Blood Slave

Chapter 2

AISLING

Pronounced - Ash-ling

“Is there a problem?” It's a sharp voice disrupting the tense atmosphere and it drips with authority. It felt like everyone within the diner had turned their attention to the source of the voice.

“Who the f**k are you?” The college guy with blue eyes demanded with a mean grip on my arm.

Far down the aisle, beyond the three college guys, two imposing figures appeared through the haze - tall, tattooed and dangerous warriors ready for battle. The one with the black hair stood ahead of his gray-haired companion. There were streaks of silver that shimmered

Wait. Gray? They both looked no older than their late thirties at most and he had a full head of gray.

“I'm the one who will make you regret touching her.” He warned, the same one who spoke out first.

His threat reverberated through the tense air like a crack of distant thunder. The three college guys shrank back as one, sliding behind me to escape the stranger's resounding warning.

The drunken trio were a pathetic bunch.

The two scary men descended the aisle, exuding power with each step. It's evident that these two individuals surpassed the mere label of men: with their impeccable attire of luxurious suits. Both standing over six feet tall.

I felt like a sacrificial lamb being offered up to an almighty force to spare the lives of the cowards using me as a shield.

As the tanned, dark-haired stranger approached, I stared wide-eyed, narrowing on a scar across his lips and chin. There was a lethal allure to his handsome face, darkness lurking in the razor-sharp edges of his cheekbones and jaw. My heart pounded as he drew nearer, moving with feral grace. His cold, merciless eyes promised violence. He looked every inch an enforcer who could easily end a life.

I was afraid to move, to think, to breathe, yet also captivated beyond rational understanding.

Why had he intervened on my behalf? I thought.

If I ran, would the college guy release my arm? Or would he continue to use me as a shield against this scary man stalking toward us?

“I thought you said you don’t have a boyfriend?” Blue eyes questioned from behind me, his voice teetering.

"I-I don't," I stammered and the two scary as hell men stopped just short of me, ready to draw blood. They didn’t have weapons, but if you count their lethal large hands, I could only imagine the damage a single blow would do.

"You've skirted the edge of ruin tonight," The gray-haired one said, his tone dripping with cold authority. "Thank whatever God you worship and leave."

The grip on my arm loosen ever so slightly as I stood paralyzed, the situation teetering on a knife's edge. My lungs froze as the bar's noise seemed to fade. His dark eyes bored into mine, smoldering with intensity. I was helpless, transfixed by his rugged, ruinous presence.

From behind me, blue eyes released his hold on my arm. "I don't want any trouble. The b***h is yours, she's a fuckin' c**k tease anyway. Nothing special about her." Abruptly he shoved me forward. I stumbled, thrown off balance and strong hands gripped my shoulders, steadying me.

The tanned guy had caught me against his solid chest and my pulse thundered like a freight train. Flustered, I quickly adjusted myself and stepped back out of his grasp. "Sorry..." I stammered, my cheeks flaming.

"Don't apologize," He said, his voice a smooth velvet rumble. The rich scent of sandalwood suffocated my lungs. Earthy and sensual, it was a tantalizing hint of the raw masculinity that lay just beneath the surface.

Obsidian gaze shifted from me to the pitiful fool who pushed me and alarms rang through my mind. His strength and masculinity, it all wasn’t safe. I'd seen firsthand the damage men like him could inflict on women like myself or to his own gender.

My heart hammered as I took in his imposing stature, brushing past me with a predatory look in his onyx eyes. For all his attractiveness, he was a loaded gun - capable of violence and destruction at any moment.

The drunken guy was smart enough to stumble back, “Wait, hold on…I don’t want her.”

In a few quick strides, my dark knight closed in on blue eyes. Before the college guy could react, the tanned stranger grabbed him and slammed his head down onto the table.

"You're wrong," He growled.

I grimaced as the college guy let out a garbled shriek, eyes blowing wide in disbelief. "f**k! My nose!" Blood gushed, spilling over his hands as he instinctively tried to stop the flow.

The diners sitting at the table shrieked and scrambled away, toppling chairs in their haste. My ruthless savior pressed down, grinding the guy's face against the table.

The stranger’s dark eyes bored into mine as he declared with utter conviction, “She is very special.”

What the f**k. Who is this guy and which hell portal did he emerge from!?

The friends in the background watched warily, not daring to make a move to avenge their friend but one of them spoke. “You’re messing with the wrong guy, his father is-”

Cyrus grabbed a napkin dispenser off the table and hurled it at the other college guy's head with blunt force. The metal container struck him squarely in the forehead. The young guy hollered out, collapsing to the floor and clutched his head.

This was all crazy.

All of this chaos for me?

"I'm okay. It's fine!" I panicked, stepping an inch closer but not daring to actually touch the terrifying stranger.

Then came the shout from the manager, "That's enough!" Swiveling on the ball of my heel, I stared beyond the gray-haired man, at the owner of the bar. Evelyn, my friend, was not far behind as she lingered right behind her uncle.

I knew Evelyn must have told Arthur what was going on. "You've made your point and this is my establishment. Not a fighting pit." He said with his sharp and steely gaze piercing the man behind me and I shuffled to the side.

Arthur stepped closer as the college guy who'd been struck groaned and sobbed, clutching his forehead.

The gray-haired man turned to his friend. "Cyrus….”

"Stone," Cyrus countered, briefly meeting his friend's disapproving look, acknowledging the warning to show restraint.

Stone's jaw tightened, but he continued firmly, "You've made your point and dealt with them. I’m sure they would rather be anywhere but here. Am I correct?"

He then directed this question at the third frat boy still standing nearby. The guy looked terrified, blood draining from his face and he nodded hastily.

"Y-Yeah man, we don't want any more trouble. Right guys?" He said with a shaky voice, glancing at his two injured and groaning friends. The one on the ground struggled to stand up and I knew that blow from the napkin dispenser might have left him with a concussion.

But Cyrus didn’t hear or simply ignored the call for mercy. His iron grip only tightened, no care for the whimpering drunk's pain. Blue eyes' legs spasmed wildly under him as he choked on cries, helpless against the ruthless force holding him down.

“I appreciate you coming to Ailsing’s aid,” Arthur tried to further diffuse the situation. “But as you can tell, you took this too far. I’ll clear your tab at the bar, and any future meals for the rest of the month are on me.”

This was going too far, for someone like me. I was a stranger to him. Yet Cyrus had violently intervened on my behalf when no one else did. Gazing at his ruthless profile, I was torn between fascination and fear.

Leaning down, Cyrus issued a snarled command into the young man's ear that brooked no argument: "Apologize. Now." When only whimpers followed, Cyrus snapped up a steak knife from the table.

In one swift motion, he pressed the sharp edge against the guy's face. The cold steel blade glinted as Cyrus dragged it slowly across his skin, from the corner of his trembling lips up along his jawline. The implication was clear - one flick of Cyrus' wrist could leave him with a ghastly, permanent grin.

“We’ll leave. Just let him go!” The friend was in a panic now.

“I’m going to call the cops,” Arthur said, and I didn’t blame him.

Glancing back, I saw that he had pulled out his phone, thumb poised over the screen. But he hesitated, while my friend Evelyn pleaded with him not to make that call.

With the drunk guy bent over the table, Cyrus increased the pressure of the knife, indenting the flesh under the man's chin. A thin line of blood appeared where the blade pushed deeper into his skin.

A dark stain began to spread across the back of his light jeans. The acrid smell of urine permeated the air as he lost control of his bladder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Blue eyes blurted out in a desperate sob, still pinned to the table by Cyrus' other hand. The guy's trousers were soaked through, dripping onto the floor. His sobs grew louder and more panicked as hot shame was mixed with blind terror.

After an agonizing moment, Cyrus stepped back. The friend scrambled over to blue eyes, awkwardly pushing himself up from the table, clutching his mangled nose.

In the background, Evelyn was now trying to convince her uncle to hang up. Insisting that they were leaving.

Cyrus brought the knife up to his lips and slowly licked the thin stain of blood from the blade. His dark eyes bored into the cowering men, driving home the threat that he could - and would - exact far worse violence upon them.

What in the hell is wrong with him? Who does that?

The three college guys hurried out of the bar as fast as their shaking legs could carry them.

A wave of relief washed over me once they were gone but the feeling was short-lived. The hair on my neck prickled as an unseen weight settled upon me. I glanced around to find Cyrus's fathomless eyes boring into mine, rooting me in place.

My breath stalled in my chest. I urged my feet to move, to break and run but some unseen force locked me there, unable to wrench myself free. The bar, the noise, the light - all receded until only Cyrus existed.

Every instinct screamed at me to flee because he was the embodiment of depravity, but flutters ravaged my belly.

My mother's voice echoed in my mind - she once told me that when I feel my gut quivering with the tremulous beat of wings, it meant something wasn't right. No matter the situation or relationship, that nervous flutter was a warning sign not to ignore.

My heart hammered as a realization descended - I was in even greater danger now and a simple exchange of gratitude and courtesy would not be enough to shake him off.