The Lore

Copyright 2019 Dee Garcia **UNEDITED CONTENT - Originally posted October 2019 as a 'Booking Out Besties Exclusive**


Hook

♫ This is Halloween - Marilyn Manson ♫


We shouldn’t be here.

Not with a silent, uncooperative Wendy Darlington locked in the dungeon back home.

But the brood promised they’d handle her in our absence and I needed to get Tinksley away from her for a few days. She’s been expelling far too much energy on the wench, too much rage. Not that I can blame her when all she wants is answers, but I’ve seen that Fae side emerge one too many times, and I’m worried its constant presence will eventually trigger the urges she’s intent on subduing.

So we’ve crossed the portal to London once more, on Halloween no less, a human tradition I’ve had to regale my little pixie with. She hadn’t a clue of its existence, obviously; Rosewood doesn’t celebrate anything of this nature. 

What’s awed her most? How many people dress up as our kind.

“I’ve seen at least six people walk past us with bloodied chins and ridiculous-looking fangs,” she exhorts, almost offended, as we amble down the sidewalk amidst children and adults alike.

“Typical vampire costume,” I chuckle. “You should see their television shows and movies. It’s hysterical.”

“Seriously? Are they really that clueless?”

“I told you, we’re nothing more than a lore. Sure, there’s hard-core enthusiasts who claim to be one of us and those who become obsessed with tracking us down to prove the world wrong, but for the most part, we’re simply a chilling tale in their history.”

Tinksley rolls her eyes at another “vampire” who strolls past her, hissing like a feral cat. “I’d be interested to see how they’d react if they actually came face to face with us.”

“Why don’t we find out?” I suggest, waggling my brows as those bright, ocean eyes of hers snap up toward me. 

“What are you saying?”

“Look around you, everyone’s dressed up. We’d blend right in…”

“But we don’t look like them,” she counters, lowering her voice as a trio of scantily-clad “witches” loom closer behind us. 

Shrugging, I reach for her hand and lace our fingers together. “Not every costume is the same. Besides, you’ve got one of the more common looks down in that damned outfit anyway. Just need a little blood dripping down your chin and I’d say you’re set.”

Her brow quirks at my commentary. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Nothing, you look perfect to me. It’s just ironically similar to how these mortals choose to portray vampires.” Music, laughter, and various renditions of “Trick or Treat” ring out around us as I greedily take her in.

I wasn’t lying when I said she looks amazing. She does, tantalizingly so. The all-black look suits her these days, from the pin straight hair and smokey make-up to the permanent markings trickling down her arms. All the darkness brings out the aqua in her eyes, too.

But if I notice it, you can bet your ass everyone within five feet of her does as well. The corset hugging her small frame juts out her tits in a delicious yet maddening fashion. Maddening for me because every idiot who stalks past us can’t help himself from ogling her. In fact, they can’t seem to help themselves enough the first time around that they have to look back and take a second look.

At her pert little ass.

In these obscenely tight leather pants.

Like I said, coincidentally the perfect outfit for our night out, but that doesn’t cancel out the fact that I’m gritting my jaw every block or so to refrain from ripping their throats out.

I’m glaring at one right now, daring him to make a move when a squeeze to my hand brings me back. “You really want to do this?” she questions.

“Why not?” Our stares meet. “It’d be fun. Might even get a few drinks out of it, if you catch my drift.”

The veins beneath her eyes ripple at the mere mention of a proper drink, lips parting as her fangs begin elongating of their own accord.

“Exactly.” I smirk devilishly. “If there were ever a night to expose ourselves, tonight is it, baby girl.”

Tinksley offers a smirk of her own, darkened features returning to normalcy. “You’re just asking for trouble tonight, Captain, aren’t you?”

“Considering I quite like you and trouble in the same scenario—yes, I am.”

And trouble it would indeed turn out to be, but I wouldn’t know that just yet...

Twenty minutes later, we’re immersed in a sea of guised bodies. The festivities are a much larger affair than what I was anticipating based off the conversation I’d overheard in the hotel’s lobby. They made it sound like a casual pub gathering dripping in a Halloween motif. 

This, however, is anything but. 

The location itself is massive—a vast lot filled with tall warehouses, each one with its metal doors rolled opened, allowing people to flow through from one space to the next. Music blares, bonfires scattered around the exterior blaze. Chatter and laughter ring about, too, drinks of all kinds passed around as bodies writhe to the beat.

Tinksley’s intrigued to say the least, gaze tracking everything in our path. 

“Shall we have a drink?” I propose, winding an arm around her shoulders.

“Here?” She eyes me dubiously, prompting me to laugh.

“Not that type of drink.”

Ohhh, I see what you mean. Well, there is plenty to go around, apparently. What do you suggest?”

“Something sealed for sure. Who knows what the other stuff has been spiked with.”

Locking our hands together, she spins free from my embrace and yanks me toward one of the many tables littering the grounds. “Take your pick, Cap.”

There’s bowls of brightly colored liquids, beer bottles and cans strewn on ice, opened bottles of vodka, tequila, and rum...and a singular bottle of whiskey. It’s sealed and unattended, which means, now it’s mine. I snatch it off the table with a quick hand, shaking the bottle in Tinksley’s face. “Looks like whiskey’s on the menu tonight.”

She wrinkles her nose and reaches for two plastic red cups near one of the bowls. “Never had it.”

“First time for everything, baby. I’ll warn you, though, this shit is strong. Sip it, don’t chug,” I advise, pouring a good three fingers worth in her cup.

Nodding, she lifts the cup to her lips and takes an instructed sip as I bring the bottle to my own and indulge in a long swig.

“Why do you get to drink from the bottle?”

The sass in her tone coaxes a grin. “Experience.”

“Experience, huh?” Her stare bounces between me and the cup, back and forth several times before she downs it.

All of it

Tossing her head back until not a drop remains.

My jaw drops but I’m not so much as given the chance to answer. One second we’re beside the table and the next we’re weaving in and out through the crowd to the makeshift dance floor. The bottles taken from me, pried into her possession, and I literally do nothing about it. 

I can’t.

I should, considering she’s not drank much hard liquor in her life—if any at all—but goddamn, the way she’s rolling her ass against me in tandem with the beat…I’m useless to do anything except hold her in place and follow along with her movements.

This was what I wanted anyway. For her to let loose and have some fun, free her mind from all things Wendy and Pan.

Reaching back, her arm clamps around my neck, pulling me closer. “I’m feeling it already,” she admits, taking another swig.

“I’m not surprised.” I nuzzle her neck. “I told you it was strong.”

“Keep doing that and we’re going to have to leave, Captain.”

“You started it,” I remind her, fangs grazing the smooth column.

Tinksley shivers against me, angling her head aside as she rolls into me once more. “Go on, do it,” she teases.

“Not here.” I want to, probably can given how dark it is but—

The bottle hits the ground, shattering upon impact. We’re off again, only this time we don’t splice through the masses. Tinksley flashes us to a dark alcove between the buildings, away from prying eyes. 

Shoving me roughly into the brickwork, she’s on me before I can blink. Our lips crash, teeth scraping as she coaxes me open with that wicked little tongue.

That wicked, drunk, little tongue.

The lingering trace of whiskey is so potent, I feel myself growing more intoxicated by the second. I’ll be as blasted as she is by the time we make it off the lot.

“Told you,” she mumbles, fingers raking through my dark mane.

“Told me what?”

“You were asking for trouble.”

“No one told you to chug whiskey, love. You did that all on your own,” I point out, hands slithering down her figure to the swell of her ass.

“And you like it, so hush.”

“And you know what we like? Money,” a deep, muffled voice booms.

Tinksley’s pulled off me sheer seconds later, trapped in a headlock. Her assailant, a man sporting a creepily smiling mask, lifts a bloodied blade to her neck, his men looming closely behind him.

“Give us what you got,” he orders.

My queen eyes me steadily, giving a subtle nod of assurance. One that bubbles a chuckle deep in my throat. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I tell the man.

“Yeah?” He cocks his head to one side. “And why is that, mate?”

“Because monsters roam free tonight.”

He laughs, his masked men laugh, too. “Does this look like a goddamn joke to you? I have a blade to your girl’s neck, for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m not afraid of blades,” Tinksley coos, prompting the man to laugh louder.

“You should be, love. I could slit your—”

“The only one who should be afraid here is you.” A split-second—that’s all it takes for her to slip free and flip the switch.

She transcends her vampiric form, unleashing the Fae in all its glory with a vicious snarl. Blackened eyes, veins rippling beneath, her fangs elongate, nails sharpening to a more lethal degree than the blade in his grasp. 

The same blade that falls to the ground as a round of gasps resound around us. “What the fuck!” they shout in unison, making way to flee.

I guess money isn’t so important anymore.

Tinksley’s assailant retreats, intent on catching up with his buddies, but he never makes it. I’m flashing before him, blocking his escape as my own features shift. “Eh, eh, eh—going so soon?”

Wide, fearful eyes take note of my fangs. “What the fuck are you?”

“Monsters,” Tinksley answers, creeping up behind him. One of her long claws traces the curve of his neck. “We told you they roam free tonight.”

“I’m sorry!” the man cries. “I’m sorry!”

“Yeah,” I agree, vision rimmed in a bright crimson. “You sure will be.”

13 views

©2020 Dee Garcia