Warlock Ch 1. The Night It All Began
Damian's hands moved effortlessly between glassware, shakers, and bottles behind the bar. He was a twenty-three years old man, tall, dark blue haired and athletic. People were drawn to Damian because of his natural presence. He was a tough but friendly bartender who could keep the rowdier customers in line with a glance and win over regulars with a smile and a few well-chosen jokes.
The usual mix of locals looking for a break from the busy metropolis, college students, and office professionals filled the pub tonight. Damian thrived in the chaos, finding a rhythm between orders and banter.
"Another round for table five, D!" one of the waitresses called out, sliding him a ticket.
"On it," Damian said, taking a few pints and pouring them as he was taught on the weirder side of cream without any head. A swift nod and he dismissed them, choosing a table near the bar.
He was quick to clean the counter as something—or more like someone caught his attention. He glanced up as the pub's door opened and such an attractive woman strolled in. His gaze lingered longer to her than Damian had intended. There was a mysterious aura surrounding her, the one that got people thinking 'Did I…just end up in someone else's story?'
Her dark hair fell over her shoulders. She wasn't dressed like the usual crowd either—there was something about her that screamed otherworldly. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, scanned the room before locking onto him.
'Great. Just what I need. Trouble in heels,' he thought.
She approached him.
Quickly, Damian straightened and slung the bar rag over his shoulder. He couldn't quite place it, but he felt a weird tug in her direction. She walked with purpose, as though every action had been prearranged before she entered the pub, as if she found what she was looking for.
Leaning slightly on the counter, she came to a stop in front of him. "What do you recommend?" she asked in a quiet but firm voice.
A smile tugged at the corner of Damian's lips as he lifted an eyebrow. "It depends. It appears that you appreciate a little mystery. What about a Manhattan? Traditional, but with a modern twist."
"A twist, huh?" She studied him for a moment, her eyes flicking over his broad shoulders, the way his shirt strained just slightly at the sleeves. "I think I'll trust your instincts."
He chuckled. "You're either really confident or really dangerous."
"Maybe both," she replied with a smirk.
He started mixing the drink. His mind raced. There was something off about her, but in a way that made him more curious than cautious. Maybe it was the way she seemed to glide through the pub as if the noise and people didn't affect her at all. Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't just another customer looking for a drink.
"So," he began, sliding the finished Manhattan toward her, "what brings you to this bar tonight? You don't exactly seem like a regular."
She took a sip of the drink, her eyes never leaving his. "Let's just say I was… drawn here."
Damian's eyebrow shot up again. "Drawn here, huh? To me, or to the bar?" he joked.
"Maybe a little bit of both." She set the glass down, her fingers tracing the rim. "I have a sense for places where something interesting is about to happen."
"You think something interesting is going to happen tonight?" Damian leaned against the bar, folding his arms over his chest. His muscles tensed a little under his shirt, not from aggression but from something else—anticipation. There was definitely more to this woman than she was letting on.
"Yes, I'm counting on it," she responded, looking down at his hands for a moment before returning her gaze to his. "You're not like the others here."
"Is that a good thing?" Damian asked, attempting to maintain a pleasant tone.
"I suppose we'll find out," she said cryptically.
Damian felt the conversation shift, as if he were on the verge of something he didn't quite grasp. His instincts urged him to be vigilant, but his curiosity, combined with a weird sense of attraction, left him anchored in place.
"So," he began, changing the subject slightly, "you got a name, or do I just keep calling you 'Trouble' in my head?"
The woman's chuckle was gentle and melodious. "Evelyn," she said, giving him a wicked look. "But 'Trouble' works too."
"Evelyn," he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. "Nice to meet you. I'm Damian."
Her eyes flashed briefly, almost like she recognized the name, but the moment passed quickly. "Nice to meet you, Damian."
Before he could say anything else, the pub door flew open, and two rough-looking men entered. They scanned the room with an intensity that made Damian nervous. Something about their presence signaled danger, and Damian noticed Evelyn tense slightly.
"Friends of yours?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
"Not exactly," she murmured, her tone darker now.
The men made a beeline for the bar, their eyes locking onto Evelyn like predators sizing up their prey. Damian's grip tightened on the bar as they approached.
"Evelyn," one of them growled, his voice rough and menacing. "You've been causing a lot of problems for our people. It's time to settle up."
'Our people?' Damian didn't know what was happening, but he knew trouble when he saw it. And right now, Evelyn was neck-deep in it.
She stood her ground, her expression unreadable. "This isn't the place for your threats," she said calmly.
One of the men slammed his hand on the bar, leaning in closer. "We don't care about the place."
Damian's protective instincts kicked in. "Hey, if you're looking for a fight, this isn't the place for that either."
The man turned toward Damian, sizing him up. "Stay out of this, bartender. This doesn't concern you."
Damian smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "See, that's where you're wrong. You mess with my customers, it becomes my business."
For a moment, the air seemed to thicken. Damian could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through his veins. He could feel the heat rising from inside of him. It was a weird sensation. A new thing for him.
He had no idea what Evelyn had gotten herself into, but one thing was clear, he wasn't going to let these guys hurt her. It was weird since he usually stayed out of trouble, but this time he chose to take it.
Evelyn glanced at him, her eyes softening for a split second before she turned her attention back to the men. "You really want to do this here?" she asked, her voice low, almost daring them.
The thug closest to her smirked. "We don't care about where. We just care about our business."
Before Damian even had a second to think, the guy lunged forward, his hand reaching for Evelyn. His instinct kicked in. Damian was already vaulting over the bar, moving faster than he had time to realize. He grabbed the guy's wrist, twisting it with enough force to make the thug yelp and release his grip.
"Whoa, buddy," Damian said, pushing the thug back with enough pressure to send him stumbling. "You don't want to go that route."
The guy looked shocked. "Impossible…" he whispered in disbelief as if Damian just did something remarkable. "He is just a normal human..."
Damian frowned. 'What is he talking about? Is he drunk?'
The second guy was on him in an instant, swinging a fist at Damian's face. Damian ducked just in time, the fist grazing past his hair. Without missing a beat, Damian drove his shoulder into the guy's chest, sending him crashing into a nearby table. Glasses shattered, and the pub went quiet, all eyes on the sudden brawl.
Damian spun back to the first thug, who was already recovering, snarling like a cornered animal. He came to Damian again, and this time, Damian was ready. He dodged the punch and countered with a quick jab to the guy's stomach. The thug doubled over, gasping for air.
"Stay down," Damian growled, his voice rougher than usual, adrenaline coursing through him.
The second thug groaned from his position on the floor, slowly picking himself up, but Damian gave him a look that told him trying again would be a mistake. "You want some more?" Damian asked, his fists still clenched, his muscles tensing, ready to finish what they started.
The second guy raised his hands in surrender, backing away slowly. The first thug, still clutching his stomach, glared at Damian but didn't make another move.
"You're making a mistake," the thug wheezed, his face twisted in pain. "You don't know who you're messing with."
Damian snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm not the one limping out of here, am I?"