Chapter 1:
Prologue: A Broken Man
A dark, musky bar crammed in the deep back alleys of Amberwood. Its smoky interior attracted many different kinds of folk. Particularly the shady kind or those who would rather disappear from the world rather than face it.
At the far end of the old-fashioned wooden bar, sat upon a stool and hunkered over a whiskey glass was exactly one of those types of people. The heavy clothes he wore looked like a mismatch that was just thrown together. Anyone could mistake him for a homeless man.
In fact, that's what he would prefer. What...I would prefer. The world had gone to shit and I was just living in it. The whiskey went down as smooth as anything else, but it just wasn't enough. Even as he...no, I had drunk several glasses already, this damn body of mine just wouldn't give in.
The most I felt was a light buzz. When did it stop working? Motioning the barkeep, an older gentleman down the way, I made the sign for a shot. The strongest one they got.
He sighed, the yellow eyes behind his small, wire frame glasses looked disappointed. Like I gave a damn. I just wanted a drink. Something to kick me on my ass. This weak piss they served wasn't cutting it.
You'd expect a bar like this, hidden from the rest of the world with a barkeep that dressed as if it was high class in a suit and tie, you could get something half-decent. What a load of horse shit. That prim and proper looking gentleman with the slicked back dark hair and fair skin served nothing but swill. On top of that, the company this bar kept always made the drink taste worse.
I often wondered why I kept coming back, but the answer was simple. It was the only place he...no, I could afford, and the only one that hadn't kicked me out...yet. I grew frustrated as my thoughts continued to slip. Even if I wasn't drunk, this fucking mind of mine couldn't decide what it was doing.
I wished I could forget reality, but once you know it...you just can't unknow it. That was a truth which had been hard for me to swallow. Staring into my glass, its crystalline surface reflect what I hated to see. My face.
Dark blue eyes stared back at him...at me. My sockets darkened the pale skin around them as if I hadn't slept well for weeks. It was more like months. Maybe years. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I properly slept. Not like it mattered.
What did matter was where that damn drink was. I was getting tired of staring at my own reflection. That sorry scruffy excuse of a beard. The grey streaks peppering my otherwise blonde hair. His face...damn it. My face, was rugged but unwell.
It was a miracle I even kept this unkempt hair of mine cut to the middling length it was at. Life had just hit hard one too many times. As I was about to check for the drink, there was a satisfying clink as it was set before me.
"Finally..." I mumbled, my voice a bit gruff from unuse.
Reaching from my pocket, I slammed the rest of my money down on the counter and slid it over. The golden coins, etched with a symbol of a sword with wings, molded into different odd shapes each with a hole in the center, caught his eye. That disappointed look in his eye disappeared real quick.
I could almost chuckle to myself as the barkeep swiped them from the counter and retreated back to the other end of the bar where most of the other patrons were. He...fucking damn it. I prefer to be alone. In the dark corners.
Which is why I was extremely disappointed when I noticed that I had unwelcome company. It was always fucking something. I could recognize that look without even seeing it. Feel it at the back of my skull. Like a burning itch.
Glancing up into the mirror of the bar that I had been so desperately trying to avoid gazing at, I saw her. That slender form wore the clothes on her body well. Black mini-skirt accentuated the hips that led into long, shapely legs covered by dark stockings and ending in black ankle combat boots. The white blouse she wore, tucked into her skirt, had the top two buttons undone, revealing an unnecessary amount of cleavage and a hint of the black bra underneath.
The biker jacket she wore over it all did nothing to hide the curves of her body, but that's how she wanted it. That's how they were. Fucking Succubus. Those deep red eyes with a golden glow within were like rubies that held a small, fiery sun.
Her skin was like caramel, a soft golden brown gleaming in the dim lighting. Though, I definitely didn't want a taste. Knowing her kind, she was probably sticky like caramel too. Perhaps I was being a bit too jaded. I knew not all of them were like that.
In truth, her skin shone like burning bronze. A perfect cast in the shape of a woman. Enhanced by the loose side braid her dark hair was tied in, that when it hit the light, shone with a purple hue. Still, my irritation knew no limits. I had just wanted to enjoy my drink in peace.
It didn't help that this particular one came with three, overly burly men that looked like bumbling idiots in their attempt to wear casual clothing. Poorly concealed weapons hidden, and I use that term loosely, in their hoodie jackets and cargo pants. Their large faces reminded him...me, of peaches. Pale skin and rosy cheeks with deep set dark eyes like stones. One of them bald while the others had a little bit of fuzz.
Peach heads. I stifled a scoff, shaking my head. Fucking Ogres. Look at them. Glaring, looking around without so much as a thought in their stupid little heads.
He began...I began to mumble under my breath, barely moving my lips. Near imperceptible as I felt the pull deep within myself. Like guidance, the words I mumbled rose in me. Casually, I lifted the whiskey class to my lips.
There was still a bit more left. Didn't want to waste it, even if it did taste like a Goblin pissed in it. Who am I kidding. They probably did. Fuck.
Hopefully the shot tastes better. Casting a wary eye at it, I had my doubts. It looked quite viscous, like Troll snot, but a syrupy brown. Did he give me syrup? Damn.
"Osran," the woman spoke, sweetness dripping from her tongue as her silvery words called a name I didn't like to hear, "You're a hard man to track down."
That's kind of the point. Not that I'd tell you that. Of course, look at where it got him...me. Damn it. Though, I suppose it increased the chances when there was only one bar I could drink at in all of Amberwood.
"That's alright. You don't have to speak," she stated coyly, "Osran, you-"
"Say that name again," I finally spoke, growling between clenched teeth, "I'll rip that pretty little tongue of yours from your mouth."
"Oh? You think it's pretty?" she giggled, holding a hand up to her mouth all ladylike, "Though, I assure you, it's anything but little."
This is why I don't talk to these bitches. They always have a way to turn it into something sour. To anyone else, it might be alluring. To me, it was just tiresome.
"Hmm, well, very well," the woman huffed slightly, seemingly disappointed as she crossed her arms, though her eyes still bespoke of mischief in that perfectly angelic face of hers, "I've come bearing an offer. The pay is high. It should help your...situation."
His jaw...my jaw clenched at the mention of that. I had thought she was smart, for she seemed to have caught on that it would have been a bad idea to continue calling me that name, but instead she went for something even worse. Why the fuck couldn't I get drunk?
I remained silent, ignoring her as I finally downed the last of my whiskey and went on to grab the shot. However, instead of drinking it right away, I wanted to savor it. This was bought with the last of my money, after all.
Maybe she'd get the hint and leave, since I wasn't talking. I didn't care about her offer or what the pay was. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't worth it. Not only that, but I refused to work for someone like her, or whoever she was representing.
"Hey!" a loud, boisterous voice pounded in my ear, "Lady is talking! Answer!"
Casting a glance out of the corner of my eye at the one talking, I glowered before returning to gazing into my shot. Why was it that I could never have peace? There's always something that finds him...no, damn it. Finds me.
"We don't have to do this the hard way," the woman stated, her voice practically purring like a cat who's playful, "All you have to do is-"
"No," the word came out rough, hard as the waning of my patience was thin, "Now, I suggest you leave before that pret...that ugly face of yours gets ruined even more."
"You were about to say pretty again, weren't?" she mused, smiling as it reached her eyes that twinkled with mirth, "Aren't you the charmer."
This is why I don't open my mouth. Why did I answer her? God damn it. Why does he...Why do I have to be so stupid.
"Come on, don't look so dour," she teased him...me, roguishly, "I'm just trying to be friendly. Do you really want to wallow away your days here? Drowning yourself in drink?"
My gaze remained focus on my shot. Twisting it around between my fingers. Looking at it. Attempting to stare into its depths. Instead, it stared back at me.
How could a drink stare back at you? It made no sense by all accounts. It was a drink. This golden, syrupy dark liquid with what still looked like the viscosity of Troll snot, somehow peered deep into my very soul...or was that just my imagination?
Hmm, well. Maybe it was. Maybe I'd let it stare at me. Maybe I'd...no. Turning my eyes upwards into the mirror of the bar, I locked eyes with her. There was a slight recoil from her the moment they met. A little, albeit brief, moment of fear flashed across her face before it was gone.
"Maybe I do want to," I told her, my gaze cold, like a dead man, "It's no business of yours. Now, like I said...I suggest you leave. I'd like to finish my drink in peace."
Within the deep confines of my eyes, she had seen something that disturbed her. He knew this, and perhaps it was enough to finally get her to leave him...damn it, no. I knew this and leave me alone. Can't even get that right. Fuck.
I just want to drink. Let me drink.
"We not go!" the same noisy, booming voice as before spoke up, "You come with us now!"
"Hubert, no!" the woman exclaimed, but it was already too late.
I was done playing nice. I had warned them several times. I just wanted to enjoy my fucking drink. The world seemed to slow as I slammed the shot back, and just like it looked, it went down the same way. Like Troll snot.
It coated my throat in a way I never wanted to experience. A sensation so vile that could hardly believe it cost me everything I had left. The taste left something to be desired. A spice that reminds you of winter with a sugary kick that gave the feeling of rotting teeth, without the actual rotting.
This was followed by that familiar taste of alcohol. A firm shake of my head allowed it to go down just as the big man rushed me and I had set the glass back down. As their hand grabbed the shoulder of my clothes, I put my arm under his and in one fell motion gripped the back of his head and brought it down firmly into the counter of the bar.
There was a sickening squish as the shot class gouged into his eye followed by the cracking of a skull. My free hand as I stood, turning to face the others, pulled from within Hubert's jacket the blade he had hidden there. Thanks, Hubert.
The movement continued as the blade left freely from my hand, piercing the next burly man as they reached within their jacket hoodie for their own weapon. However, it was futile as the blade sunk deep into their chest, crumpling them to the floor. Before Hubert slid from the counter, my other hand was already behind his back, pulling from it the poorly concealed pistol.
Two shots rang out as the third, and final burly man took the bullets to the chest, crumpling next to his buddy. Swift, deft hands emptied the chamber, ejected the clip, and dismantled the weapon before poor Hubert hit the floor.
Looking down at him, I could only sigh. I did warn them...not that it mattered. Turning his...my gaze back to the woman, I saw her face frozen in suppressed fear.
"I warned you," I mumbled, shaking my head, "Now, I have to find another bar to drink at...if there are any. Do me a favor, and pay them for the damages. The least you could do for being an inconvenience."
Stepping past Hubert and the other two on the floor, I began to make my way out of the bar. Everyone's attention was now on what had happened. I didn't want to stay here any longer.
"If you leave!" her voice called after me, almost desperately, "Then what about your son! You need the money, Osran!"
That damn name and my son? There was nothing in this world that I wanted to do more of in that moment than rip this bitches tongue out. Turning on a dime, my expression a storm cloud, I felt something cold and hard press against my sternum, pointing upward.
Glancing down, there was a shotgun with a white, vented barrel. Golden accents made it look quite fancy. That was too bad.
My eyes moved from the barrel to the woman, who stood at least a good head shorter than me. Why were they always so short or stupidly tall? Are none of them average? Fucks sake.
"Think about it," she whispered, attempting to be alluring once more, "You need the money. We need you. Don't be so stubborn. I don't want to kill you."
I could almost laugh at that. Honestly, it was the first cute thing she ever did. Thinking that she could kill me. Did she really think her gun would do anything more than tickle me?
That aside, was she staring into his...my eyes? She was looking quite intently. Why?
"You know..." her voice was breathy, filled with a strange attraction as her eyes took on an equally odd fascination, "As terrifying as that amber glow is within those sapphires you call eyes...it's quite beautiful."
For fucks sake. At least that answered his...my question. Well, they always did have strange tastes. Even so, the urge to rip her tongue out was strong, but the moment the thought crossed my mind, so too did the face of my son. All murderous intent seemed to simply leave me.
"Let me make one thing very clear," I explained coolly, pressing myself closer against the barrel of her shotgun, and in turn, closer to her, "You've made many mistakes today, and the only reason why you're not dead right now is because of him. Not the other way around. You had no chance of killing me. Trust me, I've tried."
There was a trembling through the strong facade she attempted to put up. Her face seeming confused on what to do. As if she wasn't sure she should be afraid, impressed, or...something else. I didn't have the time, nor want, to figure it out.
Pulling up the hood of my own clothes, I turned from her. That amber glow as she called it, beginning to disappear from his...my eyes. The moment I stepped away, that fancy shotgun of hers fell apart. Crumbling into practically nothing.
"Honestly," I mumbled, shaking my head, "The least you damn Fae could do, is make a drink that didn't taste like it has diabetes. Fuck."
With that, I left this shitty hole in the wall bar. My thoughts now even more muddled than they had been before.
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"Was it really alright to provoke him like that?" the barkeep inquired.
As they spoke, their round ears elongated into points. So too did their canines, becoming sharper. Shimmering, light blue transluscent wings like that of a monarch butterfly unfurled from his back. Over near the bar, something else stirred.
"That hurt..." Hubert groaned, picking himself up off of the floor.
From the floor to the point he was standing, his peach-like skin fading into a grey, stonelike appearance. Reaching up with meaty fingers, Hubert pried the shot glass from his eye, which came with it, clinking around in the glass. Fishing it out, he popped it back in and blinked a few times before those stones shone once more with light.
Hubert then went over and helped his friends up. Helping to pull the large knife from their chest, watching as the wound slowly closed like rock mending together. The other one rolled over, groaning as two bullets were pushed out and healed over.
"You hear me, Jasmine?" the bartender called, "That was stupid, you Succubus whore."
The woman known as Jasmine was staring after the man who had left. However, upon hear this, she pulled her attention reluctantly away.
"You know, Ig," Jasmine pouted, crossing her arms before her, "I may be a Succubus, but those words hurt. You know I'm still pure."
As they watched, Jasmine's rounded ears began to turn slightly pointy, but not quite as much as Ig's. Growing from behind her was a long, sensual tail whose skin was the same color as her hair, reflecting a purple hue in the light. It wrapped and twisted around her, coming to a spade-like fleshy point. Though, at any moment she could harden it to be stronger than steel and she could control its every movement and shape.
From her back sprouted feathered wings like that of a great bird, and just like her tail, was the same color as her hair. Goatlike horns protruded from the base of her hair line, rising up and around her head like a circlet, only slightly thicker and with an onyx sheen. Her canines also elongated and sharpened slightly.
"You're right, sorry," Ig apologized, "However, those were a poor choice of words on your part."
"I know..." Jasmine plopped down onto one of the barstools.
Resting her face against her fist, her cheek bunched up as she sulked. The rest of the patrons began to change into their true forms as well. It wasn't like that man didn't know. He definitely knew. Which is why she had grown so nervous. That and those eyes...
"I just got nervous, okay?" She defended herself with a huff, "It's not my fault he has such hauntingly beautiful eyes."
"...That man's kid is between life and death," Ig stated, an almost sympathetic look in those sophisticated eyes of his, "Yet, you're swooning over that pain."
"No!" Jasmine suddenly slammed her fists down, kicking her legs and pounding away like a child on the bar counter, "I find it sad as well! I just can't help it, okay! It's-"
"-In your nature," Ig finished her sentence, much to her chagrin as she pouted even more, "Yes, I know. However, you chose an awfully difficult target..."
Jasmine let out a deep sigh, suddenly relaxing and returning to a more mature appearance as she crossed her arms over the bar, one outstretched as she rested her head upon them. There was an almost melancholic look in her eyes.
"He's not a target, Ig. I guess, I just have a thing for tragedy..." Jasmine stated with a light laugh that never reached her eyes, "Makes me think I can fix them. Fix...him. Nicholas is so broken. By the way, about what he said before he left...are you really making alcohol that sweet?"
"....Do you want to drink here or not?" Ig inquired haughtily.
Jasmine eyed Ig closely, his wings at rest, folded by his side. After a moment, Ig smiled. A crack in his otherwise stoic demeanor.
"I'm only messing with you," he replied with a sigh, "I know you don't indulge. Must be hard, watching him do so?"
Jasmine remained silent, though her look grew dangerous as her eyes narrowed in on him. Holding his hands up in an attempt to diffuse her anger, he left her to the thoughts in her head and the feelings in her heart. After all, it wasn't easy pining after Nicholas Fraye.
Once known by the name Osran, it now haunts him. A name with a double meaning. For the first, it meant valiant or valiant one. For the second, it held the meaning of King of the Fae, consort to the Queen. That was before her death...by his hand.
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Biri· Mar 10, 2024
