dark side of the moon

Music pulsed through the air as he trailed through the club. There’d been subtle changes to the place lately, the least of which was the name. The booze remained the same, the faces behind the bar too, even the few faces he could see clearly in the flashing lights that lit the place up neon bright periodically. Maybe the music was a little different but each band that took the stage had their own feel. It was …

Grey gritted his teeth, grimaced faintly as he worked his way through the crowd. It was him that had changed. Something subtle beneath his own feet that had made even the sticky concrete under his feet feel off. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, veering away as he saw a familiar pair of apathetic eyes in the crowd. Been there, done that, absolutely didn’t want a repeat when things were already feeling like they were balancing on a knife edge. One he wanted to snatch up, even if it sliced through his own palm, to drive home in his sister’s throat.

At the tidal edge between the dance floor and the bar area the crowd parted. Jaw still tight, Grey edged his way through. Whatever was playing tonight seemed to have most up on the dance floor for now at least. A couple of stools remained cleared for the minute, islands between chattering couples of singletons still bearing that early Saturday night hopefulness that was only gonna turn to desperation for someone to go home with as the night went on. It’d be thick enough to taste in the air then, bitter on the tongue but all the better for what he might end up needing here.

Blue eyes ticked along the bar as he edged in next to a brunette. As far away in looks from Destiny as it was possible to get. Easier if he was gonna use her the way he had done dozens of others. The darach version of one of those health shots, to build him up, to give him what he needed for the minute Leah decided to poke her ratty head up above the parapet again. Right in his view, just ready for that blade to be driven home.

Grey lifted a hand, grinned at the bartender. She was a redhead, already leaning in close to the brunette to catch whatever it was she ordered. Blue eyes ticked to her as he reached for the menu, watching her shift a couple of steps away to start fumbling her way through putting something together. ”What’re you drinkin’?” One dark brow rose, the corners of his mouth tipping up in a smile brighter than the one he’d used last time he’d played this game. The accent roughened just enough for her to catch it over the thump and grind of the music. As she gave him a second glance, wariness written all over her face Grey set the menu down, both hands came up. Little Mr. Innocent, no threat here, not at the edges of the crowd of barracudas who would’ve eaten her up one way or another before the night was over.

Another of those guileless smiles, a lean in, just a couple of inches. ”Last time I did this it didn’t work out too well. I’m not used to you know … all of this …” He grimaced faintly, tapping his fingers down the menu like the sheer variety was a problem. ”So you know … I ask what people are having … try it out too, no pressure.” There was still that wariness on the woman’s face but she reached out a finger, tapping it an inch above his own with something vaguely smug in her expression. ”A Singapore Sling. They’re pretty good here.” If the bartender wasn’t staring at the bottle in her hand like the label had suddenly been translated into Mandarin.

A low laugh, and Grey was tipping his head. He’d made his fair share of them, alcohol being an easy lure for the customers who would further his business one way or another. People were always susceptible to a drink. ”Sounds exotic … especially for a … you’re a teacher?” A glance down had caught the lanyard peeking from the top of the bag she had settled across her thighs, a dark red, one of the high school’s colours if he wasn’t absolutely confused.

She stiffened at that, her posture going rigid as the hulk who’d slid in next to the bartender to guide her set the drink down in front of her. An instant snap of eyes that had Grey leaning in against the edge of the bar with his eyes narrowed. That came trace of amusement curled his lips as he shook his head. ”No bother, mate.” Another drawl of the accent, lines drawn between him and the long haired neanderthal. ”We were just talkin’. She was recommendin’ another of those.” He lifted his chin towards the glass in front of the woman, the one a ten dollar bill had appeared beside. ”How ‘bout you mix me one up and stop worryin’ about the lady.” An emphasis on the word. Not a girl, woman enough to be teaching at the high school, woman enough to end up with mistletoe in her stomach and a garrot around her throat.

Woman enough to cut and run. Grey saw her gripping the glass and slipping off the stool, not a sideways glance at either one of them. Fuck. Grey gritted his teeth, looking back up at him with his brows rose. ”I guess it’s pretty obvious which one of us she had a problem with. You still wanna get me that drink Fred Flintstone?” His eyes cut past the guy to the redhead behind the bar, his grin growing again as if to say, unless she wanted to do it for him.

Tagged: KIT CLARKE * Word Count: 985

He hadn’t come looking for a fight tonight, although some dark little part of him had wanted it ever since he’d realised the red marks on Destiny’s throat were fingerprints. Picturing his own hands around his sister’s throat, not wanting the distance his abilities gave him to put her under again this time. All too easy a darkness to drown in. Staring in the mirror with his teeth gritted tight enough to bunch muscle like marbles under the skin at the hinge of his jaw Grey had warned himself off of even dipping a toe in. Leah’s time would come, the part of him that denied he’d dipped anything more than a toe into things with Destiny not prepared to wait for long, but it could handle one more night where he pushed it all away. The less he showed he cared for Destiny, the more the target Leah had painted on her back would fade.

All of that a seething cess pool beneath the gloss that was still thin enough to show those rough edges that usually had them flocking to him, like trained squirrels. Beady eyes locked adoringly on him once he had them hooked enough. Smile innocent as a choir boy’s Grey had leaned in to try with this one, feeling it work, as slick as the silk the Singapore Sling put in mind until the oaf had lumbered in. All neanderthal hair, tattooed arms bared, grunting his warning. Blue eyes narrowed, something bordering on smug in them, as Grey stared at him. ”Worried about her virtue or pissin’ on your territory?” he asked with a snort. He sure as hell didn’t look the sort to prop women up on an ivory pedestal to worship in the purest of ways.

He wouldn’t get his chance here anyway. The woman had cut and run, unknowingly avoiding a dark fate that might’ve given him the boost he needed to rid this town – the whole world – of the plague of his sister. Letting out a long breath, Grey lifted both hands, giving him a slow clap. ”Unfortunately not, you whippin’ it out kinda put an end to that.” Ah. The sound practically melted out of his mouth before he started to chuckle. Craning forward, Grey propped his elbows on the edge of the bar. ”And that’s different to what you were gonna do to her how? Least I’m not barin’ the guns, that’s what they call them right?” He gestured dismissively to the muscle carved beneath the guy’s skin, like strength was ever measured in bulk in this world.

In this town at least it was what you were, not who. He was willing to bet that the vibe he was getting off of this one wasn’t just brass balls.

All that temper, the urge to mark his territory by swinging it around. As though tended bar in some grotty club gave him any sort of entitlement. They called it the service industry for a reason. All big blue eyes and pouting lips Grey snorted and straightened up, both hands went up in the air like he was backing down. ”Guessin’ you’ve never gotten out of this town … nowhere near a silver spoon in my mouth.” He could ram one down this guy’s throat with just a thought though. ”I wasn’t the one kickin’ this off. You wanna get me that drink or your boss? Pretty sure it won’t be me he’s kickin’ out the door.” Grey squirmed in his seat like he was working himself down into his seat, settling in. He could still push off if he needed to.

Bottles glittered behind the bar, a jewel like line up that would shatter into a kaleidoscope if he reached out to it all. Bring it all down on Fred’s head, teach him just enough humility, maybe put all of that anger to good use … oh. It had taken too long for the pieces to slip into place. All that anger, territorial. He should’ve known. Clucking his tongue, Grey leaned over, winked at the woman in the chair beyond where the red head had sat as he snatched a menu back up. He eased back, aiming it at the neanderthal as he drummed his fingers on it. ”Actually forget the Sling. Make it a martini, dirty, pretty sure you can manage that since you’ve got that whole raised by wolves vibe goin’ on, Mowgli.” Dropping the menu on the bar he crooked his fingers towards himself, urging the guy on. Maybe he was spoiling for a fight after all.

Tagged: KIT CLARKE * Word Count: 761

Grey hummed lightly at the scoff shot out by the hulk. Would it have bothered him if he did? Probably. The sort of testosterone could rolling off of him might’ve screamed it but he was betting that this was half the fang baring territorial pissing contest all of his kind tried for. Growl enough and you might manage to scare off whoever ended up quaking in their boots. He shot him a smile instead, blue eyes narrowed faintly as he did a slow study of the man again, letting his gaze linger. A low sound slipped out, just enough of a shiver in it to jam a finger into that sore spot and give himself a little pop of satisfaction at the same time.

There were plenty of those spots there, always were, you just had to map them out and then exploit them one at a time. Build that bubble of rage inside these things until you could pop it, all that power pouring out that he could drink in and fuck did he want to with this one.

The laughter rolled out low, a dangerous sound this one should’ve listened to. If there were enough brain cells in that oft-pounded head the wolf would’ve caught it but there was nothing but an echo. All that bravado filling the space with hot air. He tilted his head, hands still hitched like he was backing out of this. ”Don’t need a degree from Oxford to be able to tell that Bumfuck, Idaho lost their idiot.” Grey clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a continual ticking of sound counting down to down this kicking off. Maybe it would finally get that itch out from under his skin – the one the woman was meant to cure before the meathead had stepped in and another solution to get his skin to fit as it had again had presented itself.

Close enough he could grab him by the collar of that ridiculous pit baring vest thing and slam his head down into the bar. Whispers of ancient words in his ear and the entire world would change. Packs hadn’t only kept his kind around for their ability to talk. They were so much more than that, especially when they shed off the chains tethering them to the good. Destiny had reminded him of all of that, what his people had likely been before darkness that had saved him from his sister.

Those blue eyes stared at him, studying like anything would give him the edge here. Dark brows rose, the snort rolling out instantly. He dipped his chin, smirked. ”They put you in charge? Thought I could smell desperation thick round here.” Grey leaned in an inch, clucked his tongue. ”I’d say I’d be doing the owner a favour. I’m sure someone else is desperate enough round here to take on a Neanderthal or two.” The wolf wasn’t wrong. If the owner didn’t toss him out on his ear then the bruisers at the door would. A fight either way, although the bouncers were probably the lesser of the two evils. The bigger they came the harder they fell after all.

This one was setting himself up for a tumble. As he reached for the menu he shot the newly visible woman two stools over a wink and out of the corner of his eye saw that scowl on the wolf’s face. Ooop, still ready to piss on his territory at a single gesture. Another nudge towards the line, the band stretched almost far enough now. Grey aimed the menu at him, crooned out his order with another little jab for good measure. There was silence but it wasn’t peaceful. ”Oop, careful mate,” he chided as the menu was snatched away and dropped. Grey pursed his lips and grinned, teeth bared. ”Hilarious.” That single word all that was hissed before Mowgli got hands on him.

A fist in his hair, a slam down towards the bar. Grey grunted his head, taking the impact on his ear, the side of his head instead of his face. ”Guess you wanted it dirty after all,” he ground out between gritted teeth. He shot his hand out, not towards that hulking body but the glass that lay just out of reach on the bar. It shot the last couple of inches into his palm, glittered under the lights before he swung it back at the bruiser’s jaw. Not likely to drop him immediately but the liquid still in it splashed out in the thing’s face, giving him the chance to surge up off of the stool, driving that gripping hand up with him. Maybe if the owner hadn’t picked an asshole to man his bar the place wouldn’t have been likely to end up in splinters tonight.

Tagged: KIT CLARKE * Word Count: 802

Was this what he’d been hoping for all along?

The sing of adrenalin through his system, that burst of violence he’d missed for months as the situation around him had grown quiet. A way to lash out that didn’t bring that violence to the door of a woman who’d already seen too much of it. Like the old fashioned bleeding of the sick, remove enough of the humours from the bodies and you grew healthy again, fit. Remove enough of the anger and the hatred from him and maybe it’d hold the curse and its accompanying madness off long enough to get his hands on the ones who really deserved it. Grey growled out a breath as the hand tightened in his hair, a sound of challenge.

This was it, that whiting out feeling in his head, spreading under his skin as his ear hit the bar hard. Sound rang and buzzed for just a moment before the healing the sacrifices had given him started to kick in. Not with the speed of a shifter’s but more than he’d had as just as a darach. More, Grey Maddox was so much more now than they’d left him. Leah had learned that the hard way and now this meathead would too.

Laughter rolled out of the guy, out of him too as Grey reached out for the glass already zipping towards him. The crash of glass was a fucking beautiful chorus of sound. Free of that grip, Grey straightened up in his seat to watch the lumbering bear take a stumbling step back. His lips peeled back in a satisfied grin, baring his teeth before he dropped his jaw. There was a faint pop in the mandible joint, the ringing in that ear dialling back. ”Not so fun when you’re on the receivin’ end huh?” he asked, crowing with laughter. People around them had started to back up, nobody but a maniac wanted to throw themselves into a bar fight that wasn’t theirs. Security were probably trying to work their way through the crowd, the bigger hulks that had been manning the doors. Beasts to pick up the pest like a flea and flick him out of there – when he was done.

That wasn’t yet, not even close.

Grey scrambled up towards the edge of the bar, meaning to brace himself on it as he leapt back into the fray. Boots squeaking on the mahogany as he rose, the stool tumbling over. Those meaty paws were swinging again though, grabbing him by the shirt. ”Round two? Brave.” The words were grunted out, following by a whoomph of breath as he was dragged down onto the ground. The woman they’d fought over was long gone now, the only eyes he saw were those bleary blues looking down at him as he knelt on his wrist.

The bottle hit the floor, rolled away to clunk against a chiller cabinet. The bear pounded a fist down, connecting a handful of times as Grey tried to buck him off. Everything went red, the world flickering like the old film project his old man would drag out every time he wanted to make himself feel miserable, watching the videos of his mom holding that innocent baby who wouldn’t even end up remembering her as anything more than half destroyed photos and that video. Roaring again against the pain and the pressure in his head Grey drove a knee up towards the guy’s crown jewels, trying to knock them up into his throat. He threw his other hand out, ignored the voices of the bouncers and the shifting light overhead as they tried to find their way over the bar. ”Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” Grey crooned through split lips and loose tooth.

He chuckled hoarsely, squinted up beyond those shadows to the lights ahead as he snatched those outspread fingers back into his palm. The shelves overhead rattled, bottles suddenly coming down like rain with him shielded under his scruffy, mouthy son-of-a-bitch of an umbrella.

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