~Zaire~

Ignoring the trepidation of possibly running into that infernal mortal again, Zaire seamed his way back to the city. He wasn't going to let a weak little human stop him from going through with his daily visit to The Den. As he walked through the foyer, the hostess was busy checking reservations for a patron, and he could taste Lola's lust for Talon as he passed by. He rolled his eyes at her pallid face that displayed that she had just left his office after bloodletting for him. What a silly mortal, assuming that Talon asked it of her for some sexual kink. Talon just had an aversion for biting through flesh to sate his bloodthirst, and preferred to have the blood given freely through IV a few times a week. The silly hostess was none the wiser, and clearly felt special that Talon would request it of her, though she was unaware that every hostess he chose to serve as his tap was a temporary fix, and she was simply one in a long line of many that he had chosen over the years. Zaire strode straight to the books, and picked one of the older ones before taking a seat at his usual table. He had barely read three pages before Lola sauntered over to him.

"Mr. Talon would like you to meet with you in his office," Lola told him, with a curtsy in greeting.

Zaire stifled a groan as he glared at her, closing his book. He wanted to tell her that Talon could fuck right off. What the hell did he want now? But he stood, leaving the book on the table reluctantly. Without a word to the hostess, and without waiting for her to lead the way, Zaire stomped his way back through the foyer and down the hall to Talon's office. He used the knocker to bang on the door once. As if he was waiting just on the other side, Talon opened the door only two seconds after, and the smell of freshly-drawn blood wafted in Zaire's face.

"Zaire, how nice of you to join me," Talon gestured for him to enter as he went to his cocktail table in the corner of his office. As always, Zaire appreciated that Talon called him by his true name, rather than Pathos - the nickname his cynical, atrocious mother had found humorous and fitting for him, that had caught on with far too many of the Dark Court Fae.

Zaire only grunted as he shut the door behind him. Talon was pouring himself a wine glass of the deep-red liquid, filling it well past the level that was classy or appropriate.

"Care for a drink?" Talon offered, moving to pour some from the IV bag without waiting for Zaire to answer.

Zaire twitched as he denied the courteous but frustrating offer, "No, thank you."

Talon stilled just before readying the second glass, and flicked him a disapproving glance.

"Still abstaining, I see?" Talon inquired with exasperation. "What a bore."

Zaire scoffed in reply. Fresh, warm blood was an intoxicating elixir for Dark Fae, and not partaking was the act of one that wished to be sober. Boring, indeed. But as much as Zaire would enjoy giving in to the temptation, it wasn't prudent for him. He guessed that it was a lot like addiction was for mortals. The longer that one experienced cessation of the drug, the easier it was to deny the craving. But the second that one yielded to it, the addiction would rear its ugly head back to the forefront of the mind. He had long pushed away the feeling of withdrawal, and the fanciful need for tasting blood was mental at this point, rather than physical.

When Talon said nothing, only leaning against his desk as he took a long sip from his glass, Zaire sighed, accepting that he would need to be the one to ask what Talon had called him back for.

"What do you want?" Zaire twitched again as he voiced the question, when Talon gave an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction once he swallowed.

Talon's deep blue eyes twinkled with mirth at his discomfort, and he smiled like a man who had secrets that regarded Zaire specifically, which made him even more uneasy.

"Anything bothering you, my friend?" Talon asked facetiously.

Besides the fucking fresh blood being dangled in front of him?

"Just you," Zaire scowled, folding his arms over his chest to display his impatience.

Talon laughed, obviously well aware that Zaire was lying by the taste of his emotions. He was clearly bothered by many things at the moment, and Talon's ribbing was only an addition to his frustrations.

"Nothing new ruffling your feathers?" Talon prodded, once he subdued himself, and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"What are you getting at?" Zaire snapped, very much able to tell that Talon was probing for something specific that was irritating him - likely something that Talon was purposely scheming to get a rise out of him.

The man was always trying to push his buttons in some way or another. Like an annoying older brother who enjoyed pissing him off as a form of entertainment. Zaire was used to his shenanigans by now, but it didn't keep his feathers  from ruffling,  anyway. Talon shrugged, taking another sip from his glass.

"Just wondering," Talon smirked with a knowing gleam in his eye, and Zaire could taste his amusement growing more potent. "Do let me know if anything's amiss." He said it in a way that made it sound like he had misplaced something of Zaire's to befuddle him, hiding it in plain sight because it gave him a laugh to do so, and he was just waiting for Zaire to find it. Talon downed the rest of his glass, and sat it on the cocktail table. "That is all."

"Great," Zaire huffed, eager to get back to his book. "I'll be sure to let you know, you conniving fucker."

https://youtu.be/mEfKooMunLI

Zaire flashed him a smirk of his own, and Talon grinned in return. Zaire knew his little games, and Talon enjoyed the repartee of someone he saw as his equal. Maybe more than an equal, as Talon firmly told Zaire on many occasions how much he would prefer to see him on the throne, ruling the Dark Court - to which he always argued adamantly against. Talon believed him to be the best fit, and Zaire supposed that it would serve Talon's interests to have an in  with the new King, should Zaire actually consider claiming the title. Talon refused to serve the current powers that be, yet it was obvious that he missed the Court. Although the reasons that most of the dissenters who objected to the King and Queen were fair, Zaire suspected that Talon had his own reasons he didn't care to confess, even to his closest confidante.

Returning to his table, Zaire tried not to stew on Talon's unscrupulous intents behind the meeting. It was evident that he was checking in with Zaire, to touch base on whatever impish plan he had laid out for him. He was doubtless that he would inevitably figure it out when the situation presented itself. He read for an hour or so, before he was assaulted by that bitterness that let him know that the new waitress was near. Fucking hell. It was somehow more bitter than the day before! He glanced up to see the girl delivering a platter of food a couple tables away. His shadows bristled with excitement and he cursed them silently for it.

She was wearing the appropriate attire, and her waist was so small fastened into the corset that he could snap her in two with a flick of his fingers. He tore his eyes away from her and focused on the page, unable to read a single word with her so near. Again, he wanted to spit - that disgusting taste was so sharp on his tongue. As if she were drawn to him by some unholy curse, she approached his table. He refused to spare her a glance. Her nervousness slid over his taste buds in a way that made him feel itchy. Once she was beside him within arm's reach, his shadows squirmed violently, and he went rigid.

"Um, do I know you from somewhere?"

Without looking up from his book, he shook his head, his jaw clenching against that bitterness that was so much stronger with her that close to him. He lit a cigarette, hoping the smoke would send her away, but she lingered.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry. I thought - "

"Coffee," Zaire abruptly interjected. "Have Colette bring it to me. Not you."

The girl stammered, and took a step back. He could taste the hurt she felt from his abrasiveness and dismissal. It was a much nicer taste than her hunger, but it did little to cleanse his palette. She apologized again and retreated. Just like the day before, as she moved away from his proximity, his shadows tore after her like they were screaming, come back!  And he yanked them under his skin angrily.

Are you fucking serious?!

He didn't even have a moment to enjoy that bitterness receding once she was gone. His traitorous fucking shadows! Colette was overflowing with elation when she brought him a coffee, clearly tickled that he had asked for her specifically to serve him. Her excitement buzzed in his mouth, annoying the hell out of him. He decided to twist that shit into something more enjoyable for him, even if it encouraged her to pester him more. When she placed the coffee in front of him, he sat his book down and looked her in the eyes.

"Colette, dear," Zaire gave her a sultry croon, "Would you spare me a moment, and have a seat with me?"

Colette's mood instantly shifted into that dark, milk-chocolate lust as she quickly sat down across from him.

"I would love to!" Colette purred, with her best attempt at a seductive smile.

"You're looking especially tasty tonight," Zaire buttered her up, laying it on as thick as honey. "Do you have a man to warm your bed this evening?"

Colette fanned herself with her hand, her lust deepening on his tongue, and he resisted the urge to smile from the relief the taste gave him. His shadows didn't rustle at all in her  presence.

"No, I - " Colette licked her lips and twirled a curl around her finger. "Would you be interested in that sort of thing?"

Zaire chuckled darkly after taking a long pull from his cigarette and blew the smoke in her face. "I just might be."

She stifled a cough behind her hand, her eyes widening. He wasn't interested at all. He just wanted her to feel like he was, and he knew that she would not be put out by the fact that he wouldn't follow through - not enough to give him the cold shoulder, at least. She was as desperate as she was flagrant with her sexuality, and again, Zaire wasn't fond of easy pickings. He wouldn't chase her if she was buck-ass naked and painted with blood, but she didn't need to know that.

. . .

The hungry girl gave him a wide berth, fortunately, after his chat with Colette, and he was able to read his book in peace. He enjoyed his reading in relative solitude, and only when the "cleaning crew" came in for closing did he feel the need to leave. The little mortal kept her distance the entire night, and he hadn't allowed her presence to force him out. When she catered to nearby tables, he took greedy drinks from his coffee, and lit a cigarette to block out the taste, keeping a tight hold on his shadows so they would have no leniency to misbehave with her coming and going - now that he knew that it wasn't just a one-time thing for them to rebel for a taste of her. It was tiresome, but manageable. As he went to put his book back on the shelf, he saw the girl heading to the dressing room with Maggie and another waitress to change.

Even despite his tight reigns on his shadows, his own urge to follow her consumed him again. What the hell - just this once, Zaire decided. Maybe if he did it this one time, the nagging impulse would go away. He had no plans to chase, but he would allow himself to follow her - if only to indulge the ridiculous craving. He could feel Colette's lust drawing nearer to him, and since he wasn't going to oblige it, he quickly made his exit through the foyer. As soon as he was outside of The Den, he dropped his glamour. Since there was no need to conceal himself from other Fae, he didn't shroud himself with his shadows. They were awfully petulant from his unyielding grip on them throughout the evening, and he wasn't going to grant them any leeway until he was back in Faerie. He leaned against a nearby street lamp in wait, closing himself off to the emotions around him, so he wouldn't be offended by the girl's bitterness as he followed her. It expended quite a bit of energy to vault himself, since he had already used so much energy forcing his shadows under his skin for hours. He watched as Colette emerged, looking right and left, looking disappointed that she didn't see him waiting to take her to bed.

Too bad. I'm sure you'll find a more willing participant to roll in your sheets.

The next to leave was Maggie, who looked less exhausted than she did most nights. Perhaps the new waitress was competent enough to take the load off her shoulders today. She flicked a glance his way, clearly seeing him loitering. She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged in response. She had never seen him linger after closing, and was obviously questioning his extended presence. She narrowed her eyes at him with suspicion but carried on. He felt chagrined that he was waiting for the hungry girl, but not enough to change his mind. He wasn't going to do anything to the miserable little mortal. Nina and her sister came out next, their steps a little wobbly. They must have skimmed some drinks from the bar again. Unwise to do so in this district, but they had survived this long, so surely they had someone substantial to drive them home each night.

After about ten minutes, the girl finally came out, holding a to-go box. She fiddled with something on her phone before putting it in her pocket. Even without the ability to taste her emotions since he was closed off, he could visibly see her fear. It looked good enough to eat, but he wasn't going to open himself up for a taste. Fear was one of the best flavors and would surely overpower the bitter notes, but he was unwilling to give in to that temptation. He was already indulging his desire to follow her. It would do no good to rile up the shadows, as it was their favorite flavor as well. And like he had thought earlier in Talon's office, as with any good thing, a taste would only make one crave more.

He waited for her to walk halfway down the block, and just as he was about to go after her, he froze. One of the men from the  "cleaning crew" was already following her.

"The fuck?" Zaire muttered under his breath.

The cleaning crew were the only Fae that worked at The Den, and aside from the actual cleaning they did, they were Talon's right-hand men that he entrusted to do his dirty work. Which meant that Talon was protecting  this girl. But why? The easy assumption would be that he was tired of replacing waitresses right and left, and finally decided to send a man to bodyguard their exits, thus preventing any patrons of his from snacking on the poor things after closing. But that answer was too  easy, and none of the other waitresses appeared to have been shadowed by one of his men. What made the hungry girl special? Fighting the urge to growl, he followed her and  the Fae male that was evidently assigned to protect her from any would-be attackers.

As he trailed behind them, he realized this girl was walking home. A foolish choice for a weak little thing like her, in this dangerous area. Did she really have no one who would bother to pick her up after work? How insufferable was this mortal, that no one  cared to escort her home? Except of course, someone who was incentivized to do so by Talon. He had half a mind to shroud himself just to get close enough to the male to ask him why the hell Talon was so worried about this one getting home alive. But it was highly likely that the crewman was not told the reasoning behind his task - as they performed their duties without question, so it would be useless to request the information.

It made following her less fun, Zaire admitted to himself begrudgingly. If not for her Fae bodyguard, he could be right behind her without her even knowing. But the Fae would sense him as soon as he got too close to his vicinity, so he had to keep a safe distance, and that was irritating. Possibly more irritating than ignoring the impulse to follow her altogether, he decided, after an hour of walking. Why was he still doing it? He didn't have a fucking answer for that, but he followed her all the way home anyway.