The following is the opening scene from my story, A Midsummer Night’s Demon. I hope you enjoy it.
The fiery aroma of the alcohol burned his nose long before the glass reached his lips. Ky Robinson slammed the last of his drink in a long gulp. The whiskey crawled fire down his throat to heat his belly. He leaned his elbows on the weathered bar and toyed with the glass, hands cradling the smooth tumbler with practiced ease.
“Another.” Ky tapped a finger on the lip of the empty glass.
He grunted a thanks when the bartender complied, never taking his eyes from the rest of the room. He was a hunter, a warrior, constant vigilance his creed.
He settled on a stool, the faux leather creaking under his muscular weight. He’d chosen a spot at the end of the bar, one that put his back to the wall and gave him an unobstructed view of the room, just as he’d been trained to do centuries ago by the agency.
His position gave him the best possible advantage for observation. He barely noticed the décor. All these establishments seemed the same—dark, smoky with the stench of stale booze and sweat oozing from the walls. The kind of place a person could disappear from without anyone noticing.
The patrons…lowlife wasn’t quite descriptive enough a term. They were lower than low. Some of the seediest people on the earth. Most were human. Some were of his breed. Creatures of the night. Monsters lurking in the shadows that emerged to take the unaware to their graves.
Demons. Blood demons to be specific.
And one of the worst sat not six feet from him chatting up an innocent.
Their kind must consume blood to survive, but no blood demon needed to drink from the vein any longer, for they could compel the minds of the people who worked in the blood banks or hospitals. Coerce them to hand over bags of blood. But some refused to relinquish the old ways. Known as the debauchee, they often allowed their bloodlust to consume them. They enjoyed violence and carnage, the thrill of the kill, and the agency he worked for hired demons like himself to stop such miscreants.
Ky emptied his glass in three swallows, welcoming the burn. It felt good, like coming home, made him feel alive as the warmth spread throughout his body. He rolled his shoulders, his roped muscle and sinew flowed like water under the gray T-shirt he wore. He itched for a good fight, needed to burn off some excess energy and if his instincts were correct—and they always were—his itch would be scratched tonight.
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