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“Why’s that, exactly?” I ask him.
And I see tears welling up in his eyes.
“They killed my Gracie,” he says, barely able to speak through the sobs. “Those bastards took her, and there wasn’t even enough to put back in the casket. Drained every ounce of her.”
I channel as much sympathy as I can, given how uncomfortable I feel. Around me, the other customers remain boisterous.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him sincerely.
“Save it!” He snaps. “If you’re dating one of those freaks, whatever you’ve got coming to you, you deserve it!”
He slams his mug down, shattering the glass, then gets up to leave.
The werewolf at the other table, who earlier harassed me, stands up, blocking the man’s path now.
“Is this man bothering you?” He asks, as the man attempts to leave the bar.
I shake my head. He’s dealt with enough already.
“Let him go,” I reply.
The werewolf gets out of the man’s way as he edges through, the drunken man still scowling at me as he pushes open the door. He looks like he could fall over at any moment, and I can’t help but feel pity for him.
I want to ask him how he found out that Caspian and I are dating. Who could have possibly told him that?
A bit of fear wells up in my throat like ice, and I remind myself that it’s probably nothing. I’m just being irrational.
Caspian will protect me. I know how possessive he is, and to some women, that might be a warning sign. But it actually endears me to him, knowing how much he cares for me.
Nothing will happen to me as long as I keep my head down, don’t piss off the wrong shifter, and live through my daily life as normal.
Throughout the night, I catch the werewolf staring at me before he finally leaves. Some men think chivalry alone is enough to win your heart, but my heart, body, soul, mind, and everything in me belongs to another still, and will for the rest of my natural life.
And maybe even beyond that, if Caspian has anything to say about it.
By the end of the night, I’ve had enough. I am mentally exhausted. My body is worn, first from Caspian’s assaults on it, (which I loved) then from wrangling customers and sprinting through my shift all day, rushing from one customer to another. I don’t know how much more I can take.
I move to the kitchen, collecting all my dishes and moving them to the sink, before starting the water. It pours, trickling into the sink, and I start the sanitizer valve.
As I change my attention, pulling my earbuds from my pocket and starting my music, I realize that I had resolved to check the backroom.
“It should only take a minute,” I tell myself. I’m sure that if I hurry, I can get back to the sink in time and catch the sanitizer.
A loud guitar solo blares into my ears, my heartbeat accelerating to the music. I feel like a girl on a mission.
The mission: check the backroom for foul play, looking quickly at the inventory logs to make sure everything lines up. My manager is quick to forgive and quick to fire, but in my gut, I know there must be something else going on.
No, I think. You’re just being paranoid.
My song comes to an end, and I open the heavy metal door to the back stockroom.
True terror overtakes me, as I see men gathered together in the backroom. I collect myself, resolving to tell them that they have to leave, before I watch them draining the man from earlier, who earlier exited the bar.
“Hello love,” a white-haired vampire says, blood dripping from his fangs. “You should really apologize for keeping us waiting.”
I move through my routine in my head, looking for the point where I need to grab to subdue him, but out of the corner of my eye, I see another vampire creep up from behind the door. I feel the sharp prick of a needle on my neck.
My head is woozy, and I’m wobbling, trying to keep myself aloft.
