Blind Shark Tavern Novels & Stories

They were no longer just visitors; they were the source of a new, irresistible current of greed. They found a small, secluded tea house in a quieter corner of the market to wait. The tea was a strange, smoky brew that made the nerves tingle. It was there that the first shark came swimming. He was a Goblin, dressed in a gaudy, pinstriped suit, with a smile that showed too many needle-sharp teeth. He sidled up to their table, a reek of cheap cologne and desperation wafting from him.

"I shouldn't go shark diving while on my period? Don't be ridiculous! Great white sharks rarely attack humans, and we're never part of their diet! You're just jealous I have a better body, and get this—not even the gods can stop me from going in the water!" I shuddered as I listened to Heidi Sands' blasphemous rant. She was one of Larry Shaw's so-called bros. The same Larry who married into my family. The day after the wedding, we were going on our honeymoon when Heidi showed up with their usual clique, urging Larry to go shark diving with them near a desert island.

“Mr. Tutti is in the group. Keep it civil.” The group quickly came alive with Marco posting a self-mocking emoji. “Here comes Juliana with her inspection.” Marco was a family associate—young, single, and working under Luca. Juliana chimed in. “Time for inspection. I want to make sure the ladies aren’t slacking off. Send pics of your progress.” So as not to embarrass Matteo, I took a photo of the prepped ingredients and sent it over. “Lamb chops, beef, skewers, and seafood.”

I let out a soft sigh and navigated through the thick scent of pine, musk, and sweet berry wine toward the large black-stone serving bar. I spotted an empty corner with five high wooden stools. It was strange that the section was totally bare while the rest of the tavern area was completely packed with wolves, almost as if the entire pack knew to stay away from it. "Young female, you cannot sit there," the bartender barked as I went to rest my legs. "That table is strictly reserved for the owner of the Nightfang Citadel." "Oh, my mistake," I mumbled, starting to pull back. "Leave her be, Omari," a deep, chillingly familiar voice rumbled from the shadows behind me.

Titus remained impassive as he strode into The Dark Life. "What happened? Where's Sif?" he asked the bartender. The bartender's legs were trembling as he stammered, "I-I don't know, Mr. Lionheart. All I remembered was her meeting with the South Sea Crow, and then I fell unconscious. She was gone when I woke up." Titus' eyes narrowed, clearly infuriated by the bartender's panicked recounting. His family owned The Dark Life, but there were no official ties as Titus himself set up this place. They would use it to assign missions to Blackrank individuals, and it was an exceedingly secure spot.

That way, they would not be threatened with being thrown into the ocean as shark bait. Jamie grinned evilly and snapped his fingers. Instantly, a waiter pushed through the door with a tray filled with different bottles of alcohol, including red wine, white wine, and all sorts of cocktails.

Kimberly complained as they had just disembarked from the Ferris wheel. "Do you want something to eat?" Kimberly nodded quickly. "I want seafood; I'm tired of bread and meat." Nicholas took a deep breath, thinking for a moment about which restaurant to visit, considering it was getting late, and Kimberly needed to take her medicine soon. "I know, now get in the car quickly. I'll take you to the restaurant you want." A 15-minute drive later, they arrived at Barner's Tavern, a luxurious restaurant known for its special dishes like squid risotto and crispy fried calamari, which were very famous in London.

Rain swallowed the city. It poured like it had a grudge blurring headlights, veiling streets, turning every surface into glass. Isolde’s coat clung to her shoulders, soaked despite the canopy she ducked under near the service entrance of The Silhouette, a dive bar known for its silence, anonymity, and one ex-journalist who owed Dorian Blackthorn his life. She adjusted the scarf across her mouth and stepped inside. Low lighting. Jazz bleeding through vintage speakers. A lone bartender polishing a glass with the absent focus of someone waiting for trouble. Good.

Walking around the bar, he assessed where the Black Devil Spitfire had sent the two pirate toms when he spoke the words "to where you belong." Jinx had briefly explained this was his bar, The Mousetrap - a speakeasy and home of illegal games of chance that law enforcement turned a blind eye to thanks to Hades - before fucking off with his Demon behind a secret door. That was it. No further explanation. No suggestion of where to sleep but the Orangelo was very distracted. They could talk after some breakfast. Wandering in the storeroom, Priest found a coffee pot. He couldn't remember the last time he had coffee. It was hard to get on the high seas.