I feel volatile. Nearly thirty days have passed since we arrived here, and not a single one has provided any clue as to where my little demon could be. It’s driving me further into madness, and I’m tempted to just drive back to Sidence and burn the city to the ground.
But that would be stupid. While I know I have the strength to take down a Hause, being plastered all over the news as the country’s ‘Most Wanted’ means their security is probably as tight as Sarah’s lips were.
Her death hasn’t made it to the news, but my face keeps showing up, even here in Ashfer. I’m grateful that my nondescript appearance keeps me from having to go into hiding. It was reported that Sydni,a Mundane, is also on the run, and I’m slightly grateful for the turn of events she’s taken. After her face started popping up on the news, she had to bleach the pink out of her hair.
The day after that, she dyed it dark blue and chopped it just below her shoulders. Even as a Vampire, she wanted to be sure she was unrecognizable.
I shouldn’t be ignoring her… It’s not that I want to, it’s just a need at the moment. I love that butterfly of ours, and the last thing she deserves is for me to be short with her. This entire situation is frustrating, and I feel farther from Xeraphine now than I did when we were back in Sidence.
Fuck,baby… Where are you…
I toss back the rest of the whiskey, the ice clinking against my front teeth as I do. Tapping on the light wood bar top, I grab the bartender’s attention, and she steps over to grab my empty glass.
“Another.”
Buzz. Buzz.
My eyes drift to my phone, face-down right beside my hand. As I move to turn it over, someone slides onto the stool beside me, pulling my attention away from the buzzing texts. He grumbles under his breath, adjusting to the tall barstool with an air of impatience.
“Tequila. Six limes, please.”
Gods almighty, six?! May as well just put lemonade in there, bud.
Running my fingers through my short hair, I rest my elbow on the bar and close my eyes. It’d probably take two bottles of whisky to shut my mind off completely. Halfway through one, I’m barely feeling a buzz.
A low, resonant hum and the soft scrape of glass on wood pulls my attention. My opposite hand instinctively reaches out as a glass stops against my fingers with a gentle clink.
I glance down to see she’s doubled the pour this time. A small mercy. Alaric isn’t hurting for funds, so he can cover the cost of every drop, considering us being here is a waste of fucking time.
Lifting it to my lips, I take a sip just as the male beside me asks, “Rough day?”
I’m really not in the mood to talk. Unless I need something from someone, words are wasted for me. This isn’t my scene. I don’t “chat it up”, not even when I’m drunk.
Buzz. Buzz.
“This yours?” He goes for my phone and I swipe it quickly, tucking it into my pocket. “My bad, just was going to give it to the bartender if it wasn’t.”
There’s a pause, and when I glance at him, he looks like the poster child for “Mundane Male.” White, with short, blond hair neatly framing his face, bright blue eyes, and thin lips curling into a pearly white grin. He’s dressed casually, but what throws me off is his scent—a mix of strawberries and the unmistakable tang of the open sea. Such an odd combination.
“I’ve had it rough too,” he sighs, and in this moment his drink arrives—six cut up limes just crammed into a glass of tequila. “Women,pfft, so controlling. You know, like, why can’t the beautiful ones not be crazy?”
I groan and shift my gaze away, focusing beyond the bar to the sea. This place sits just across the road separating the beach from the seasideresidences, its open-concept design letting in the crisp, salty air. Normally, the setting would be perfect for clearing my head, but right now, I regret being here. What I need is to be boxed in, confined, allowing the alcohol to drown every thought, and to take away the gnawing realization that I’m failing my girl every single second I don’t find her.
“Girl troubles?”
What is it about my demeanor that is drawing this guy to talk to me? I get that I’m theonlyother patron here, but do I really need to tell him to fuck off?
“Boy troubles?”
My gaze slowly drags back to him, and he raises his glass to me. “I’m not a talker,” is all I say before pushing from the bar and taking my glass with me as I exit.
“Sir, the bill?—”
“I’ll cover it,” the Mundane male that can’t take the hint, says. I don’t turn around, but hear a slap, and then feet rushing.
Is he fucking for real right now?
I’m weaving my way around the empty tables with their chairs situated right on top of them, and straight out onto the patio. If I wanted to talk with someone, I would with Sydni. This guy is going to end up dead if he doesn’t fuck off.
