Brewing Them

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When I stepped inside the bar, I was surrounded by night eaters, men who fed on blood to keep themselves young and alive. It was uncommon to see them anywhere as they burned under daylight and mainly they were found hidden in forests and wood, underground rooms, and far away lands—never among witches.

I sat near the bar while surveying the area. My hands were covered with gloves that I had bought for protection. A witch was identified with her blood, the redder it was meant she practiced safe magic and if it was black, she had done wrong. The nerves connecting to my hands had all turned black after I had killed my father.

I had to wear gloves.

"What can I get for you, beauty?" The bartender asked, coming to my side after noticing me—the only female sitting in the bar.

I cleared my throat and turned my head to him, "Just a beer." I whispered.

He nodded and stared at me for another moment before stepping back and bringing a beer for me. In the meantime, I peered around, watching everyone visible in the dim lighting of the bar. Most of them were night eaters, hungry for blood and some of them were werewolves.

My gaze fell upon the man seated at the end of the bar. He spoke to another man whose face was visible to me but not his.

His hair was blond, just as in the vision I had seen.

I rose up from my seat out of curiosity and moved closer, nearly sitting behind him. The bartender returned with a large glass of beer. It was filled to the brim. I barely could even drink a bit of it.

"On the house." He said, grinning at me.

I offered him a smile before lowering my mouth and taking a sip of the beer. That was all. I couldn't drink more without gagging.

I swallowed the bitter taste and turned around, hoping to find the blond-haired man but he was no longer seated behind me.

Fuck. Where did he go?

Before I had the chance to look around, a large frame blocked my view. Raising my head, I met with a pair of bright blue eyes. Something trembled inside me. The vision. The eyes were exactly the same and so was the hair.

Was this the man?

"What is a pretty witch like you doing here all alone?" He asked, taking a seat inches away from me.

I eased myself. But panic continued to well up in my throat as I wondered if he was one of the marked men Alexandria wanted.

This was easier than I thought.

"How do you know I'm a witch?" I questioned while taking a peek at his neck and then his hands.

He placed his hand over mine, brushing his thumb above my glove. "The sun isn't surely going to tan you."

I pulled my hand away and swallowed hard, "My hands are weak—to the cold and the snow." I responded while pushing my shoulders back.

"Mhm, so are mine." He pouted while placing his hand underneath his neck and leaning inward toward me.

I noticed the rest of his visible skin but couldn't find the pentacle. Was it supposed to be visible? It had to be. How else was I going to find out the four marked men?

I tore my gaze from staring at his neck and asked, "What is your name?"

"Yours first?" he waited, sounding a bit cocky but somewhat enticing. He seemed young, but again night eaters lived a very long life. He could be a hundred years old, restoring his beauty and his youth by drinking blood.