THE VELVET FANG

SERAPHINA

I slid a blood-slicked glass across the counter, pretending the loud music of The Velvet Fang didn’t still rattle my nerves. Two years in, and it’s still draining my sanity.

The vampire grinned, fangs protruding and poking out of his lower lip. “You sure you’re not on the menu tonight, my love? I can pay whatever price just to taste you.”

I grinned sarcastically and leaned a bit. His eyes immediately dropped down to my chest, peeking a bit from a top I only wore to net bigger tips, then back to my neck. His eyes glimmered red for a second, but they quickly went back to normal.

Then, I whispered, knowing that he’d hear me perfectly. “I hope you choke on that blood.”

The smile on his face disappeared in an instant. He laughed, but the amusement in his voice was replaced with sarcasm.

“Is that how you treat a VIP customer?”

I scoffed at his remark and swirled my finger, gesturing for him to look at the whole place. “Do you even know where you have entered? You’d be at the private lounge by now if you could afford it. Now scram. You’re cut off for the night.”

I moved on to the next customer before he could even let out another complaint, not bothered that he’d try to wreak havoc or something. He could try, but the wards surrounding this place would physically torture him the moment he tried to. The vampire was gone when I glanced in his direction. He probably came back to his table full of overfed leeches. Good.

This is the only neutral zone in the heart of New Xevile City. It is one place where all creatures, humans and supernatural creatures alike, can actually interact without killing each other. I still don’t know how the owner managed to convince the factions to establish such a place, but I don’t really care. I had already escaped the hell of being contained in their bullshit of society and had no intention of going back.

I’d rather serve drinks in this club my entire life than go back in there, dead or alive.

I took the next customers' orders, and my body worked automatically with practiced ease. After all, it wasn’t easy learning to make drinks for all sorts of people.

I gave a silver-edged glass to a twitchy human at the corner booth. We use color coding to prevent mixing up the drinks. One wrong pour and a human could end up convulsing on the floor.

The rest of the population are nearly immortals, so accidentally killing them isn’t a worry, but they’re also really hard to get drunk, so they still notice a lot of stuff. Witches are particularly choosy. It’s annoying, but maybe it’s just my inherent hatred for them. Who knows.

It had taken me almost a year to tolerate their presence, and now, almost two years later, I finally managed to follow a safety routine. I still find many of them intolerable, but I learned to make peace with the fact that not everyone is as awful as the people who hurt me in the past.

In here, I could pretend I was no one. I was just another pretty face mixing and serving drinks. Maybe with a sharper tongue than most, but still forgettable by morning, especially if you’re hammered.

Most of the staff here are the same. Different circumstances, but the same struggles. I still think the owner is a little insane for hiring staff who are emotionally damaged, but maybe he was a genius, too. Many of us have nowhere to go. With that kind of desperation, we can’t really leave as we please.

Scratch that. That bastard, Lucien, definitely knew what he was doing.

The customers eventually lessened a bit. I had the time to clean up, wiping the counter while the other bartender prepared drinks for the remaining people yet to be served. My mind wandered elsewhere.

In a snap, I was back there again… the day I woke up, realizing how awful my abilities could be. I was gasping in pain, still drowned in the scent of wolfsbane, which the witches had overused to keep my wolf weak. The witches lied to that alpha, and by the next morning, she had already passed away, writhing in pain until her physical body couldn’t take it anymore.

They twisted the vision I gave them and told that alpha, I never got to know the name, to stay with her no matter what, when he could have been out to get the cure for her. I cried all day because I knew that she could have been safe. I had seen her alive, smiling, holding his hand as if she hadn’t succumbed to sickness.

Until now, I have no idea why the witches had to lie to him. They don’t tell me a lot in the first place, but it made me realize just how many lives I may have ruined for knowing better. So, when I saw a vision of chaos within their ranks, I had already formulated my plan to escape. I may not be able to see my own future, but I’ve seen enough pieces to put two and two together.

I let it fester, and I ran without looking back when the opportunity came.

I’ve been trapped for five years, and before that, I’ve barely interacted with other people outside of my pack aside from the time I went to school. I didn’t know anyone, and I didn’t know how many others were after someone like me.

I’ve wandered the city with people looking at me weirdly. Of course, my clothes were torn, and I was barefoot. That’s how I caught the interest of the owner of this bar. He was a weird hybrid of a werewolf and a vampire. Hybrids weren’t really unusual, but werewolves and vampires weren’t in a good relationship for so long.

He didn’t ask where I came from, but commented on how my eyes were too old for someone so young. I told him it was what happened when someone had seen too many things she shouldn’t have. Lucian just laughed and offered me the job, anyway.

That’s how Sera was born. Not Seraphina with veiled, cursed eyes, as they call.

Just Sera, a bartender.

“Two duskfire martini,” my co-worker called out, snapping me back into reality.

I resumed working but halted again when I caught a familiar scent. With the amount of people inside and my already dulled senses thanks to several years of torture, I shouldn’t have sensed him… but his face and scent were etched on my memory whether I liked it or not.

I froze mid-pour of the drink I prepared.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Of all the people to find me again, it had to be him. The one I failed. The one whose mate perished because I was too weak to fight. He walked straight in my direction, unaware I was the seer who had failed to save his mate… or does he know?

My mind swirled in confusion. Never in my wildest dreams did I think we would see each other again. What kind of play of fate is this? Did he come here because he recognizes me, maybe out to kill me?

His senses seemed to be stronger than those of other alphas because he knew I was a werewolf then. It’s very possible he knew.

All the questions suddenly bombarding my mind made my head throb, breaking my concentration and my will. Everything that happened that day came rushing into me all over and over again. All the guilt, all the pain. Even that silly fleeting feeling I had before I learned that he was asking for help for his mate.

Before I could decide whether to escape or try to feign ignorance, he was already standing at the end of the bar, looking taller than most. He looked sharper than the first time, and what I thought would be the last time I saw him. His ash-colored hair seemed darker and longer as well. He looked more mature, but it only added to his charm.

But his eyes looked different. It looked dull, as if he was already exhausted with living. I could tell because I see those same eyes when I look in the mirror, worn out and barely holding on.

My heart aches just thinking about what he went through. The grief and pain he could have avoided if only I were strong enough to fight for the truth.

But I wasn’t… and that cost him his everything.

“Hey, I’ll just take a quick bathroom break. I really have to go.”

With my co-worker’s sudden excuse, I was left behind the counter all alone. My eyes followed her, leaving in a hurry while I was internally panicking as I felt his gaze burning at the back of my neck.

With no choice, I pushed myself to calm down and steady my breathing. There’s no guarantee that he recognizes me, and the more I act nervously, the more he’d sense that there’s something wrong.

I gathered my courage and approached him, just like any other customer or stranger who happened to cross my path.

“What’ll it be?” I asked, not even looking at him, and was busy wiping the already clean glass.

He didn’t respond and just stared at me.

I was about to walk away and act like I was letting him have his moment to decide, but he suddenly spoke.

“I’m not here for a drink.” He said with a flat tone, making me let out my infamous dry laughter.

“If you’re not here to drown yourself in alcohol mixed with herbs and whatnots, then you’re in the wrong place. Try upstairs.” I casually offered, “They offer special shows in there.”

I glanced at him when he didn’t budge, and finally, he spoke of his intention.

“They say there’s a seer here. One who does special readings.” He said, looking straight into my eyes, “It’s you. Isn’t it?”