I turned to him fully, studying his features. His strong build. His light-brown hair. And?—
The mole beneath his right ear.
The street vendor’s description snapped into place, and my pulse spiked.
This couldn’t be Tristan… could it? That would be too easy. Too convenient.
I narrowed my eyes and turned away, unwilling to let him bait me.
He sneered, his expression reminding me of the aging gladiators I used to see in the arena—those who knew their days were numbered, their bitterness twisting into something mean.
Then he laughed, low and mocking. “You are stupid, aren’t you?”
The barkeep slid two frosted mugs across the counter, amber liquid sloshing against the glass. I lifted one to my lips and took a long swig.
Quite good.
As I set the mug down, movement to my right caught my attention. A woman approached the bar, her jaw working noisily as she chewed on something, a strange snapping sound coming from her mouth.
The muddy-blond-haired man beside me smirked and called out to her. “Hey, Diane. Stop eye-fucking the idiot and give me a blow job like usual.”
I had no idea what eye-fucking or blow job meant, but from the tone of his voice, it wasn’t flattering.
I turned to him, my expression cooling. “Don’t speak to her like that. Act like a gentleman.”
Muddy-Blond let out a sharp laugh. “Man, you are a hoot, getting all up in my business. ‘Don’t speak to her like that. Act like a gentleman.’” He mimicked my voice with an exaggerated British accent before turning to the woman. “Can you believe this guy, Di?”
Diane sidled closer to me, her lips curling in amusement. A pink bubble formed between them, popping with a soft snap. She ran her tongue over the remnants of residue before continuing to chew.
“Maybe he’s right,” she mused, tapping a finger against my jaw. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk to me that way.”
Her hand trailed up, tracing the curve of my ear.
I caught her wrist and gently pushed it away. She reminded me of Severus’ whores—women who flitted from one man to the next, seeking favor, offering their bodies like currency. I had no interest.
“Please,” I reiterated. “I don’t wish to partake.”
Muddy-Blond burst into laughter, slapping his knee like I had just told the greatest joke in the world. “Did you hear that? He doesn’t wish to partake, Di.”
His smirk twisted into something cruel as he leaned in, his breath sour with alcohol. “She ain’t nothing but a slut. You can do whatever you like to her. Only she’s spoken for tonight, got it?”
My grip on the mug tightened. “Even a woman of the night deserves respect,” I said as I pushed him away.
He rocked to the side as if his body had melted into something loose and boneless.
The man reeked of stale sweat, alcohol, and the unmistakable stench of someone who hadn’t washed in weeks.
“Whoa,” he slurred, swaying in his seat. “I’m more fucked up than I thought.”
He managed to straighten, then turned back to Diane with a leer. “Hey, cunt. Get over here and crouch between my legs. You can suck my dick while I and Mr. Fancy Pants have ourselves a little talk about manners and such.”
That was it. I’d had enough of this fucking piece of shit.
I rose, towering over him. “I don’t think you heard me the first time. Don’t speak to her like that. Act like a gentleman.”
Muddy-Blond swayed as he pushed to his feet, his glazed eyes trying to focus on me.
The barkeep wiped his hands on a rag and sighed. “Alright, I think you’ve had enough to drink.”
