Page 13 of The Call of Crimson
Here, one could find someone to warm their bed, dispose of their enemy, or, like me, simply fill their cup.
Bodies drape across chairs and cushions in various states of undress and sobriety. I pay them little mind as I weave through them in my journey to the bar.
Taking a seat, I motion toward the male I assume is the barkeep. Red hair, a jagged scar above his right eye, he’s tall and sturdier than someone who works a bar has any right to be. A rag in one hand, glass in the other, he doesn’t seem like someone who should be working here, but who am I to question?
“What’ll it be?” he asks, voice low and melodic, with a lilt I can’t quite place.
“Rum.”
“And will you be drinking alone?”
He’s asking if I’m looking to have other thirsts satiated.
“No,” a familiar voice answers. “He’ll be drinking with me, Cillian.” Elijah settles into the seat beside me.
Cillian raises a brow, but without a word, drops a bottle of rum and two glasses in front of us. As he closes the space between us, I catch a whiff of his scent, which is strangely familiar. I can’t place it, but I know I’ve encountered it before.
“Who gave you the black eye, Elijah? Been a long time since I’ve seen anyone best you.” Cillian says, gesturing to the bruising beneath Elijah’s left eye—the one I gave him last night.
So they know each other, but how? His name scratches at something in the back of my mind.
Elijah flashes a half-smile and tilts his head toward me. “That would be courtesy of Lord Aurelius, here.”
Cillian stiffens, but his pulse remains steady as his eyes narrow. “You know we don’t allow violence in here,” he says coolly. “I suggest you take your business elsewhere.”
“Relax, Cillian. It was a misunderstanding. We have no violent intentions here,” Elijah reassures him, already pouring himself a generous measure of rum.
I take the bottle from him, pouring myself double the amount. The spiced liquor burns and warms as it makes its way down my throat, and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Knowing you,” Cillian muses, pouring his own drink, “you probably deserved it. What did you do? Sleep with his female?”
“Do you really think so little of me?” Elijah scoffs.
“No, I just know you. Wouldn’t be the first time you had a misunderstanding of that nature.”
“You wound me,” Elijah grins, then shrugs. “But yes and no to your question. I was sleeping with hisfemale… just not like you’re insinuating.”
“What other kind of sleeping is there?”
“It was Breyla,” he says simply. “So yes, it really was just sleeping.”
Cillian’s eyes spark in understanding. He knows her.
“And for the record,” I cut in, finishing my glass, “he threw the first punch.”
Cillian’s eyes rake over me, slowly, deliberately. When he reaches mine, he smirks. “So, you’re the one who makes her shadows sing,” he says it matter-of-factly, like he already knows who I am.
My spine stiffens.
“I told him that I had found the one who makes my shadows sing and my heart beat faster.”Breyla had said those exact words the night she came back covered in the smell of others. The night before everything had shattered.
“You,” I growl, realizing precisely who this male is.
He smirks at me, all smug confidence. “Cillian. King of the Midnight Brotherhood. At your service.”
So this is him.
This is the only male who might have once held a piece of Breyla’s heart. Even if I know it’s no longer his, the anger flares hot in my chest.
