Rogue Spirits Sunset Bar Novels & Stories

I went to a small, windowless bar on the edge of the neutral zone, a place where the air was thick with the smell of cheap cigars and the kind of desperation you can only find in men who have been cast out of their packs. I pushed through the swinging doors, the bell chiming a lonely, metallic note. The room went silent. Every eye—rogues, exiles, and mercenaries—settled on me. They knew who I was. And they knew I had no pack to protect me. I walked to the bar and sat down. The bartender, a scarred old Beta named Grog, didn't offer a drink. He just slid a dirty glass of rye across the wood. "Heard you lost your crown, Wolfe," Grog said, his voice a low rasp.

Escape seems impossible. It can’t be though. I won’t allow us to end like this. Once everyone is settled, Sebastian walks to the front of the circle near Lance. “Thank you everyone for coming out tonight,” he beams, allowing his smile to fall upon each member of the pack. “We have a wonderful wedding ceremony planned for everyone to enjoy, but first we have to take a moment to dispose of this rouge.” The pack cheers and I’d like to kill them all. Lance doesn’t react.

I haven’t felt this good in weeks. Tristan is telling some story about a rogue bear he chased last month. Maddox is laughing at Jax’s failed attempt at flirting with a human bartender a night ago. It feels like old times, back when life was simple, and we could goof around without the weight of our current responsibilities. Everyone is complaining about not making it to my wedding, so I pacify them by allowing them to throw me a bachelor party the next time we’re together again. Soon, Audrey appears with a tray of cocktails—something bright and citrusy that she named “winter sunrises,” garnished with sugared cranberries. I had asked her to have someone bring us a few beers, and she promised

some dirty jobs could only be done by rogues. The night carried on without much of a hit. there was never a moment where a patron's glass was empty, the snack bar was always replenished and the music did not stop playing. As usual, the wolves got rowdy now and then and some were dragged out. Eutychus would find himself etched between Omegas who would sensually grind themselves on him as they swayed and moved with the music. without knowing his eyes would meet with Isadora.

I was between sets, sitting at the bar with a water (we weren't allowed to drink on shift, and I wouldn't have anyway — control mattered too much), when one of the floor hosts caught my eye and tilted her head toward the VIP section. Problem. I sighed, downed my water, and headed over. The VIP section was three booths roped off with velvet, reserved for the big spenders who wanted bottle service and the illusion of exclusivity. Tonight, one of those booths held a group of four guys — finance bros, by the look of them, loud and drunk and riding the high of someone's bonus or promotion or whatever excuse men like that used to act like assholes. And in the middle of them was Jade.

It’s clear from what I’m wearing and my overall style that I don’t belong here, and I stick out like a sore thumb. The bar is dimly lit, with neon signs flickering on the walls in shades of red, blue, and green. All of them say Rogue. They cast strange shadows across the room, making everything look a little distorted, a little off. Strange. The scent of leather, sweat, and cheap beer fills the air, along with the constant low hum of conversation, broken by the occasional rough laugh or clink of glasses. They’re everywhere, these men. I don’t spot a woman anywhere.

he says slowly, “we could talk again. Somewhere quieter. No yelling mothers.” I should say no. I should finish my drink and walk out. Instead, I nod. “One more time.” His eyebrows lift. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” I say. “But next time, you tell me more. Or I am done.” “When,” he asks. “Soon,” I say, sliding off the stool. “I will text you.” He frowns. “You do not have my number.” I smirk and tap his phone, face up on the bar. “You are really bad at being mysterious. Let's meet here. Same time tomorrow. Right now, I've gotta get home.”

Allen, who was still writing his final notes, turned to them with a frown. “No alcohol,” he repeated sternly. The room went quiet for a second. “Mocktails,” Max corrected quickly, like a schoolboy caught sneaking candy. “We’ll get him mocktails. Promise!” That evening, the trio walked into a cozy bar just outside the city. The place had soft lighting, mellow music, and a quiet crowd. Max and Felix were true to their word. They ordered a round of Sunset Blush—a fruity, tangy mocktail with pineapple, cranberry, and a hint of lime.

All four of us pulled into The Wayward Tap’s parking lot. The front door was propped open and the biggest of the three rogues was leaning against the outside of the building, smoking. All of us backed up to the door so we could easily load the alcohol in. I got out, followed by the rest of the guys. Nate bounded up to the rogue, chatting with him. Dean raised an eyebrow but I shrugged. The female rogue, or Solaris, walked out smiling. “We will need to take a look, see what you guys want.”

I said quietly and they nodded in response. Another pair of eyes followed our movements and I could hear the pants and wild heartbeat of the rogues. Well, as long as we stick to my advice nothing will go wrong—“ What. The. Fuck?” Millicent whisper yelled. My eyes followed to what they were all looking at. The sight before us was stomach wrenching and very disturbing. Two rogues feasting on another rogue. Cannibalism. “ What should we do now?” Millicent asked. Nobody had the guts to move as the sight was petrifying beyond anything. In a whisper Felix said to the group, “ We can still get through. But we have to be very careful”.