The Werewolf Alpha's Whiskey Eyes

Chapter 1

I sat up on the small bed I’d set up in the cellar to keep some semblance of normality. It was the size of a modest dorm room or studio apartment in a big urban city. There weren’t many options when you had to sleep below the basement.

With my arms stretched above my head, I bopped my hand on a battery-powered light I kept on a nightstand.

Foggy light spilled over the stone walls surrounding me, and I used the small device to guide me to the ladder.

Cool metal pressed against my bare feet as I climbed the stairs.

Once I reached the top, I undid the four locks that led to my living quarters above ground.

No sooner had the door opened than my pug, Waffles, came bounding from the couch. He wasn’t a normal dog in that he was neither dead nor living, much like myself. Re-animated by a witch in the seventeenth century, whom I swore to care for when she unfortunately met her demise.

I held my hands out to catch Waffles as he jumped. His permanently flopping, broad tongue swiped across my cheeks and nose. “Good morning, handsome boy.”

Most wouldn’t consider my dog handsome, given the pea green tinge to his skin and fur, a missing eye that the witch sewed shut, the other a bright blue without a pupil, and the two mismatched paws that a less-than-skilled healer sewed on to replace the one that decayed.

Fuck whoever said he was ugly because he was the sweetest boy in the known universe, yes, he was.

My pug had been a better friend to me than most beings and definitely the most loyal.

As I breezed into the kitchen, I queued up an episode of Gavin & Stacey, which was my favorite modern Welsh show.

I’d made it a habit in recent years to keep connected to where I grew up pre-vampire.

I stocked only three unique items in my fridge—blood, raw meat, and peaches.

While the first two may have been obvious, the latter confused anyone blessed enough to be inside my apartment.

As a vampire, I didn’t need actual food, but I could still consume it, savor it, and my gods, peaches were lush.

I snagged a blood bag labeled “AB-negative” and emptied the contents into my go-to mug, a black one with the words “I left my coffin for this?” in bold, red lettering. After popping it into the microwave for one minute and twenty-two seconds, I grabbed Waffles’ bowl and filled it with raw meat.

As I waited for the microwave to chime, I played with my deer antlers necklace.

My fangs pinched into my lower lip from the aroma of warm blood.

I grabbed the mug with both hands, immediately lifting it to my greedy mouth.

The blood was smooth, metallic, rich, and had the slightest hint of something smoky.

Given Arcane Cove’s residents were all forms of creatures, they conveniently had a vampiric supermarket, also known as a blood bank.

Type AB-negative was by far my favorite, but increasingly hard to find.

After finishing my meal, I tugged on my brown leather pants, boots, and a deep red vest. Stopping at the mirror on my way out the door, I ruffled my dark hair, and wiped a speck of blood from the corner of my mouth. Vampirism had plenty of perks, like never having to worry about styling your hair.

Waffles still gobbled up his meat, and I patted his head. He paused long enough to give me a wide doggy grin, blood dripping from his jowls.

“Be a good boy, Waffs,” I said before exiting onto the sidewalk.

The walk to my job was a meager four blocks, which was just as well since I didn’t own a vehicle.

It also gave me a chance to rejuvenate myself after being cooped up in a cellar all day.

The bar I owned, The Crimson Crypt, was on the western border’s edge of Arcane Cove.

It was far enough from the town’s center to feel secluded, but also nudged right on the border of Plena Falls.

Shifter territory. Mind you, not all shifters gave bad impressions, just the damn wolves.

Our kinds had been at each other’s throats for centuries, and neither side had given any reason to the contrary.

When the red and white neon glow shone through the tree branches, a vibrancy tingled through my back.

I loved owning this bar. I loved living in a place with no humans.

Not that I disliked them. It made things safer, for them mostly.

When I’d heard Arcane Cove had wards to make this place invisible to anyone but mystical beings, I couldn’t move here fast enough.

I could have still fed on beings other than humans, but their blood wasn’t as enticing and was easier to ignore.

The sideways coffin with an animated bleeding rose sign dripping onto The Crimson Crypt blazed in all its glory above the modestly sized establishment.

I blew a kiss at the red lip print with fangs symbol in the corner.

From the outside, it was hard to tell whether this place was a dive.

I preferred it that way. It made the inside all the more jaw-dropping.

The parking lot was full tonight, which wasn’t surprising for a Friday, but there were far more motorcycles than usual.

Hitch-stepping, I whisked open the door, inhaling scents of cigarette smoke, whiskey, and all varieties of creature blood that made my fangs tingle. It all smelled delicious, but they were for window shopping only. Several regulars waved at me, and I smiled and waved back.

Apollo, the Greek god, had already begun his set on the small stage in the corner.

He was a recent addition to the entertainment rotation.

While he was far too blonde and sunny to my liking, the patrons enjoyed the hells out of him.

I offered him a thumbs-up. Apollo responded with a brightly flashed smile and a wink.

Yup. Far too sunny.

Moving to the bar, I slipped my thumbs into my belt loops.

For the main area, I imported pieces from all over Europe.

The stone angel statue I’d bought from New Orleans stood tall in the background.

I patted her foot. From the center of the large, circular bar hung a giant, blackened candelabra, its lit, melting red candles casting shadows over the black leather high-back stools.

The bar itself was a deep mahogany bordering on black.

The ornate gothic shelves, piled with liquor bottles at the back, rose as high as the ceiling.

Red and dark purple lighting bathed this spot alone, making it a focal point.

I’d spent so much time traveling the world through the time I’ve been alive. I wanted it to show that in the decor.

“Morning, boss,” Ash, my lead night bartender, said, rattling me from the ogling of my own damn bar.

I grinned at him, purposely making my fangs grow a little because he hated that. “Has it been busy?”

Ash, short for Ashlace, wiped down glasses with two of his four arms. He had his brown and tan moth wings folded tidily behind him.

Despite the space they took up behind the bar, he hadn’t once broken anything.

“About what you’d expect on a Friday night.

” His bright yellow eyes gleamed, the two small feelers on his forehead rotating.

I tossed several abandoned, empty glasses into the dishwasher. “Saw a lot of bikes outside.”

“The bikers are mostly huddled around the pool table and guzzling beer by the pitcher.” Ash smirked, some of his pale white hair falling over his eyes.

One said biker, a shorter, stout satyr with curved horns and goat legs, hopped onto a bar stool. He rested an empty pitcher in front of me. The satyr wore only a black leather vest with patches and insignia.

I wondered how he started up the bike with those hooves.

“Hello, gorgeous,” the satyr said with a vibrant smile.

I nudged my chin at the pitcher. “Hey, yourself. Want a refill?”

“Please. Miller.” The satyr drummed his furry fingers on the bar top. “And your number?”

I’d already been halfway into filling the pitcher and held back an eye roll. “You must be new here.”

“As a matter of fact,” the satyr started, plucking his vest. “I am.”

Once the pitcher sat in front of him, I unleashed my fangs. “Well, I have a very particular appetite.”

The satyr blanched. He slid the beer to his chest like a shield. “I mean, I could be into that.”

“I don’t deal in coulds.” I snapped the fangs back home. “Putting that on your tab?”

The satyr gulped and nodded anxiously. “Yes, um, Panos.”

“Thank you, Panos. Enjoy your beer.”

Panos slid from the stool, his hooves clomping toward the group of bikers at the billiard table. They heckled him and slapped his back, hooting with laughter.

As I added the drink to their tab on the touchscreen, I shook my head. “We’re going to run out of our most popular beers before we close with that one tap out of commission. I thought the repairman was supposed to come today.”

“They’re supposed to come at some point tonight. Felix told me when we changed shifts,” Ash said.

“Tonight? That’s odd. I figured a repairman would come during the day.” I swiped the empty corn nut bowls.

Ash’s powdery wings shrugged. “They apparently took the job late. Or maybe they’re a vampire.” His feelers bobbed like waggling eyebrows.

“Gods, I hope not. That’s the last thing I need.” With a smirk, I bumped into the swinging door leading to the back room.

Male vampires were some of the most arrogant assholes I’d had the displeasure of meeting.

All they wanted to do was sink their teeth into you and make you their plaything.

Or they were like the one who made me, who believed they deserved to be some sort of god.

I’m certain there were decent vamps out there, but I’ve lived too long to go searching for them.

In the back, we stored extra bottles, kegs, cans, and ridiculously giant bags of corn nuts.

I used a scoop to fill all five bowls before balancing them on my forearms. When I turned toward the door, a scent hit my nose—pine, musk, something deliciously sweet, and a variety of blood I couldn’t pinpoint.

What in the hells is that?

Ash suddenly stuck his head through the door, making the bowls bounce on my arms.

“Whoops, my bad, just popping in to tell you the repairman is here,” Ash said before disappearing.

The door swung slowly on its hinges. I became hypnotized by it until it stopped completely.