finally did, he threw an arm around my shoulders possessively, bathing me in the smell of sweat from his underarms.
My nostrils flared.
"Trying to run away?" he said, once more leaning into my ear.