I didn’t come here prepared to act like a?—
My thoughts halt at the words I was about to think, but they are already within my mind, undeniable in how far from my reality they are.
A normal person.
Unexpected pain hits my heart.
It was a dream Striker and I once had.
Another memory returns to me now, even stronger than the memory of huddling within his blanket.
Striker’s lips curving. His arms pulling me close. His amber eyes burning with power. His voice promising me that one day we would sleep far away from the Academy in a bed that belongs to both of us.
He told me he wanted me in his life more than he’d ever wanted anything.
My heart suddenly hammers in my chest.
These memories…
They fuckinghurt.
I shake myself. Hard.Dammit. I don’t have to hurt like this anymore.
I remind myself that the connections with my past have been obliterated, killed by pain and torment, smothered by a view of the world that is black and white. Clarified within the painting of my life.
There is no fear for me here. No haunted past.
My past is over.
I am whole now. I am a Fury.
With that firmly in mind, I resume my path toward the Tavern’s front door. There’s nothing I can do about my attire. It is what it is.
While I pat down my hair, I allow myself a grim smile. I brought my whip. It’s sitting neatly on my right hip.
My best bet is to play the part of a human dominatrix.
Of course, I have no way of knowing if the humans within this Tavern are fully aware of the supernatural world, so for now, I’ll proceed on the basis that they’ll assume I’m human.
As I approach the door, the energy from the vines and flowers painted across the front wall above the windows increases in intensity. Despite the fact that the painting is of greenery, the magic within it doesn’t feel elemental. It feels…old.
I’m also sharply aware of the way the supernaturals in the nearby alleyways focus on me, each one stopping what they were doing to glance in my direction. I wasn’t wrong in my assessment that they were going about their business, but it seems that my approach toward the Tavern has startled them.
I read their thoughts loud and clear, each one similar to the next: They think I have a death wish.
Keeping my guard up, I push open the door and step inside.
A hush instantly falls, a second of quiet that gives me a heartbeat to assess the room and its inhabitants.
A human maître d' stands behind a counter immediately to my left. Human patrons sit at tables situated at regular intervals throughout the space. A bar is located on my far left, behind which stands a bartender. The wall at the back of the large room is painted with the same vines as appear outside the tavern. Within that wall is a door, which is also painted green. The door and the vines painted around it shimmer within my vision, telling me they’re infused with dangerous magic—the kind even I might hesitate to go near.
The humans are all men dressed in suits, eating and drinking in groups.
Or, they were, until I appeared.
They’ve quickly put down their forks and cups, and every single one of them has reached inside their jackets.
I smell the metallic scent of the guns they’re reaching for.
