~Zaire~

Zaire waved away Colette before she reached his table. She was one of the more flirtatious waitresses of The Den, and she was always pestering him by trying to take his order. At least she'd managed to wait an hour this time, rather than risk his irritation by swarming him the second he sat down. He didn't need to order anything, and he rarely did. He didn't like to choke down mortal food just to keep up appearances. It tasted like ash to him - though, he seemed to be an exception, since many of the Fae patrons appeared to enjoy the mortal meals, regardless of the fact that they didn't need  to eat it. Dark Fae fed on emotions, namely the more potent ones like fear and fury. Zaire didn't mind snacking on lust as a dessert - it was a dark feeling with a sweet flavor, like a fine chocolate - so occasionally, he allowed Colette's hovering. But most of the time, he just wanted to be left alone. He could draw off anyone who passed close enough to his vicinity, so he didn't need the waitress to lean over his table, trying to flaunt her bust. Besides, he was sated by the disappointment she felt when he shooed her away without a glance. It tasted a little salty, but he wasn't feeling picky. He just wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet, and read a book. It was an old tome he'd read before, but he found comfort in stories he was familiar with. 

Suddenly, he couldn't concentrate on the words on the page. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, causing his spine to stiffen. A flood of emotions burst on his tongue. His eyes tore away from the script to see where it had come from. It was such a strange combination of flavors, it was hard to discern. Relief and joy, laced with a deep, cloying hunger. Positive emotions typically left him with a buzzing tingle in his mouth that made him uncomfortable - he didn't enjoy them. But that fucking hunger was bitter enough to make him want to spit. And even though he had not been particularly hungry, the feeling was so strong it tainted his own. Now, he felt famished, even though he wasn't, and that annoyed him. 

Who the fuck -

There was a girl sitting at a table a few feet away, with her back turned to him. She was sobbing as Maggie tried to console her. Maggie looked helpless and worried, so he easily surmised that the girl was training to be a waitress. Maggie didn't get that look on her face unless she was training a girl she was afraid was about to quit. And so many had "quit" lately, since the Fae who frequented this part of the city had become more recklessly ravenous. Maggie was desperate for one to stick around. Her emotions were mild and easy to dismiss - not to mention, she was further away from him than the crying girl.

Zaire grit his teeth against the urge to spit and lit a cigarette instead, to try and dull the intensity of the taste. Now, he was wishing he had ordered a coffee from Colette. He forced his eyes to return to his book as he called out to Maggie,

"Break the new girl already, Mag?"

In his periphery, he could see Maggie's hands plant on her hips, and she fixed him with a haughty glare. She was one of the longest-running employees, and one of the few who knew what he was - what most of the patrons were. She had the Sight, and it was a rare ability for a mortal to have these days. Usually those born with the Sight get picked off for noticing too much. One had to be pretty good at pretending not to see through glamours to live to middle age. The mortals who weren't born with the Sight but could see through glamours were those who had been Marked by their Fae mates. Maggie was born that way, though, and it was impressive, to say the least, that she was clever enough to survive working in The Den for a decade without being killed for it. 

"I didn't mean to!" Maggie huffed at him. "Can I get you something to eat, sweetie?" Maggie asked the girl, softening her gaze when she looked down at her. 

Zaire heard the girl sniffle, and saw her head nod, her long brunette hair swishing against her back with the movement. "Y-yes, I'm sorry." 

Ugh. He could taste the regret and embarrassment. It was sour and chalky. He pushed his chair back from his table a couple inches to get further away. Why were her emotions so strong? It seemed a tad excessive, and it bothered him. He could ignore a raging bar-fight between Fae - who, by far, had more volatile, intense emotions than mortals. But this little hungry girl was biting his tongue with her feelings. Fucking order some food already, he wanted to yell at her.

It took all he had to stare at the words on the page and block out the sound of Maggie taking her order. When Maggie left, a tiny trickle of fear slid over his taste buds. He was grateful for it, because that was a flavor that tended to dominate most others, and it helped to wash away some of the nasty ones. He cursed himself for wondering what she was afraid of. What did it matter to him? He just wanted her to eat something, so she would stop shoving that bitterness down this throat. 

"Here you go, Dessa," Maggie said, as she returned with a platter of steaming roast and potatoes. "Let me know when you're done, and we'll finish your training."

"Thank you so much, Maggie," the Dessa girl told her. "I was starving!"

Maggie nodded, giving her a sugary "You're welcome," and retreated back to the kitchen. She was completely unaware of the unsettling truth in the girl's admission. The girl was actually  starving, not just giving a cheeky exaggeration. He knew, because the hunger tasted horrible, and he wanted none of it. Fucking mortals with their fragile, little shells - withering with ease. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't exactly fair. If he was locked in a cell with an emotionally-devoid Light Fae, he would wither away until he wished  that he was mortal enough to die from it. 

Zaire stifled a sigh of relief when only a few bites seemed to make her feel full, and the bitterness in his mouth receded. Thank God, the miserable little mortal would stop grating on his nerves. He went back to read his book, but he was far too aware of the brunette in front of him. Now that he'd fucking gorged  himself on her emotions that she'd practically force-fed him, he felt over-sensitized. He willed himself to slam the figurative window shut, blocking out the emotions around him, now that they were mild enough to do so. He didn't have to close himself off to them very often, but if he fed on anymore, he would be sick to his stomach. He could feel his shadows writhing under his skin - the overabundance of energy was making it hard to hold his glamour. The darkness inside wanted to come out and play, like a child hopped up on too much sugar. 

Now that he was closed off, he could relax a bit. He should  relax. He could keep his shadows at bay. It wasn't allowed to drop a glamour in The Den, and he'd never even gotten close to dropping it inside before. He wasn't about to do it now, especially over some mortal girl who couldn't keep her damnable emotions in check. The Den was his only solace, his sanctuary. Since he'd rejected the Dark Court, he wasn't welcome among them. He couldn't say that he missed the other Dark Fae who had resented how powerful he'd become, especially the ones who were in the inner circle that were afraid he would overthrow the King and Queen. 

Zaire knew that he could if he wanted to, and they knew it, too, so they despised him. And as greedy and egotistical as the Fae typically are, they refused to believe that he didn't want  the goddamn throne. The only thing he did miss about the Dark Court was the library he'd practically grown up in. The precious volumes it contained meant more to him than all the Dark Fae combined. The library in The Den was like a home-away-from-home, and The Den itself reminded him a lot of the Dark Court palace. He supposed that was what Talon had been going for when he'd had it built. Talon was another Dark Court reject, though he'd never deigned to tell Zaire his story of how that came to be. He was centuries old, and he was wise enough to keep his secrets, and Zaire respected him for it. Zaire wasn't going around running his mouth to anyone, either. 

A faction of the Dark Court treated Zaire like a celebrity, like they were so sure he'd eventually rule, and thus bring balance to the Court. It wasn't natural for the Dark Court to have both a King and a Queen. The King had taken the madness a step further by marrying a Solitary Fae with no affinity or affiliation. Making a Queen out of a Fae that wasn't Dark, especially one with such little magical ability, made the Dark Court look weak. Aside from that, being that she wasn't Dark, or his mate, she also had no actual right to the throne. It was one big farce, and made the King look like a foolish romantic who was easily swayed by a woman with very little power. Altogether, it was  a selfish act that weakened the Dark Court, but Zaire couldn't care less about it. He just wanted to live his life in solitude, not rule the Dark. He had enough trouble ruling his own shadows, and avoiding the Mark. Not many Dark Fae still possessed shadows, and Zaire's shadows were stronger than any other Dark Fae he'd ever come across. They were hard enough to keep contained, and if he was stupid enough to touch the wrong mortal or Fae with his bare skin, he would risk being bound to them. There was no way to truly know who he was fated to be bound to, so he avoided touching anyone. He didn't want to Mark someone, or be Marked. He preferred being alone, and aside from that, his shadows would only grow stronger once he was bound to the other half of his soul. It had nothing  to do with the fact that he'd rather not worry about half of his soul putting itself in danger, or getting itself killed and taking him with it. If he was yet to be bound to his mate, then he could continue to pretend that they didn't exist, and worry only about himself. So long as they weren't bound, their lives weren't dependent on each other, and he planned for it to stay that way. 

Some Dark and Light Fae didn't have mates somewhere wandering around the world, waiting for them. They were born complete, and that was a rarity that Zaire was certain he wasn't lucky enough to be. He always knew he had a mate out there, even if he didn't want them to exist. He could feel the absence inside, where his soul had been split down the middle and given to another. He'd felt the sudden, overwhelming grief in his heart that told him each time his fated mate had died, only to be reincarnated in another vessel, still waiting to complete him. It had happened two or three times already, and each time felt worse than the last. He felt guilty for refusing to look for them, letting them go their whole lives without binding with him, only for the cycle to repeat itself. But he was more than happy to ignore those feelings. He wore leather gloves at almost all times, and shirked away from any misguided touches. Most of those who had  touched his bare skin were already Marked and bound, so there wasn't a worry of them belonging to him. Just passing touches as one would with a friend, but he remembered every instance. Maybe because he craved the skin-on-skin contact. 

It was possible to be starved from lack of touch, especially for a Dark Fae - they were typically very sexual creatures compared to the insufferable Light. The only ones who he'd allowed to touch his bare skin that weren't already Marked and bound, were Solitary Fae. He would occasionally tangle in the bed with Solitaries to curb his desires, but that was only because they had no chance of being a mate for the Light or  the Dark Fae. They were hardly Fae at all, but not quite mortal either. They were inbetweens, and most Fae didn't trust them, since they don't belong to a Court. Zaire didn't trust Solitary Fae, himself, but he would let them warm his bed every decade or so, to remind himself what it felt like to not be afraid of touching someone's skin, of letting someone touch his. He remembered those entanglements with a vivid clarity as well, though he didn't look back on those trysts with fondness like he did with the moments that Marked individuals he'd known and trusted offered him friendly, innocent contact. There was nothing to taint those memories. Sleeping with Solitary Fae as a powerful Dark Fae was shameful and borderline disgusting. It showed his standards were ridiculously low, and that didn't sit well with his conscience. But he'd take that shame on the nose to avoid accidentally binding himself to his mate. He wasn't taking that risk just to enjoy sex.

Suddenly, Zaire was painfully aware that the Dessa girl must have turned in her seat to look at him, and it broke him free of his thoughts. He refused to look up from his book, but he could feel her eyes studying him for a moment too long. 

What the fuck do you want? Shouldn't you be getting back to work? Break's over.

He didn't dare to study her  appearance - he didn't care what she looked like or what she thought of the male she was looking at.

Leave me alone, little hungry girl. I've no need of you, or your attention.