A.D. Marrow's Blog
May 13, 2015
Leather and Lace
Originally found at www.admarrow.com
Bane was always and forever a die-hard straight razor fan.
Maybe deep down he was hoping that eventually it would slip and he could just slowly bow out. But then, what kind of a way would that be to go? Morrigan called his masculinity into question on a constant basis. How in the world could he manage to navigate whatever hell his afterlife would be if he knew she was perpetually mocking him for dying while shaving?
Regardless, there was always that moment of hesitation, just as he was pulling the blade across his skin where he wondered how exhilarating it would feel to actually be free.
He took the last pass over his cheek before cleaning the razor in the basin of scalding water. Steam still swirled around him. He used the outside of his fist to clear a path in the mirror. Bane leaned in, staring at his own face, puzzling over how much he didn't recognize himself any more. It was the same face he'd had for hundreds of years and the same red eyes and chiseled jaw were there, but there was something unsettling about actually looking at himself now; like there was a stranger or a perverted version of himself waiting on the other side.
He inhaled deeply and slowly blew it out, leaning in closer to analyze his eyes. At one time, he would have argued that they were more of deep amber, like his brother's or his sister's but there was no denying the blood red hue to them. They were more like his father's. He took his forefinger and pulled the lower lid on one, then the other. There were no wrinkles or worry lines, just smooth skin. It was almost offensive that he'd basically ridden life hard and put it up wet and had nothing to show for it.
Bane hated his face. Everything about it disgusted him. The line of his jaw, his cheekbones; even his fucking eyebrows pissed him off. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a monster, masquerading as someone that looked like his father. Or worse, his brother. Rather than slipping a razor over his throat, he wanted to slice the whole thing off, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but muscle and bone. Maybe then, he could look at himself with piece of mind.
He had to get out of there. The steam was stifling and the overwhelming urge to break everything was gnawing underneath his skin. He pulled the towel around his hips and intended to throw it on the floor, but the edge of it clipped the shelf where Morrigan kept her arsenal of make-up. A gold box tumbled down and landed at his feet. He almost kicked it against the wall, but instead, he picked it up and flipped open the latch.
A black tube sat on top of brushes and pencils and all sorts of little containers with purples and blues and reds. He plucked the tube out of the box and pulled the lid off, twisting up the crimson red lipstick. The color matched his eyes perfectly. On impulse, Bane turned back towards the mirror and touched the lipstick to his lips. The bottom lip was covered in a slow swipe. He pulled it back and analyzed his work before doing the same with the top.
Bane stared at his mouth. It was the first time in his life that his devil eyes weren't his predominant feature. Putting the lipstick back into the box, he dug around for the eyeliner and eyeshadow. He'd seen Morrigan put on her war paint too many times to count, so he got the general idea of how to apply it. He covered a brush in a deep purple and touched it to his eyelids, gently at first but with increasing intensity. He liked the darkness of it. After he'd put it on both eyes, he applied a thick black line of eye liner to his upper and lower lids and rifled around in the box until he found the mascara. It was a bit more difficult to navigate, but he managed after a few minutes. Once he was finished, he put the box on the shelf and took a step back.
The purple made his eyes more menacing. The black liner surrounding them truly brought out the devil red and the juxtaposition between his red lips and white fangs made his heart skip a beat. With his black hair beginning to dry and hang around his face and shoulders in ropes, he looked every bit the monster that he was. More interestingly, though, was the fact that for the first time in decades, he didn't hate what was looking back at him.
Bane was always and forever a die-hard straight razor fan.
Maybe deep down he was hoping that eventually it would slip and he could just slowly bow out. But then, what kind of a way would that be to go? Morrigan called his masculinity into question on a constant basis. How in the world could he manage to navigate whatever hell his afterlife would be if he knew she was perpetually mocking him for dying while shaving?
Regardless, there was always that moment of hesitation, just as he was pulling the blade across his skin where he wondered how exhilarating it would feel to actually be free.
He took the last pass over his cheek before cleaning the razor in the basin of scalding water. Steam still swirled around him. He used the outside of his fist to clear a path in the mirror. Bane leaned in, staring at his own face, puzzling over how much he didn't recognize himself any more. It was the same face he'd had for hundreds of years and the same red eyes and chiseled jaw were there, but there was something unsettling about actually looking at himself now; like there was a stranger or a perverted version of himself waiting on the other side.
He inhaled deeply and slowly blew it out, leaning in closer to analyze his eyes. At one time, he would have argued that they were more of deep amber, like his brother's or his sister's but there was no denying the blood red hue to them. They were more like his father's. He took his forefinger and pulled the lower lid on one, then the other. There were no wrinkles or worry lines, just smooth skin. It was almost offensive that he'd basically ridden life hard and put it up wet and had nothing to show for it.
Bane hated his face. Everything about it disgusted him. The line of his jaw, his cheekbones; even his fucking eyebrows pissed him off. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a monster, masquerading as someone that looked like his father. Or worse, his brother. Rather than slipping a razor over his throat, he wanted to slice the whole thing off, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but muscle and bone. Maybe then, he could look at himself with piece of mind.
He had to get out of there. The steam was stifling and the overwhelming urge to break everything was gnawing underneath his skin. He pulled the towel around his hips and intended to throw it on the floor, but the edge of it clipped the shelf where Morrigan kept her arsenal of make-up. A gold box tumbled down and landed at his feet. He almost kicked it against the wall, but instead, he picked it up and flipped open the latch.
A black tube sat on top of brushes and pencils and all sorts of little containers with purples and blues and reds. He plucked the tube out of the box and pulled the lid off, twisting up the crimson red lipstick. The color matched his eyes perfectly. On impulse, Bane turned back towards the mirror and touched the lipstick to his lips. The bottom lip was covered in a slow swipe. He pulled it back and analyzed his work before doing the same with the top.
Bane stared at his mouth. It was the first time in his life that his devil eyes weren't his predominant feature. Putting the lipstick back into the box, he dug around for the eyeliner and eyeshadow. He'd seen Morrigan put on her war paint too many times to count, so he got the general idea of how to apply it. He covered a brush in a deep purple and touched it to his eyelids, gently at first but with increasing intensity. He liked the darkness of it. After he'd put it on both eyes, he applied a thick black line of eye liner to his upper and lower lids and rifled around in the box until he found the mascara. It was a bit more difficult to navigate, but he managed after a few minutes. Once he was finished, he put the box on the shelf and took a step back.
The purple made his eyes more menacing. The black liner surrounding them truly brought out the devil red and the juxtaposition between his red lips and white fangs made his heart skip a beat. With his black hair beginning to dry and hang around his face and shoulders in ropes, he looked every bit the monster that he was. More interestingly, though, was the fact that for the first time in decades, he didn't hate what was looking back at him.
April 30, 2015
One Night in a Bourbon Street bar
Warning: this short story contains adult language so unless you are 18 or older or your parents are fairly liberal with the adult content in the media which you consume, go ye no further. This is the very first story ever written with Taris, the hero of Chaos and Moonlight and can also be found on my blog at www.admarrow.com
“You ready for another drink, sugar?”
Taris sucked a deep breath in through his nose and slowly blew it out before tilting his head to look at Nadia, his waitress. He didn’t even bother to lift it from the back of the booth. Did he really need another bourbon?
The answer was always yes.
“Yeah, I’ll take another one, so long as you promise to come and sit with me.”
The waitress gave him a smile, the dim pendant lamp that hung from the ceiling giving off just enough light to glint off her labret piercing. She toyed with one of her plum-colored dreads.
“You know I can’t sit with you until my shift is over and you’ll be long gone by then. You always are.” She gave him a wink. A shout from the bar made her expression drop. “I swear, if that asshole calls me Marie one more time, I may stab him with a beer bottle.”
Taris lifted his head. “Come again?”
Nadia leaned forward, placing both of her hands on the table. “Look over my shoulder. You see that black-haired guy at the bar?”
Taris cast a glance at the man in question. He couldn't have been more than 6 foot tall and his long black hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. He was currently pawing at one of the other waitresses, who didn’t seem to mind his attention, but Taris couldn’t help but notice the wedding ring that was flashing like so much neon as he lifted his drink to chug it.
“You mean the douche nozzle over there with The Cramps t-shirt on?”
“Yup,” she said. “That’s the one. He walked in, pulling his little woman in with him, plopped her down at the bar and started calling me his Voodoo queen, because, you know, since I’m Cajun and black, I must also be into voodoo.” She shook her head. “He’s been in here for two hours and I don’t think he’s said one word to that girl, except to yell at her to give him more money.”
Taris shifted his gaze to the other barstool. Sure enough, there was a petite bottle-blonde, staring into the bar, her fingers wrapped tightly around a drink. She had a slim wedding band on her ring finger. She was thin. It wasn’t a cracked-out sort of skinny but it obviously wasn’t her natural body type either. And judging by the faint hint of ginger in her eyebrows, he was willing to bet that the blonde wasn’t her idea.
“Does this ass-hat come in here often,” he asked, gently nudging her to move over enough to see both of them at the same time.
“He’s here about three times a month, but this is only the second time I’ve ever seen her.”
“Is he always that obnoxious and grabby?”
“Oh yeah,” Nadia said. She turned now, and leaned against the table so that they were both looking towards the bar. “Never misses a beat. The only reason he gets away with it is because he spends so much money in here.”
“And what about her? Is she always that quiet?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” Nadia said. “I’m usually too busy fending off his hammy hands to pay attention. I can tell you this, though. I wouldn’t sit by and let my man act like that. Either she just doesn’t give a damn or there’s some bad juju there.” She patted the table. “I’ll go get you that drink.”
As Nadia started to walk off, Taris grabbed her hand. “No,” he said. “I don’t want that tool touching you. I’ll go get it.”
Nadia gave him a nod and moved on to the next table. Taris shifted, the leather from his jacket clinging to the torn leather of the booth. Eventually, he slid out of it and stood, stretching all 6’3 inches of him. What little crowd there was on the floor parted as he made his way to the bar. As he approached, the asshole stopped talking to the other waitress and narrowed his eyes, casting Taris a look that could have pierced through any other being on earth.
Good thing Taris wasn’t just any other being, now wasn’t it?
Taris grabbed the stool next to the blonde and as he pulled, he saw her flinch. He stopped for a minute and cast another glance to her husband next to her. He had his arm around the waitress again now, but was still keeping a wary eye on Taris.
Now isn’t that interesting?
Instead of letting the stool scrape the floor, Taris picked it up and set it out far enough so that he could take a seat.
“Bourbon, please,” Taris told the bartender, “and whatever she’s having.”
She shook her head, looking down at the bar. “Thanks,” she replied, “but no thanks, I’m here with my husband.”
Taris nodded to the bar tender as he picked up his drink. He took a sip and then looked over her shoulder.
“He doesn’t seem to be here with you,” he said. The woman looked over to see her husband leaning into the waitress, his arms on other side of her to capture her between him and the bar.
“He’s drunk,” the blonde said. “He gets flirty when he’s drunk. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” She almost whispered every word, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear. More than that, the way that she said it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.
“Where’d my voodoo queen go,” the asshole yelled into the bar, even as he was still trying to get pelvis-deep into the other waitress.
“She’s Catholic,” Taris mumbled into his drink. He felt the blonde next to him stiffen.
“The hell did you say, limey,” the asshole replied.
Taris drained the last little bit of his bourbon and set the empty glass on the bar. “I said,” he turned to face in the man’s direction but instead of making eye-contact with him, he looked at the blonde next to him. “Your voodoo queen isn’t a voodoo queen. She’s Catholic. Devout Catholic actually, so I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you didn’t call her that anymore. Stereotyping her is kinda racist.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he replied. Asshole turned his attention back to the woman in front of him but only after narrowing his eyes at the blonde. Taris didn’t think it was possible for her to be wound any tighter, but even the air around her tensed. He didn’t take his eyes off of her, just watched as she lifted her drink to her lips. It was then that he noticed the crack at the corner of her mouth. It was covered with make-up and she’d done a damn good job, but Taris had been in enough fights to know what a busted lip looked like and that was a busted lip.
He tapped the bar for another bourbon. As the bartender handed it to him, he cast Taris a look before glancing at the blonde and then back at him. It was a silent conversation, but one that he knew that bartender had been dying to have. He did that to her. Why else would she be willing to excuse the guy basically screwing another woman in front of her? The whole thing was sick. Hell, he watched her finish off her drink and she was scared to ask for another one. The more he thought about it, the more pissed off he got and the more pissed he got, the more likely he was to do something very, very stupid.
“Hey,” Taris whispered as he silently slid closer to the blonde. “Let me buy you another drink. No pressure. I know you’re married. But if I’m reading you right, you look like you could use it.”
She didn’t look up, but nodded in agreement after a few moments. Taris glanced at the bartender, who nodded too and started mixing a Tom Collins. When it was finished, he placed it in front of her and mouthed on the house. The poor girl guzzled half of it down before it had time to condense a freaking water drop on the napkin.
“So listen,” Taris started, his eyes fixed on what her husband was doing. “I don’t know you. Like, at all, but if I’m reading you right, you seem to be a bit skittish. I’ve seen feral cats that were easier to approach that you are.”
She let out a short laugh then threw back the rest of her drink. “I’m married,” she said without doing much to mask the disdain.
“That you are,” Taris said, threading his fingers together in front of him on the bar. “Out of curiosity, how in the hell did that happen, by the way? Because…,” Taris leaned back and looked at her husband, who was now a breath away from lip-fighting with the now off-duty waitress and then looked at the blonde again. “Really? That guy is a dick.”
“He isn’t that bad,” she said, and again, he wondered who she was trying to convince.
“Hey!”
The blonde was suddenly jerked from her barstool and spun around so that her back was against the bar. Her husband – with one of his hands still clasped on the other woman’s waist – was practically nose-to-nose with the blonde and seething.
“The hell you think you’re doing, bitch? Talking to another man because I’m not good enough for you! You wonder why I fuck around? Cause you’re so stupid. You think another man would want you? Do you? This asshole is just trying to screw you because he knows you’re easy.” He spun her back around and pushed her towards the barstool. “Sit your dumb-ass down and don’t do a thing until I say we are leaving.”
As her husband was yelling, Taris couldn’t help but notice the ridiculous capped fangs he sported. This guy liked to play monster. Douche bag. Taris gripped the edge of the bar so tight, he was afraid it was going to rip clean off. Without saying a word, the blonde had been screaming for someone to save her from the moment she walked in. He wanted to tear the guys face off but this wasn’t his fight, not unless she wanted it to be. He waited to see what she would do, praying to God that she wouldn’t sit back down and clam up. Rather than defend herself, she simply dropped her head and turned to sit back on the stool.
Oh God, he thought. There’s no fight left in this woman. He’s literally killed it. The blonde nodded for another drink and barely cast a glance at Taris before taking a sip. Deep in her blue-gray eyes, he saw what little spark was left in her to fight flickering out.
He’d be damned if he sat by and watched that happen. He’d seen what abuse does to a person and there was no way in hell or on earth that he would watch this woman, whoever she was, turn into what this devil would make her.
Taris grabbed her drink from out in front of her, took a sip before putting it back. He popped his neck and stood up, the sliding of his barstool against the floor causing her to flinch like it had before. That was the last damned straw. This guy wanted to be a monster? Taris was about to show him one. He walked around her until he stood firmly between the blonde and her husband.
The guy was once again a breath away from the waitress and Taris leaned down until he was in their faces.
“Excuse me, dickhead,” Taris said, “but I would like to have a little word with you.”
The man stopped and pulled back, turning his dark gaze at Taris. Yeah, this asshole had little dick syndrome in the worst way.
“My problem isn’t with you,” he replied, but he was bowed up enough to set Taris on edge. “It’s this dumb bitch.”
“You have a real problem with degrading women, don’t you? First it’s Nadia, and then it’s your own wife. I wonder how you treat a woman that you are actually fond of.”
“I don’t want trouble, guy,” he said, lifting his hands and smiling. “Pretty sure you don’t want it either.”
And then, the dumb-ass did something Taris really hoped he wouldn’t. He actually pulled his lips back and flashed his fake fangs. The dumb sonofabitch actually showed his capped teeth to Taris.
“Those are mighty impressive, sir,” Taris said, leaning against the bar. “Is that a one-time wear set or do you have those resin-jobs that you can put in whenever?”
“These are real, fucker, and if you know what’s good for you, then you’ll back off and leave my wife alone.”
“No seriously,” Taris ignored him, moving closer. He even pulled his lip up to get a better look. “Are they implants or what? Because, I have to be honest, they are pretty convincing.” Taris leaned forward and whispered, “But no matter how much you want them to be real, they aren’t. Now these,” he paused and peeled his lips away from his teeth and watched with sinful delight as their eyes went wide when his real fangs elongated. “These will tear your douche nozzle face off.” He cast a glance at the waitress that was still clinging to the man’s belt. “Run.”
The waitress pushed away from the blonde’s husband, grabbed her purse from behind the bar and ran out of the narrow entry door.
“Now that I have your attention, here’s what we are going to do.” Taris turned to the bartender and nodded for another bourbon. He threw it back as soon as it hit his hand. “First, you take those teeth out of your face and if I even think they are anywhere near your mouth ever again, I will hunt you like a fucking deer and gut you. Secondly,” he stopped and turned to the blonde, who was sitting quietly, but watching the whole thing. He held out his hand and she took it. He pulled her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “This woman, what is your name? I never asked. It is so impolite.” The woman whispered her name and he smiled. “I knew a woman that went by that name a very long time ago.” Taris turned back to the woman’s husband, his chin resting gently on her head. “This woman is not to be touched ever again.”
“I never…” the man started but Taris cut him off.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he growled. Funny, a slight scrapping of a chair or a single word from her husband made the blonde flinch but being pressed against him and literally feeling him growl did nothing. “I see her busted lip and the fear in her eyes. You lay a finger on her again, or say another harsh word and so help me, I will drink you through a straw and throw your useless carcass into a swamp.”
The man didn’t say anything else, just turned and walked out. Taris grabbed the blonde’s hand and followed him to the door, where they sat and watched him punch the sign to an open-air Bacardi bar a few times before getting into the car.
“You think he’s going to lash out at you later,” he asked.
“Not right away,” she said, staring out across the street. “He’ll be pissed for a little while, but when it’s safe, he’ll start with the name-calling again.”
“You know you don’t have to put up with that,” he said. “You can leave.”
She let out a slow breath. “I made my bed,” she said. “One day, I will figure out how to climb out of it.”
Hearing her say that made him nauseous. She didn’t have to live like that. No one had to live like that. The fact that more people didn’t recognize the everyday monsters that walked among mankind made him despair at the future of his own species. More people needed to speak out for people like her, people that weren’t ready or too scared to speak out for themselves.
“So,” she turned, “vampire, huh?”
“Yup,” Taris replied. “Surprise. We exist. Does that scare you?”
She looked out at the car where her husband was sitting in the passenger seat and then back at Taris. “I’ve seen worse. I would imagine you have one hell of a story then.”
“To tell it would be an epic the likes of Homer,” he laughed. “And I wish like hell I could tell it, but it isn’t time yet. You gonna be okay?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Who knows.”
Taris felt his stomach twist. He wasn’t sexually attracted to this woman but there was something about her that made him feel like they were meant to be somehow, like theirs was a journey that needed to be taken together. It wasn’t chance that caused them to meet. It was something bigger. He could feel it. Knowing that tomorrow could be just as painful for her as every day before they met was pounding in his soul like a bass drum. He needed to leave, to go back home and finish what he started but he couldn’t unless he knew that she was safe.
“Listen, when you’re ready, I’ll be there.” Boy, that sounded cryptic.
“What does that mean,” she asked.
“I mean, when you’re ready to leave, I will help you. But only when you’re ready and only when you ask me.”
There was a moment of silence followed by a sigh of what he thought sounded like relief.
“How will I know how to find you?”
Taris took her hands in his and stared down into her eyes. “When the time comes, you’ll know. I promise.”
She nodded. “Then I’ll make you a deal, Taris. If you keep your promise, when it’s time, I will write your story.”
Taris felt his heart heat to about a million degrees and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss on her forehead before pulling away.
“Deal.”
“You ready for another drink, sugar?”
Taris sucked a deep breath in through his nose and slowly blew it out before tilting his head to look at Nadia, his waitress. He didn’t even bother to lift it from the back of the booth. Did he really need another bourbon?
The answer was always yes.
“Yeah, I’ll take another one, so long as you promise to come and sit with me.”
The waitress gave him a smile, the dim pendant lamp that hung from the ceiling giving off just enough light to glint off her labret piercing. She toyed with one of her plum-colored dreads.
“You know I can’t sit with you until my shift is over and you’ll be long gone by then. You always are.” She gave him a wink. A shout from the bar made her expression drop. “I swear, if that asshole calls me Marie one more time, I may stab him with a beer bottle.”
Taris lifted his head. “Come again?”
Nadia leaned forward, placing both of her hands on the table. “Look over my shoulder. You see that black-haired guy at the bar?”
Taris cast a glance at the man in question. He couldn't have been more than 6 foot tall and his long black hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. He was currently pawing at one of the other waitresses, who didn’t seem to mind his attention, but Taris couldn’t help but notice the wedding ring that was flashing like so much neon as he lifted his drink to chug it.
“You mean the douche nozzle over there with The Cramps t-shirt on?”
“Yup,” she said. “That’s the one. He walked in, pulling his little woman in with him, plopped her down at the bar and started calling me his Voodoo queen, because, you know, since I’m Cajun and black, I must also be into voodoo.” She shook her head. “He’s been in here for two hours and I don’t think he’s said one word to that girl, except to yell at her to give him more money.”
Taris shifted his gaze to the other barstool. Sure enough, there was a petite bottle-blonde, staring into the bar, her fingers wrapped tightly around a drink. She had a slim wedding band on her ring finger. She was thin. It wasn’t a cracked-out sort of skinny but it obviously wasn’t her natural body type either. And judging by the faint hint of ginger in her eyebrows, he was willing to bet that the blonde wasn’t her idea.
“Does this ass-hat come in here often,” he asked, gently nudging her to move over enough to see both of them at the same time.
“He’s here about three times a month, but this is only the second time I’ve ever seen her.”
“Is he always that obnoxious and grabby?”
“Oh yeah,” Nadia said. She turned now, and leaned against the table so that they were both looking towards the bar. “Never misses a beat. The only reason he gets away with it is because he spends so much money in here.”
“And what about her? Is she always that quiet?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” Nadia said. “I’m usually too busy fending off his hammy hands to pay attention. I can tell you this, though. I wouldn’t sit by and let my man act like that. Either she just doesn’t give a damn or there’s some bad juju there.” She patted the table. “I’ll go get you that drink.”
As Nadia started to walk off, Taris grabbed her hand. “No,” he said. “I don’t want that tool touching you. I’ll go get it.”
Nadia gave him a nod and moved on to the next table. Taris shifted, the leather from his jacket clinging to the torn leather of the booth. Eventually, he slid out of it and stood, stretching all 6’3 inches of him. What little crowd there was on the floor parted as he made his way to the bar. As he approached, the asshole stopped talking to the other waitress and narrowed his eyes, casting Taris a look that could have pierced through any other being on earth.
Good thing Taris wasn’t just any other being, now wasn’t it?
Taris grabbed the stool next to the blonde and as he pulled, he saw her flinch. He stopped for a minute and cast another glance to her husband next to her. He had his arm around the waitress again now, but was still keeping a wary eye on Taris.
Now isn’t that interesting?
Instead of letting the stool scrape the floor, Taris picked it up and set it out far enough so that he could take a seat.
“Bourbon, please,” Taris told the bartender, “and whatever she’s having.”
She shook her head, looking down at the bar. “Thanks,” she replied, “but no thanks, I’m here with my husband.”
Taris nodded to the bar tender as he picked up his drink. He took a sip and then looked over her shoulder.
“He doesn’t seem to be here with you,” he said. The woman looked over to see her husband leaning into the waitress, his arms on other side of her to capture her between him and the bar.
“He’s drunk,” the blonde said. “He gets flirty when he’s drunk. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” She almost whispered every word, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear. More than that, the way that she said it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.
“Where’d my voodoo queen go,” the asshole yelled into the bar, even as he was still trying to get pelvis-deep into the other waitress.
“She’s Catholic,” Taris mumbled into his drink. He felt the blonde next to him stiffen.
“The hell did you say, limey,” the asshole replied.
Taris drained the last little bit of his bourbon and set the empty glass on the bar. “I said,” he turned to face in the man’s direction but instead of making eye-contact with him, he looked at the blonde next to him. “Your voodoo queen isn’t a voodoo queen. She’s Catholic. Devout Catholic actually, so I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you didn’t call her that anymore. Stereotyping her is kinda racist.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he replied. Asshole turned his attention back to the woman in front of him but only after narrowing his eyes at the blonde. Taris didn’t think it was possible for her to be wound any tighter, but even the air around her tensed. He didn’t take his eyes off of her, just watched as she lifted her drink to her lips. It was then that he noticed the crack at the corner of her mouth. It was covered with make-up and she’d done a damn good job, but Taris had been in enough fights to know what a busted lip looked like and that was a busted lip.
He tapped the bar for another bourbon. As the bartender handed it to him, he cast Taris a look before glancing at the blonde and then back at him. It was a silent conversation, but one that he knew that bartender had been dying to have. He did that to her. Why else would she be willing to excuse the guy basically screwing another woman in front of her? The whole thing was sick. Hell, he watched her finish off her drink and she was scared to ask for another one. The more he thought about it, the more pissed off he got and the more pissed he got, the more likely he was to do something very, very stupid.
“Hey,” Taris whispered as he silently slid closer to the blonde. “Let me buy you another drink. No pressure. I know you’re married. But if I’m reading you right, you look like you could use it.”
She didn’t look up, but nodded in agreement after a few moments. Taris glanced at the bartender, who nodded too and started mixing a Tom Collins. When it was finished, he placed it in front of her and mouthed on the house. The poor girl guzzled half of it down before it had time to condense a freaking water drop on the napkin.
“So listen,” Taris started, his eyes fixed on what her husband was doing. “I don’t know you. Like, at all, but if I’m reading you right, you seem to be a bit skittish. I’ve seen feral cats that were easier to approach that you are.”
She let out a short laugh then threw back the rest of her drink. “I’m married,” she said without doing much to mask the disdain.
“That you are,” Taris said, threading his fingers together in front of him on the bar. “Out of curiosity, how in the hell did that happen, by the way? Because…,” Taris leaned back and looked at her husband, who was now a breath away from lip-fighting with the now off-duty waitress and then looked at the blonde again. “Really? That guy is a dick.”
“He isn’t that bad,” she said, and again, he wondered who she was trying to convince.
“Hey!”
The blonde was suddenly jerked from her barstool and spun around so that her back was against the bar. Her husband – with one of his hands still clasped on the other woman’s waist – was practically nose-to-nose with the blonde and seething.
“The hell you think you’re doing, bitch? Talking to another man because I’m not good enough for you! You wonder why I fuck around? Cause you’re so stupid. You think another man would want you? Do you? This asshole is just trying to screw you because he knows you’re easy.” He spun her back around and pushed her towards the barstool. “Sit your dumb-ass down and don’t do a thing until I say we are leaving.”
As her husband was yelling, Taris couldn’t help but notice the ridiculous capped fangs he sported. This guy liked to play monster. Douche bag. Taris gripped the edge of the bar so tight, he was afraid it was going to rip clean off. Without saying a word, the blonde had been screaming for someone to save her from the moment she walked in. He wanted to tear the guys face off but this wasn’t his fight, not unless she wanted it to be. He waited to see what she would do, praying to God that she wouldn’t sit back down and clam up. Rather than defend herself, she simply dropped her head and turned to sit back on the stool.
Oh God, he thought. There’s no fight left in this woman. He’s literally killed it. The blonde nodded for another drink and barely cast a glance at Taris before taking a sip. Deep in her blue-gray eyes, he saw what little spark was left in her to fight flickering out.
He’d be damned if he sat by and watched that happen. He’d seen what abuse does to a person and there was no way in hell or on earth that he would watch this woman, whoever she was, turn into what this devil would make her.
Taris grabbed her drink from out in front of her, took a sip before putting it back. He popped his neck and stood up, the sliding of his barstool against the floor causing her to flinch like it had before. That was the last damned straw. This guy wanted to be a monster? Taris was about to show him one. He walked around her until he stood firmly between the blonde and her husband.
The guy was once again a breath away from the waitress and Taris leaned down until he was in their faces.
“Excuse me, dickhead,” Taris said, “but I would like to have a little word with you.”
The man stopped and pulled back, turning his dark gaze at Taris. Yeah, this asshole had little dick syndrome in the worst way.
“My problem isn’t with you,” he replied, but he was bowed up enough to set Taris on edge. “It’s this dumb bitch.”
“You have a real problem with degrading women, don’t you? First it’s Nadia, and then it’s your own wife. I wonder how you treat a woman that you are actually fond of.”
“I don’t want trouble, guy,” he said, lifting his hands and smiling. “Pretty sure you don’t want it either.”
And then, the dumb-ass did something Taris really hoped he wouldn’t. He actually pulled his lips back and flashed his fake fangs. The dumb sonofabitch actually showed his capped teeth to Taris.
“Those are mighty impressive, sir,” Taris said, leaning against the bar. “Is that a one-time wear set or do you have those resin-jobs that you can put in whenever?”
“These are real, fucker, and if you know what’s good for you, then you’ll back off and leave my wife alone.”
“No seriously,” Taris ignored him, moving closer. He even pulled his lip up to get a better look. “Are they implants or what? Because, I have to be honest, they are pretty convincing.” Taris leaned forward and whispered, “But no matter how much you want them to be real, they aren’t. Now these,” he paused and peeled his lips away from his teeth and watched with sinful delight as their eyes went wide when his real fangs elongated. “These will tear your douche nozzle face off.” He cast a glance at the waitress that was still clinging to the man’s belt. “Run.”
The waitress pushed away from the blonde’s husband, grabbed her purse from behind the bar and ran out of the narrow entry door.
“Now that I have your attention, here’s what we are going to do.” Taris turned to the bartender and nodded for another bourbon. He threw it back as soon as it hit his hand. “First, you take those teeth out of your face and if I even think they are anywhere near your mouth ever again, I will hunt you like a fucking deer and gut you. Secondly,” he stopped and turned to the blonde, who was sitting quietly, but watching the whole thing. He held out his hand and she took it. He pulled her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “This woman, what is your name? I never asked. It is so impolite.” The woman whispered her name and he smiled. “I knew a woman that went by that name a very long time ago.” Taris turned back to the woman’s husband, his chin resting gently on her head. “This woman is not to be touched ever again.”
“I never…” the man started but Taris cut him off.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he growled. Funny, a slight scrapping of a chair or a single word from her husband made the blonde flinch but being pressed against him and literally feeling him growl did nothing. “I see her busted lip and the fear in her eyes. You lay a finger on her again, or say another harsh word and so help me, I will drink you through a straw and throw your useless carcass into a swamp.”
The man didn’t say anything else, just turned and walked out. Taris grabbed the blonde’s hand and followed him to the door, where they sat and watched him punch the sign to an open-air Bacardi bar a few times before getting into the car.
“You think he’s going to lash out at you later,” he asked.
“Not right away,” she said, staring out across the street. “He’ll be pissed for a little while, but when it’s safe, he’ll start with the name-calling again.”
“You know you don’t have to put up with that,” he said. “You can leave.”
She let out a slow breath. “I made my bed,” she said. “One day, I will figure out how to climb out of it.”
Hearing her say that made him nauseous. She didn’t have to live like that. No one had to live like that. The fact that more people didn’t recognize the everyday monsters that walked among mankind made him despair at the future of his own species. More people needed to speak out for people like her, people that weren’t ready or too scared to speak out for themselves.
“So,” she turned, “vampire, huh?”
“Yup,” Taris replied. “Surprise. We exist. Does that scare you?”
She looked out at the car where her husband was sitting in the passenger seat and then back at Taris. “I’ve seen worse. I would imagine you have one hell of a story then.”
“To tell it would be an epic the likes of Homer,” he laughed. “And I wish like hell I could tell it, but it isn’t time yet. You gonna be okay?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Who knows.”
Taris felt his stomach twist. He wasn’t sexually attracted to this woman but there was something about her that made him feel like they were meant to be somehow, like theirs was a journey that needed to be taken together. It wasn’t chance that caused them to meet. It was something bigger. He could feel it. Knowing that tomorrow could be just as painful for her as every day before they met was pounding in his soul like a bass drum. He needed to leave, to go back home and finish what he started but he couldn’t unless he knew that she was safe.
“Listen, when you’re ready, I’ll be there.” Boy, that sounded cryptic.
“What does that mean,” she asked.
“I mean, when you’re ready to leave, I will help you. But only when you’re ready and only when you ask me.”
There was a moment of silence followed by a sigh of what he thought sounded like relief.
“How will I know how to find you?”
Taris took her hands in his and stared down into her eyes. “When the time comes, you’ll know. I promise.”
She nodded. “Then I’ll make you a deal, Taris. If you keep your promise, when it’s time, I will write your story.”
Taris felt his heart heat to about a million degrees and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss on her forehead before pulling away.
“Deal.”
