Thea Harrison - Oracle's Moon

Grace didn’t see any Light Fae. Perhaps the owner was in another room, or he might be at the other location. Grace couldn’t remember what his name was, but she would bet he was wealthy enough that he didn’t have to work on a Saturday night if he didn’t want to.

Further down the bar, she noticed a male Vampyre. Like most Vampyres, he was attractive, although somewhat di-sheveled. He leaned against the bar as two humans, one male and one female, hung off his shoulders. All three were flushed and looked inebriated.

Grace’s forehead wrinkled. Either they were all on a date, she guessed, or the Vampyre was a bottom-feeder. A few Vampyres couldn’t give up drinking. Vampyres couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol through direct consumption, but they could if they drank from intoxicated humans. Nicknamed bottom-feeders, they trolled bars and looked for willing participants, offering to buy drinks in return for sips of the humans’ blood in a kind of quid pro quo.

Usually they found no lack of willing participants, as drinking increased the sense of euphoria caused by a Vampyre’s bite—or so Grace had heard. As long as the humans were of legal drinking age, the transaction was entirely legal, although it could get dangerous. Continuing to drink on top of blood loss also increased the effects of intoxication for a human, and if a Vampyre grew impaired, he lost his ability to gauge when to stop feeding.

She shook her head at the sight of the trio, turned away and shouted at Khalil, “I want to go to the bar and ask if they’re still serving food.”

“As you wish,” he said. That was when she noticed how rigid he had become. His expression had turned stony again, and his eyes blazed with a brilliant, sharp-edged light.

She paused, staring up at him. She had no idea what Khalil was thinking. Djinn are Powerful and unpredictable , Brandon had said. They make folk nervous. Shoving that unwelcome thought aside, she asked Khalil, “Are you okay?”

He had been surveying the room, his mouth tight. His gaze came down to her. “Do not trouble yourself with concern over me,” he said. “Order your food.”

“All right,” she said. She glanced around again. “I didn’t think about how hard it might be to find a place to sit on a Saturday night.”

“I will locate a seat,” Khalil said shortly.

She hesitated again, searching his expression. Finally she said, “We don’t have to stay, if you don’t like it here.”

That brought his gaze back to her. “This place is…an adjustment,” he said. “And I am still adjusting. I will let you know if I need to leave.”

“All right.” She sighed. Apparently this venture was not going so well. What else had she expected from a goddamn ridiculous date? But her stomach was so empty, the hunger pains felt like they were shooting through to her spine. Maybe she could grab a quick sandwich, and then they could leave.

Khalil strode through the crowd. His height and natural arrogance were such that people automatically moved out of his way. Feeling much less effective, she wiggled her way through the crowd and actually managed to reach the bar.

Two bartenders were working hard. She waved as one whisked past her to deliver tall mugs of foaming beer at one end. She waved again as he passed, this time carrying a tray of empty dirty glasses. He gave no sign of acknowledging her presence, and she scowled.

Over the sound system, one song ended, and another one by the same band began. It must be Rolling Stones night. The raucous lyrics pounded in her eardrums.

Someone came up behind her, his body brushing against her back. She stiffened, already aware that it wasn’t Khalil even as she began to turn. A low voice said in her ear, “Hello, darlin’. Lemme buy you a drink.”

She cast a leery glance over her shoulder. A handsome male smiled down at her. His eyes were glazed. Ugh. It was the bottom-feeder. “I’m with someone,” she said, loudly enough to be heard over the music. “And he’s going to be right back.”

The Vampyre said, “I’ll buy ’im a drink too. We kin all have a party. I’ll s’ply the likker.” He leaned forward confidingly. “Know what the best thing is about being me?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” Grace said.

“The high we can all get is entirely legit, ’n for you guys it’s free. You’re welcome.” He braced a hand on the bar, effectively trapping her with his body, as he looked her up and down. “Shew,” said the Vampyre, his southern accent slurred. He swayed. “Yer all dressed up like a garden. I’d love to pick yer flowers.”

Grace dropped her head over her hands and groaned as she leaned against the bar in an effort to get away from him. She said, “I cannot believe you just said that to me.”

“You smell good too.” The Vampyre dropped his nose into her hair and sniffed noisily. “Kinda like watermelon. I think. I dunno, it’s been so long since I’ve eaten food, I forget.”

Ugh! She twisted around and shoved at him. It was like trying to shift a planted tree. “Seriously? My companion isn’t friendly. You need to go away now.”

He grabbed at her hands. “Anybody ever tell you, yer so purty you could make a dead man come?”

She stared at him in shocked affront. “ The hell did you just say to me?!”

At the same time, one of the bartenders yelled, “Earl! Don’t make me come after you. Back the truck up, buddy, or I’m tossing you out!”

“C’mon, it was just a joke. Don’t you get it?” With a sloppy grin, the Vampyre shuffled back a step. He pointed at one of the speakers. “Vampyre—Rolling Stones—the end of ‘Start Me Up’? A joke’s no good if you gotta explain—”

Two massive hands clamped down on the Vampyre’s shoulders. Grace looked past the Vampyre to Khalil’s furious face. The renegade angel was gone, replaced by an expression of such glittering malice, Grace knew things were not going to go well for Earl in the near future.

“I’m not going to get any dinner,” she said to the man next to her at the bar.

The man didn’t respond, probably because he didn’t hear her. He was too busy staring along with the rest of the bar, as Khalil took the Vampyre by the back of the neck and belt, lifted him overhead, twisted and threw him through the arched doorway, across two rooms. The Vampyre struck the brick wall with a crack that was audible even over the blaring music. He disappeared as he slid to the floor. Conversation stopped.

A nearby woman said huskily, “Someone get that guy a superhero costume with really tight tights.”

Yes, Grace thought, as she stared at Khalil. He is magnificent. And he seems so much bigger when he’s enraged.

And this has got to be the most cursed date in the history of…ever.

The commotion began. Where the Vampyre had fallen, a growl sounded, and a wave of people scrambled back, like a wave rippling outward. Khalil smiled a calamitous smile. His hair had slipped out of the leather tie again and fell about his face. He looked entirely anarchic. He strode forward.

Grace turned back to the bar as the sounds of destruction began. “Do I have to do anything about this?” she asked herself. “I don’t think so. This isn’t one of my problems.”

She saw a bowl filled with peanuts and popcorn nearby and pulled it toward her. If only she could reach that bottle of beer, sitting on the counter behind the bar. It wasn’t what she normally liked to drink, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She stood on tiptoe and strained, and managed to hook her two longest fingers around the bottle. She wiggled it her way. Then she dug in her purse, found a ten-dollar bill and dropped it on the counter.

Behind her, chaos spread. When she looked over her shoulder, people appeared divided into two groups, those that pushed for the door, and those that moved toward the chaos. Either the second group thought they could help in some way, or they were going to join in the fight. Some of them, no doubt, were touching Khalil without his permission. None of them had realized what Khalil really was. If they had, they would all be racing for the door.