Unwilling participation

Glass hitting the bar empty for the... who knows how many times that night, Seron signalled the barmaid for another. She raised her eyes – again he’d lost count at how many times she’d done that – but came over and began to pour. She leant against the bar with her bare elbow, hair scrunched up into a bun, and smiled at him.

“Hon, how are you still standing? You’ve done almost the full bottle by yourself!”

Seron smirked back, all confidence. Not usual, for him.

“Well, love, it appears I have more tenacity than it looks. Maybe this time you’ll join me for one?”

Now he knew barmaids flirted, appreciated that men were pigs who hit on anything that moved. But this felt a little different. He’d caught her looks as he sat alone, ranging from curiosity to admiration, to a little bit of ‘what the fuck’ as he necked yet another full glass of her finest top shelf whisky.

“What d'ya say?” he said, not even the slightest slur in his voice. But her gaze had hardened. He followed where it led and saw the reason he was here. The friend he’d loved since the moment he met him, going nose to nose with the biggest guy in the room as per. Fucking little man syndrome, always messing up Seron’s chances in life. He sighed.

“I’ll sort it. Raincheck?”

But she looked stonily ahead. It was her domain, and as usual two wannabe alpha males were ruining a night that sustained her livelihood. One more sigh and he scraped the stool back, throwing a wad of cash on the bar that covered not only the full bottle, but whatever would happen next. In his periphery, he caught her eyes widen as she snatched the amount, and heard her protesting that it was too much as he began to stalk away.

His friend always had to ruin it. Dancing around all night, dominating all of the attention. Using that attention for either good or bad. Fighting for his ego. Flirting with every group that went by, male or female. Seron just wanted a quiet drink, but apparently being the sidekick of a dickhead came with little perks. He got closer just as the absolute unit of a man threw his friend to the ground, and he stepped between them.

“It seems everyone here has had a little too much to drink my good man. How about I buy you guys a drink and take this idiot out of the way and call it quits?” he reasoned. Just as the ‘s’ from the word ‘quits’ left his mouth, the muscle bound monster hit him with a right hook, straight in the mouth. He covered his lips, feeling the taste of blood on his gums as they split, his blood pressure rising so his ears pounded with the beat of his heart. He bared his teeth from behind his hand and rose.

With a smile.

“Nice hit, mate. Now, I’m going to pick up my friend behind me and leave the bar. But the sucker punch just cost you your drinks,” he said, restraining the anger that had reared its head. A flash of fear crossed the attackers face, his eyes going wide and his neck flaring. Not many people would notice that, but Seron did. He was good at that.

“Yeah, well. Wouldn’t want a drink off you mutts anyway,” the man grumbled, turning his back on them and revealing some sort of a symbol on a leather jacket. A biker, then. He hated those petrol headed fuckers. But he put on his best plastic grin, and grabbed Ivan off the ground, enduring the sneers off the leather-clad smug twats. Nodding apology to his damsel, he cemented her look of resignation in his mind as he strode through the door, the burly bald bouncer burning holes in the side of his head. Another meathead who churned inside. Why was it every male with a few muscles thought he was Rocky fucking Balboa? But he left, Ivan murmuring in his ear.

“You could’ve taken them all, Seron. Why do you insist on being the fucking gentleman every time?” he said. Then noisily threw up in the gutter in the street. Seron hailed a black cab, and was met by a look of disgust by no other than five of them. Looks like they were walking home, as usual. He groaned.

It was going to be a long night.

****************

Chase bellowed a laugh as he swung the bar door open, seeing one of his friends try his luck with the barmaid for the fifth time. She hadn’t had eyes for anyone except that little weirdo he’d floored earlier, but Pete still tried.

“Come on, boys. Better places than this dump anyway,” Chade yelled over his shoulder, causing them all to move quickly. They listened to him, the son of the patriarch of the Bombers bike gang. Whether they wanted to or not, they didn’t want to face the repercussions. He liked the power. Liked that nobody would say no to him. Maybe he’d go for that barmaid by himself later; She wouldn’t say no either. He heard the door slam shut behind him and turned, ready to storm back in and demand obedience. But he froze. Then laughed.

“You! What the fuck are you doing back here?” he laughed, choking on his mirth. The emo looking fucker didn’t even blanch, so Chase took a step closer. And froze in an emotion he didn’t usual feel.

Fear.

“Bikers, always thinking they run the joint. Thinking daddy protects them, and their henchmen can stop any consequences,” the man hissed. Chase doubled down, he wouldn’t be scared of this bar-hanging creep.

“If you don’t want to go down holding your mouth again, boy, you’ll jog on back to whatever pit you came from. I won’t ask you again!”

“You forget, biker,” the man said, his voice dangerously low. “In this town, there is always someone bigger. Someone who will be out for blood. Unluckily for you, I love the taste of fear in a bloodstream.”

Chase took a step back, legs feeling like jelly as he saw the truth. The reason the man hid his mouth. The reason he didn’t react in a bar full of people. The reason he was about to die.

He tried to scream but the thing moved lightning fast, ripping back his head and sinking it’s teeth into his neck. The scream became a gurgle as blood ran down his throat, then was dragged out through his artery before it went any further. His hands slapped furiously, then weakly, then barely. Until his vision went black and his body went limp. The man let Chase drop, proud of the night’s work, though disturbed at his lack of restraint. But for the first time in almost five years.

Seron Blackheart had fed.