She hates the stares.
It's obvious in the way her fingers flex against the guitar strings like she's itching to strangle someone. And yet, she swallows the room's venom like a seasoned politician—chin high, gaze steady, a faint smirk pulling at her lips. the sort of calm that doesn't belong to someone like a girl who became a barmaid on her vacation. Not here. Not in this cesspit of predators who've scented blood and are circling like wolves.
I tilt my head, intrigued despite myself.
The barmaid—I only know her as Mel—clears her throat. The sound isn't loud, but it cuts through the drunken cacophony, silencing it. Then, without ceremony, her fingers sweep across the guitar strings.
A single chord hums out, low and smooth, and the crowd ripples with a collective ooooh. A sound that promises they've just stumbled upon something unexpected. Dangerous, even.
And then she speaks.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," she begins, her husky voice riding the microphone like a whip across the room. I'm startled. Hell, the mic itself seems startled. She grins, wide and wicked, and for a moment I wonder if she's exorcising demons or summoning them.
Maybe both.
Get out. She chased me out on that day like she was exorcising me.
"You asked for this," she purrs, her tone flirtatious but edged with warning.
"Go on, Mel!" Vespera howls from the corner, already drunk enough to think she's part of the show.
Mel taps the guitar in a three-count, her eyes hooded, her posture relaxed. Too relaxed. The first chord follows, rolling through the room like a cat's purr—low, steady, deliberate. It's the sound of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.
"What the..." I hear Zevrin mumbling.
And then she sings.
The first lyric slams into me like a fist, stopping my breath mid-sip.
"Beneath the lantern's somber glow,
Where shadows stretch and cold winds blow,"
The words slice through me, too close to secrets better left buried. I lean toward Zevrin. "Find out everything about this creature," I murmur. He frowns but nods. He senses it too—the danger wrapped in her honeyed voice.
"A demon walked with eyes aflame,
Bound by chains of sin and shame."
It's not just a song. It's a spell that wraps itself around the room like smoke, creeping into the cracks of every soul present. The drunken mob that was ready to shred her apart a moment ago is now dazed drunk on her, transfixed. As if she's not a barmaid but a high priestess, and they're all acolytes begging for absolution.
I glance at her face, studying her as she sings. She scans the crowd casually, her gaze briefly brushing mine before slipping away. Her expression is unreadable, her voice steady as she continues.
"Oh, love that binds the sinner's heart,
Turns rust to gold, a brand-new start.
A demon's curse, now cast away,
For love has made the devil pray."
The words claw at something buried deep. Too deep. A place I'd rather not touch. But the strangest part? The lyrics—those cursed, forbidden, delicate words—they're familiar. Private. Intimate. They're mine. Or at least they should be.
How in the name of the old gods does this girl—this nobody—know something that only me ever knew?
She doesn't complete the song deliberately asking for me to hunt her down.
As the final chord fades into a whisper, the room falls silent. The spell doesn't break—it lingers, stretching thin like spider silk. Some stare at her with tears on their cheeks. Creatures who haven't felt anything real in decades.
People like her are dangerous.
"Bravo, darling! Bravo!" Vespera cries, clapping wildly. Others follow suit, roaring for more.
"Wow…" Zevrin takes a deep breath. "that was new," He says, still frowning. Then, with his signature bluntness, "Is she a whore or what?"
"She isn't, I asked her," I reply, and he looks at me, his eyes saying it all. My mouth is dry, and I reach for my drink, only to realize I've forgotten it again. I am thirsty and it's too much damn explosives for one night.
The crowd chants for an encore, but Mel refuses. "I don't get paid enough for this," she mutters into the mic, her tone light and teasing. Still, I catch the flicker of something heavier in her eyes. And then, she looks at me.
Her gaze stops—lingers—just long enough to make my spine stiffen. Her brow quirks, a silent question I can quite read. I force myself to look past her, pretending I don't give a fuck if she sings or barks. I always look beyond topsiders anyway.
She recognizes me which is very appreciated.
But before further into the game we're playing, someone yanks her off the stage. Roughly.
I half-rise from my seat, instinctively reaching for my blade. Here I thought she and her virtue survive for a day. Some thug, no doubt. Pervy bastard must've—
No. I'm wrong.
The thug isn't a thug at all. It's Daniella. The Ice Queen herself.
She's tearing up, of all things, her normally perfect mask cracked wide open. Her hands clutch Mel's shoulders, shaking her like she's trying to wring answers out of her. Mel, for her part, looks completely blindsided, all wide eyes and stiff limbs. The crowd murmurs, restless.
Finn Leonhart, Daniella's loyal shadow, is struggling to control the crowd, his usual smug grin replaced with a clenched jaw. He's distracted, too busy calming the masses to notice his queen unraveling before our eyes. "Mel! It's you—it's really you," Daniella sobs, pulling the barmaid into a desperate hug.
The barmaid freezes, her composure slipping. She waits for a heartbeat, maybe two. Her iron wall of fakeness vanishes at Danny's touch, before driving her knee into Daniella's stomach in a blink of an eye. The Ice Queen crumples, gasping, and Mel stumbles backward, clearly shaken.
Her lovesick is gone, instead, it is replaced by pure disgust as if the high ladies seeing a bug from miles away. At the very least, I can guess that a lot of people have tried to touch the barmaid causing her current unfriendly manner. She is ready to kill Daniella.
"The hell is wrong with her?" She asks Vespera who has no clue about a thing just like everyone else in the room irritate dripping from her words. What a temper she has.
"Now that's a show," I say but Zevrin ever the serious is worried.
"She's lost her mind," He comments dryly looking at Danny. Finally, Finn comes to hold her asking who in the devil did this to her.
He doesn't believe that Mel did it. Well, I also might not if I were not to witness it. Daniella is broken, lost and it is my first time seeing her like this. Maybe they are soulmates and broke the mate bond early in their affair.
I should stop reading those nonsense novels to my cat.
Zevrin frowns standing up and looking at the door like a dog smells something out of the blue, perking his ears. "We need to go," He says.
"Oh no, we don't," I say chuckling. The show is just getting interesting.
"Killion," He growls scolding me, but I drink. "We wait,"
As soon as I say that I hear a veil from outside which causes Zevrin to worked up again. His hands go to his blades behind him as the muffled voices get clearer.
The door flew open, slamming against the wall so hard. A man burst in, his eyes wide, nose bleeding. "The guards," he rasps, barely getting the words out before his knees buckled.
Chaos blooming behind him.
"Imperial guards! Massacre!" He yells at the top of her lungs like a freak. "They're killing everyone!"
He doesn't come further as a gun butt slams on his head.