The Dying Fate (The Umbra Chronicles Book 1)

by Willow Ravenheart

  ∞∞∞

  "Denny, are you sure about this?" I ask, my voice faltering as I stare at the neon sign hanging above the front door to the bar.

  The sign says Boondocks and I don't think that they could have picked a better name. The bar has a look much like the one from that old television show, about the vampires that used to be so popular. I mean, we are in the middle of the boonies with trees surrounding us. Hell, there's even a quaint little swamp behind the bar, giving the name an almost cheesy feel. It looks like one of the places a person would go to score. And I don't mean sex.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer him honestly.

  "Come on, you'll love it once you get in there!" Denny exclaims, an excited lilt to his voice as he slings the driver's side door open.

  I make a silent thanks to God, knowing that the bar is only a five-minute drive from my house. Hell, I could walk home if I wanted to. The thought is tempting right now actually. Denny's never been much of a runner and I could be halfway home before he even knew I was gone. That's one thing I've always had going for me. I'm a fast runner and my fight or flight reflex is always in flight mode.

  Denny stomps on my hopes of being able to run away when he opens my door and shoves a heavily ring adorned hand in my face. I take his hand and use it as leverage to help me out of the car. The overwhelming humidity of the night air hits me in the face like a ton of bricks and I wince, thinking of all the care I put into my hair before leaving. The straightening iron is a useless tool when living in the South. But, a girl can always dream for flawlessly straight hair, right?

  "Let's get you inside and a drink in your hand," he chuckles before hauling me out of the car.

  I tug at the clothes that Denny picked out for me. Originally, he had pulled a short, black dress from my closet, but one look at my legs made him retreat into the closet in search for something to cover my 'yeti legs'. I can't say that he did a bad job choosing an outfit for me, but I can complain about how revealing it is. Hell, I didn't even realize that I owned a crop top. I try to pull it down to cover my exposed belly button, but he slaps my hand away gently.

  "Don't mess with it, Mace. You look hot!" he comments before kissing my cheek.

  My cheeks burn as a blush creeps up my face and I duck my head. He picked out a skin tight, black crop top and a pair of dark washed blue jeans that he paired with my black lace up boots. After a bit of a debate, he agreed for me to wear my long, asymmetrical royal blue vest. Hell, he even surprised me when he helped me straighten my hair and apply my makeup. My face kind of borderlines between call girl and gothic punk, but it complements the outfit. It's nice to come out of my shell some for once in only God knows how long. So, I let Denny take the reins.

  I let Denny take my hand after swinging my little black backpack styled purse across my shoulders. A couple of people walk out to the front patio of the bar, making my footsteps falter. Their boisterous voices echo throughout the clearing and I nearly rethink my plan of running to the safety of my dark bedroom.

  "Come on, you've got this," Denny reassures me, his fingers squeezing mine before hauling me forward.

  I nearly have to run to be able to keep up with his lanky gait, but I somehow keep up. A sigh passes my lips as I walk through the door when Denny opens it for me. The acrid smell of alcohol stings my nose and the stench of cigarettes fill the air, but it’s not the worst I’ve experienced. The place is actually a lot nicer on the inside than I expected. Whoever designed this place needs to come to my house and redecorate for me! It's not the typical dive bar that I was expecting. Hell, it's rustic, but like high end rustic.

  The floors are a cool, raw looking wood with a fresh coat of varnish which makes the boards shine. The tables and chairs are all black, the seats leather and clean. I notice the bar and my jaw drops at the beauty of it. It looks like a tree was cut down and sliced down the center. A dark stain makes all the individual rings pop and the surface is perfectly clean. Not even a drop of water seems to be marking its surface. The barstools match all the other chairs except the legs are a lot taller of course.

  I notice several playing pool past the bar and can’t help the envious feeling that overwhelms me. I used to love playing pool, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin relearning how to do it with just the one functioning arm. Denny notices where my eyes are staring and squeezes my hand reassuringly.

  "Dennis, is that you over there?" A loud, booming voice calls from the back of the bar.

  I squint my eyes, barely able to make out the silhouette of a large man approaching us. Hell, large doesn't even begin to describe him. The man's a fucking mountain! Once he steps underneath one of the overhanging bar lights, I can finally get a good look at him. He looks to be somewhere in his early fifties, his hair some shade between silver and blonde. That gorgeous hair hangs down across his shoulders, the occasional braid and beads woven throughout the long length. He’s fucking huge and terrifying!

  "You know it's me!" Denny calls to him as he hauls us closer, "Also, this is my friend that I was telling you so much about."

  "The name's Macy, isn't it?" the man asks as he walks closer to me.

  I have to lean my head back to look him in the face. His piercing blue eyes stare down at me, a playful smile crinkling the skin beside them. I can't contain the feeling of familiarity once he steps close. A warmth radiates off him, simply telling me that I am safe as long as he's near.

  All I can do is nod as an answer to his question, my mind spinning with the feelings that are swirling within my mind. He wipes his hands off on a bar-rag looped through his belt before offering one of them to me. Holy crap, his hands are the size of dinner plates!

  "Well, Macy, it's nice to meet you. I'm Hank Marshall, the manager of this fine establishment!" he says with a bow, his hand sweeping in the direction of the bar.

  "Th-thank you...." I stutter before ducking my head.

  "Now I won't be having any of that shyness around here. Come on, let's get you a drink. It's on me," Hank chuckles before taking my hand from Denny and dragging me to the packed bar.

  "Seb!" Hank calls, his voice echoing throughout the bar. I look around, noticing that we've drawn the attention of half the patrons of the bar, their eyes trained on us.

  A dark head pops up from behind the bar and I smile at the man looking at us. The first thing I notice are his eyes, the color of a polished onyx stone. It's odd, I've never seen eyes as black as his before. You'd think it would be unnerving, but just as I've felt with Hank since meeting him, this man's gaze gives me a feeling of nothing other than warmth. His hair is dark, nearly the same color as his eyes. He's a small, slight framed man with chords of lean muscle that strain against the skin tight black t-shirt that he's somehow wiggled into.

  "What tha hell do ya want?" the man calls. But, a small sly grin never leaves his face. His voice has a deep, Irish lilt to it that makes me smile.

  "This is Macy, the friend that Denny's been going on about," Hank says, his large hand on the small of my back as he leads me to one of the plush, black bar stools.

  "It's nice to meet ya, Macy. My name's Sebastian, but everyone here calls me Seb," he tells me before turning to Hank. They share a look for a moment, the action unnerving me a bit as it seems that they're sharing a personal conversation.

  "It's nice to meet you too...." I mumble, my eyes darting to the multitude of liquor bottles lining the wall behind Sebastian.

  It's been a while since I've drank a sip of alcohol. I've not been the biggest fan of the drink for most of my life. Not after what Dad put us through....

  I feel several sets of eyes on me and look up into the black eyes staring at me. Sebastian flashes me a toothy smile, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. My fingers itch to shove the loose hairs from his face, but I have to remember that I just met the man. It's an old habit that I've had as long as I can remember. Honestly, I can't tell you how many times Henry and Denny were victim to my 'anal tendenci
es'. Their words, not mine.

  "I'm sorry, did I miss something?" I ask, looking at Hank and Denny at my sides who are just chuckling silently.

  "I was askin' what ya'd like to drink. Instead of answering, ya kind of stared off into space there for a minute," Sebastian chuckles before shoving his hair out of his face.

  "Yeah, she does that," Denny pipes up and I turn to him, giving him an evil glare.

  "I do not!" I snap.

  A loud booming laugh flows from Hank's lips, making me nearly jump out of my seat. His face is red as he wipes tears from the corner of his eyes. What the hell was so funny?

  "I'm sorry about that. The two of you make me think so much of a few friends of mine. They can't agree to whether it's night or day," he wheezes before clearing his throat.

  Denny and I share an odd look before I focus on the man behind the bar. Sebastian looks back and forth between Denny and I, an odd tilt to his head. The way he looks at us reminds me much of a confused dog. He shakes his head a moment later and leans his elbows, his eyes trained on me.

  "So, what'll it be then?" he asks.

  "A soda please," I ask, biting my lip after a moment. I've never been much of a drinker and I'm not about to start now. Not after all I've been through. Plus, mixing pain pills and liquor sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

  "That's it?" he questions, his hand reaching for the soda gun.

  "Absolutely. But, you can surprise me on what kind," I tell him, a sly smile on my face.

  He shakes his head, a low inaudible curse crossing his lips as he fills a glass with a dark carbonated beverage. I try to hold in a laugh as he places my drink atop the counter, a scowl of disbelief on his face.

  "Who comes to a bar, but doesn't drink?" he asks himself as he rushes away to attend to a waiting customer at the other end of the bar.

  I take a sip of my soda, looking around the bar for a moment as I relish in the carbonation rushing down my throat. I can see myself coming here with Denny.

  So far, everyone here has been nice. They're a bit odd, but nice nonetheless. It's also nice to meet the people Denny's going to be working with. I guess it's the control freak in me, but I've always been extremely protective of him.

  "So, I guess I should show you around," Hank pipes out all of a sudden, his hand brushing across my arm. I look down, noticing that he's the first person other than my family and medical staff that have touched my half arm.

  His blue gaze travels over the multitude of scars before his finger reaches out to trace over one of the angriest that travels nearly to my shoulder. I don't know why, but I don't pull away from him. His fingertips dance across the scar, their touch as gently as a butterfly's kiss.

  "Denny told me about the accident," he whispers, his voice a sudden warmth on my soul, "I didn't know the extent of the damage. I am truly sorry for your loss."

  I bite back a retort when I notice the haunted look on his face. I'm not one for accepting empty apologies, especially when it pertains to my loss. But, the look written across his features tells me that he knows much about loss. He's no stranger to the demons haunting my thoughts.

  "Thank you," I whisper, my left hand clasping over his.

  It takes a moment for the look to leave his face, but just as fast as it came, it's replaced with a grin full of shiny, white teeth.

  "Let’s go on that tour," he says, his fingers tangling with mine as he hauls me off the comfortable bar stool. I look back, noticing that Denny swiped my drink off the bar.

  We navigate the bar for several minutes, Hank showing me all the pieces on the wall. His loud voice telling me the stories behind each one of them. I can feel myself growing quickly attached to the man. There's a warmth that radiates from him. It makes me think a lot of Dad and how he used to be.

  "Hank! Where the fuck are you?" a screeching, feminine voice calls from somewhere in the bar.

  "Shit, here comes trouble...." Hank sighs before spinning on his heels.

  "Where have you been, Hank?" the voice snaps, making my jaw cringe.

  I turn around, finding the source of the voice. Once my eyes lock onto her, my jaw nearly drops to the floor. Jesus Christ, why can't I look like that?!

  Her long blonde hair flows down her back, the length hanging down her spine from her high set ponytail. The sides of her head are shaved, giving the girl an edgy look that accentuates the dozen or so piercings in her ears and the double silver studs stuck through her bottom lip. She's got to be at least a foot taller than me, her long tanned legs going on for miles.

  The black romper she's dressed in does little to hide her generous curves, especially with the low slits down the sides that shows off a large tattoo that covers most of her rib cage. And why the hell does a woman this tall need to wear six-inch heels? It's overkill if you ask me. Just be happy with what God endowed you with.

  "I've been showing our guest around," Hank tells her, his hand settling against my lower back as he gently pushes me in her direction. Her gaze lands on me, striking blue eyes staring at me through her dark, thick ring of eyeliner.

  "Well hello there!" she exclaims, kneeling to my level with her immaculately manicured black nails pressed against her thighs, "Aren't you the cutest little thing? You can call me Louis. My name's Louisa, but if you call me that, I might just have to murder you."

  I take a step back, my eyes shooting to the mammoth of a man at my side. A slight chuckle creeps from his lips as he looks down at me. My eyes narrow at the woman before me. I'm not a fucking child. Sure, I might be an inch or two past five feet tall, but that's no reason to act the way she is. I can't stand it when someone treats me like a baby....

  "Don't mind Louis here, she's harmless...mostly. Just don't get between her and a plate of nachos. I made that mistake once. Hell, I still have the scar to prove it."

  "I only stabbed you with a plastic fork, Hanky Poo. It could have been a lot worse," she pouts, her thickly glossed lower lip jutted out.

  "Just keep telling yourself what makes you feel better. If you don't remember, Eva put you on your ass for that little fiasco," Hank chuckles before pulling her in for a tight hug.

  His lips kiss the top of her head, such a fatherly exchange for someone who was just complaining about being stabbed. God, these people just keep getting weirder and weirder. I do know one thing. There won't be a dull day in their company.

  "Where's the old hag anyways?" Louis asks, looking around the bar.

  "My wife is at home with our daughter," Hank hisses before playfully shoving her.

  "Well, let her know that we're supposed to be having a meeting tomorrow with the, Big Guy. We can't let him down, now can we?" she tells Hank as they share a look much like he and Sebastian shared earlier.

  Denny's hand on my arms warrants my attention and I look up into his mocha colored eyes. A wide smile's plastered to his face and I know why. The 'Man Whore of the Mississippi' has plenty of eye candy at his new job. No wonder he wants to work here. Hell, Hank's even a not bad looking if you're into older men. Knowing Denny, he's had plenty of 'partners' that could have attended school with the man.

  As if knowing the thoughts fluttering through my mind, Denny places his face next to my ear and whispers, "Just wait till you see Elliot...."

  I shove at his arm playfully, knocking him back a few steps. I take a deep breath, inhaling the stagnant smell of cigarette smoke and booze. I didn't think I would have a good time tonight, but I couldn't be happier about how wrong I was. I haven't had this much fun since....

  "No. Don't you do that. You're not allowed to think about that tonight," Denny scolds me, noticing the single tear that slides down my cheek.

  He pulls me into his arms, his scruffy chin sat atop my head. I fight back the tears that want to flow down my face. It's been so long since I've laughed and carried on a conversation without a care. But, it's bittersweet at the same time. Henry should be here. He would be the center of everyone's attention and have everyone eating from his palm within moments.r />
  A low sob breaks past my lips and I feel an extra set of hands against my back, making me shove closer into Denny's embrace.

  "It will be alright, Macy," Hank whispers, his hands running up and down my spine as I cry into Denny's chest.

  I try to take a clearing breath, but the air sticks inside my throat as a fresh wave of grief washes over me. Denny and Hank whisper comforting words as I shake in their embrace. God, why did I come out tonight? I knew I wasn't ready for this shit, but Denny wouldn't take no for an answer.

  "Why is she crying?" A voice shouts, making a shiver run up my spine.

  I lift my face from Denny's chest, turning around to find the source. A figure looms in the darkness of the hallway beside the bar. I can barely make out his silhouette, but I can tell that this man puts Hank to shame. His head nearly brushes the top of the door frame and his shoulders are just as wide.

  "She's j-just having a h-hard time," Denny stutters, his hands falling to his sides.

  I look up into Denny's face, noticing the pale pallor to his usually tanned cheeks and the bead of sweat that rolls down his neck. I swing around to face the man, my breath stuck in my throat once my eyes land on him. God bless America, he's fucking gorgeous.

  Icy blue eyes stare into mine from his face that's nearly directly above mine. His long, luscious chestnut locks hang loose across his shoulders, nearly touching my nose. He looks like he's made of nothing other than muscle piled onto of muscle. Yet, I can't break eye contact with his frozen gaze. It's pulling me in like a moth to a flame.

  "Macy, this is my boss, Elliot. He owns the place," Denny whispers from behind me.

  Elliot reaches out, his fingers softer than cotton as he brushes the tears from my cheek. I can't contain the gasp that pushes past my lips as a sharp, electrical pulse flows from his fingertips and into my flushed cheek.

  "I have to go!" I blurt out, ripping myself from his touch as my feet carry me to the front door of the bar.

  I glance back to Denny, mouthing my apology before taking off out the open door. This is too much. I can't....