by T Shadow
As Verity turns to make the introductions between her latest beau and Mika, I make a calculated move, and flag Matthius down. He comes over quickly, a smile taking over his face again. That dimple comes back. Fucking dimple.
“Hey Matthius, could you make me the most elaborate cocktail ever?”
“Is it for Verity?”
“Well, it’s certainly not for me.”
“... What if it’s Vampire themed?”
“I knew you were my favourite bartender.” My smile is infectious, because Matthius’ grin only pulls up towards his eyes— his pearly whites flashing back at me. It's only when I pull my finger down the length of his forearm that he takes a sharp breath and his eyes darken with excitement.
“Coming right up.” He turns, leaving me only with a panty-melting wink. It’s a quick exit strategy that he has down to a tee. Even I didn’t realise what he was doing until he left.
After the initial introductions have been made, I feel Verity move past Mika with the sole intent of approaching me. Now? Her eyes zero on me— it’s unnerving, but I guess that's what you get when a Vampire focuses their sights on something that they’d consider prey. But over the years, Verity and I have squashed animalistic instincts with the pure intention of simply co-existing. Ever since then, we've been friends. She doesn’t have time to say anything before Matthius comes back, cocktail in hand.
"Here you are, one cocktail." Presented before us is a sugar-rimmed cocktail glass, filled almost to the top with a deep red liquid. On the edge of the glass perches a little umbrella covered in bats. It's cute, very Verity.
"Ooh, it looks pretty! What's in it?" Her lashes flutter at Matthius, blinking rapidly— like something is stuck in her eye. I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be flattering and not at all like she’s having a seizure.
"I'm glad you asked! Here, we have the Vampire's Kiss— it has champagne, vodka, raspberry liqueur and a red sugar dusted rim." He slides it towards her, smiling at her equally pleased reaction. "My name is Matthius, holler at me if you need me."
"He's a big, strong man." Her voice purrs as she lifts the edge of the glass to her dark red lips. Tipping her head back slightly, she takes a big sip, smacking her lips and licking them elaborately. "Absolutely delicious, I think I've fallen in love with the man."
A muscled arm slowly wraps around her waist— drawing her back into Llewellyn's chest. Her head leans back onto his pectoral muscles. The smile on her lips is absolutely sinful, her eyes turning red with lust as she uses her hand to run her nails down his forearm, leaving small red lines behind.
“I did affirm that I think I’m in love with the man, Llewellyn, not that I am in love with him.” Turning in his arms, she gazes up at him as she runs her fingers along his jaw. “You know I could never love anyone like I love you, Lellie.”
I ruin their perfect, love hearts and roses moment by snorting at the man’s incredulous nickname. The big-bad-dragon is nicknamed Lellie. I thought I was the only one to think of that, but she beat me to it. It takes all of my strength not to spit my beer out across the bar, laugh in hysterics and clutch my stomach for added effect. Only when I finish my silent laugh do I turn towards them both. Verity has a smirk on— as if she knows that I would find the nickname hilarious, and Lellie? Well, his eyes aren’t full of lust anymore.
If murder could be conveyed as an expression, he’d have murderous eyes. As in, he wants to murder me for laughing, that is. The eyes are probably meant to scare the living shite out of me, but it doesn’t work, if anything, it makes me laugh harder and longer than before.
Bemused at my reaction to his ‘death-stare’, Llewellyn laughs along with me, his eyes shifting from their hard stare to playful, and his smile is full of joy. Verity and Mika look between us both as if we truly are mad. But alas, we are not.
“I really hate that fucking nickname.”
I think me and this Llewelyn dude are gonna get on just fine.
Dark wouldn’t be the correct word to describe this place tonight. The Wyvern’s Nest is normally the least dank of the three drinking establishments here. Tonight though? Tonight, it looks as if a unicorn and a clown threw up simultaneously, sparkles and rainbows galore— it’s an introvert’s worst nightmare.
The pub is decorated with other-the-top pink streamers, blue balloons and a mismatch of other ridiculous party decorations. It almost seems as though someone is coming home. From my seat in the back of the pub, I don’t see much other than the drunks at the bar and withering bodies on the dance floor.
Music here seems to be a mismatch of genres and can only be heard from a mix of vibrations and low bass tones— words and verses can only be heard when the crush of people sing aimlessly out of tune with each other. The sound that fills the air is unbridled laughter, exclamations and glasses clinking on wooden table tops. It’s a far cry from the taverns at home. Everyone is sophisticated, well mannered and courteous of each other. Here? It’s like a Bull in a china shop; it destroys everything in its wake, but you can’t help but watch.
It’s difficult to sit in this bar by myself and enjoy it. Bars are meant to be enjoyed in the company of others, but when you’re alone, it’s as though you’re desperate or depressed. I’m neither, but the company of the others still would have been appreciated. But Remington’s busy trying to get one step ahead of an unseen enemy, Landon’s busy sulking in his room from his actions today and Leland is running codes on his computer. I couldn’t seek solace in my romance novels any longer, considering I’ve been reading at least one every day since we’ve been on the road. I wouldn’t hesitate to say that I’m all romanced-out.
Maybe it was the perfect time to seclude myself, even for a moment or two. Imagination is better than reality any day of the week, but immersing myself has made me become detached from our mission and my scholarly studies. Not that they matter anymore, it’s highly unlikely that we’ll return to our former home.
Life on the road has shot my patience to pieces. If I’m not hiding myself in a book with the intention of living another life for a short while, I’m stopping fights between Landon and Remington, or Remington and Leland. The constant pissing and dick-measuring contest is enough to drive anyone mad, but a restless dragon? It’s enough to spur on a spontaneous shift.
My body trembles and my skin ripples— the need to shift becoming more prominent. My beast inside me is pressing his body against the walls of his internal cage, his distress and anger at our current situation apparent. Weeks have passed since we’ve shifted, and my skin itches in anticipation of feeling the wind beneath my wings. Although both me and my dragon are on the same mental wavelength, it’s our opinions and morals that differ on various subjects. For instance, I like books, and he likes to play with his food before he eats it.
I find that time alone gives me the ability to calm my beast and consider all angles and possibilities with our dysfunctional thunder without having the continuous interruption of shouting and posturing. My Heineken bottle only ensnares my thoughts for a moment before I consider different approaches to our current, unchangeable situation. Our whole basis for residing here is to find this ‘infamous’ horde.
Our dedication to this timely quest has only pushed us further apart, rather than bringing us closer together. Landon and Remington were close in the Lord’s Guard, fighting side by side until that untimely decision fell upon both of their shoulders. Leland and I are close because we’re both scholars, but even we have drifted apart after a strenuous year of weary travelling with nothing to show for it.
I left my study, full of old tomes and texts to come on an expedition that promised riches beyond my wildest dreams at the end. Unfortunately for all of us, we know that there isn’t any gold at the end of the rainbow. If we return, when we return, there will be no riches waiting for us. The only thing at the end of the rainbow for us is a dank, dark cell and no contact with another person for the rest of our long, miserable lives.
Lord Draconis is a fearsome son-of-a-bit
ch to some, but a fearless, ruthless tyrant to others. Those who fight in his guard do not do so willingly and those who advise him do so only to try to keep a small portion of control. Scholars are impartial, only called upon when information is required and not any other time.
Having been in power for over four hundred years, Lord Draconis rules over the Dragon Realm with an iron fist. Soldiers in his guard don’t remain after four hundred years and no one in the castle is older than the Lord himself. Having sired many children, Leland is the youngest and the least appreciated of all the heirs. His older brother and true heir Luciano, delivered most of the torment that Leland received throughout his childhood. It was the only way to teach ‘discipline’, or so he claimed.
Meek and mild-mannered, Leland lashes out at Remington the most, and hardly at anyone else. I think he has a problem with authority— especially males— after his abusive upbringing, and I’m not surprised. The dynamic between Remington and Leland is especially difficult; Remington is the Second Knight of the Lord’s Guard, and Leland, the thirteenth Heir to the throne. It’s unfortunate that even with his heritage and royal name, Remington still outranks Leland in status and power.
The last thing those two should be doing is sitting in a small room together for days on end. Fortunately it’s been my number one source of entertainment for quite some time as we’ve travelled far and wide for a mysterious, ultra-rare hoard.
Although this escapade has dragged us throughout various countries where we’ve experienced many cultures and eaten our fill of delicious food, our last pit stop has landed us in this small secluded town. But rather than us having any leads on the hoard, we came to the last place we would ever think of. Why did we come here? It was far enough away from the realm to buy us some time before our inevitable return, it was also one of the last places we hadn’t been to when passing through. It couldn’t hurt to check it out, and lounging around, sitting in this pub provides a comfort that only freedom can provide.
I’m drawn from my thoughts by the door, it’s constantly revolving, granting entry to various creatures and people, some that even I haven’t seen before, and I’ve been here a week or so now, and this town is that damn big. A party is in full swing tonight, and the customers are what the kids deem to be ‘living their best life’. I’ve opted for a beer tonight and my bottle is only half empty. Flagging down the bartender in this place might be considerably more difficult than the last time we were here.
I hear the door swing open again to grant access to yet another patron, and I’m surprised when I recognise the scent. The scent of strawberries and vanilla hits my nose, reminding me of summer months spent in the sun surrounded by fresh fruit platters provided to us. It’s the only one person in this town that I’ve noticed that has that particular scent here, but it’s completely superficial— probably shampoo or body wash. It’s quite strong, almost as if she’s trying to cover something up. I’m hoping it’s masking a scent and not masking bad body odour.
Remi, the firecracker that she is, walks in the front door wearing an emerald dress with her boots, which completely dismisses the social constructs of fashion, along with her friend Mika— the fearless yet fearful tiger-shifter who goes toe-to-toe with dragon shifters— yet cowers behind a human not much older than herself.
She looks quite delectable— Remi that is— clothed in a flowing, yet tight-fitting green dress that stops just above her knees. It shows off her creamy pale legs which stop at the top of a black boot. I can imagine running my hands along her soft legs, starting from her ankles and stopping at the top of her thighs. I’m thankful that by hiding myself away in the corner I can shield myself from her wandering eyes, optimising my assessment of her.
Her copper coloured hair is tied up in a ponytail, high up on the crown of her head— it’s unnaturally straight, as if it was manipulated by those heated straightening things. It’s the green eyes I notice the most though, they’re jade green and under the lights of the bar, and somehow manage to seem lighter than they naturally are. How can one person embody such beauty but hide behind a hard exterior? If the altercation in the bookstore the other day was anything to go by, it’s as if she hides herself behind a wall of sarcasm and quick wit. I always had a fascination with women who bite back.
For someone who lives here, she seems to have very few friends, at least from what I can see. The tiger-shifter seems to be her closest friend, the bartender is a friendly acquaintance and the old man is in dire need of company but other than that, she has no other friends that I’ve seen. Is that a personal choice or one of her necessities?
I haven’t figured out where she lives yet, the only facts I can gather with certainty is that she owns that bookstore with the quirky name, and that she knows many people around town. Coupled with the fact that she likes a drink, she doesn’t really converse with anyone that she doesn’t need to, or want to for that matter. It’s a lifestyle that I could certainly get behind.
Maybe being in this town is not as bad as it seems, especially with her here. I could lose myself in her eyes, ignore all of my troubles and concerns back home. Ignore the issues arising back at the Hotel with the others. I could happily abandon the books and lose myself in her. She seems like the best solution to my multitude of problems. I haven’t a bunch of experience, preferring my own shadow over the comfort of others, but how hard could it be for an old dragon like me to pursue a normal girl like her?
“She could be ours.”
I snort as the beast chimes in with an unusual yet surprising comment. Only uttering a sentence when we’re in the throes of hysteria, sharing a deep excitement for maiming and murder— he abstains from experiencing normal feelings on a daily basis, preferring the beast that he is.
I don’t know what you mean, why do you think she would even want to be ours?
“There is a bit of myself that I see in her.”
All you care about is death and destruction, not fuzzy cuddles and boo bears.
“I recognise the pain and destruction inside of her, and what is... boo bears?”
I disguise my groan behind my hand, hiding the bottle in front of my mouth to muffle the bassy sound. Unfortunately, as we coexist together, we hear and think together also. That doesn’t ever mean he listens though.
“What are you groaning at? What is a boo-bear?”
I’m groaning at you, you idiot. We live together, quite literally, but you disregard every human, modern custom. Do you know anything about today’s culture?
“I understand what a selfie is, and I get what it means to be ‘lit’.”
There’s a lot more to today’s world than just taking selfies and being lit all the time.
“I think we’re getting off of the topic… I much prefer discussing the female.”
She’s a woman, not a ‘female’. You can’t call human’s ‘females’.
“No, she’s definitely a female, can’t you smell her scent under all of that fabricated smell?”
My eyebrows come together in confusion and I breathe in through my nose just to try to catch a hint of that underlying scent that she has gone to great lengths to hide. I instantly smell the strawberry and vanilla amongst the body odour from the mass of writhing bodies. But after reported attempts, I get the hint of a sharp but sour smell under all of that deception. It isn’t a scent that I recognise, but the idea that Remi is supernatural underneath all of that pale skin is something I’m only beginning to come to terms with.
“Smart, isn’t she. You wonder why I said she could be ours, because she is smart like us.”
A match made in dragon-fire, forged in flames and stronger than the harshest winds.
“I have never believed in mates until now.”
That statement confuses me even more, the idea of mates was abolished centuries ago, and no one has found their true mate since; most have given up all hope. Mates are just a dream long lost amongst the brightest of stars.
You know no one has found their true mate in centuries?
Since before the late Lord Draconis died.
“Maybe they were looking in the wrong place.”
Maybe they were, Beast. Maybe they were.
What would be considered the right place then, old wise one? I lift my bottle to my lips, ready to take another swig of the amber nectar before the need to order another.
“Obviously, anywhere else than where we’ve been looking… Dumbass.”
I snort into the bottle, which snorts the beer up my nose for good measure. I recover quickly, wiping the splashback from my face so that no one notices. I survey the bar again and only notice a few different pub dwellers. No one is actively staring at me after that fiasco, thankfully.
Nice to know that you managed to pick up some modern customs.
“Dumbass isn’t a modern custom, it’s been used for centuries, just different variations… Dumbass.”
I can’t have this conversation with you if you’re going to continue being an arrogant prick.
“Then we have a problem, considering we are both arrogant.”
I can’t argue the point when he’s technically right, so I end the conversation. There’s no point in having an internal fight that you can’t win. Downing the rest of my beer, I lift up my hand to catch the attention of the bartender, that massive troll from the other night. He sees me and tilts his head to the side, probably questioning as to what I want to order. I’m well versed in common signs and actions, so in return to his questioning gaze I lift my bottle in return. He just nods his head.
Bro code is just a series of well versed grunts and hand actions after all.
My wandering eyes skim over the bar’s inhabitants again, but really, I’m eagerly seeking out that green eyed, copper haired beauty. She’s still in the same area as she was before, but now she’s moved down the bar slightly to accommodate for her new friends. There’s a ghost white girl with black hair and red tips, as well as a man who takes the strong-and-silent type a little too literally.
