T'was Arranged

♆Birth♆

"I will save you from yourself.

Time will change everything about this hell.

Are you lost?

Can't find yourself?

You're north of heaven,

maybe somewhere west of hell." ~ Birth, Thirty Seconds to Mars

L o g a n

I didn't ask for this.

That day, that damned fateful day that started this all, I was chasing after my father. I knew his plan to assassinate the king of the Twilight Coventry, and I knew I had to stop him. It was an abrupt and impulsive choice. A bold move a midst a raging war with no purpose and no real end. My plan was always to save the unknowing king.

Instead, I saved his daughter.

I internally groaned at the thought of Sage, and I snatched up my shot glass.

The pub I'd found myself completely inebriated in was dark, the only light being produced by the dizzying white strobe lights pointed toward the middle of the dance floor. Bodies clad in black leather, piercings, and tattoos swayed to the euphoric and epilepsy inducing music. Night had a officially fallen in favor for the freaks and party witches of my Coven. This one was a tad eccentric for my tastes, but at least no one knew me here.

I chugged the shot of some alcoholic drink concocted by the bar tender back, and winced. The liquor was strong -- exactly what I'd asked for. I slid the empty glass toward the clutter of cups piled next to my elbow that kept multiplying by the minute.

"Rob!" I exclaimed over the bass and chatter."That last one was perfect. Make another like that for me."

My favorite bar tender stepped away from one of his co-workers to acknowledge me. The large, surprisingly normal looking man shook his head as he cleaned out a glass with a dark rag. "My name is Steven," He replied with a tired expression, "and I think you've had enough to drink. I don't need you passing out on my bar again like the other night."

I smirked. "But, Steve, I'd never had your amazing drinks before that night. My body is a little bit more use to the punch now."

"I'm still surprised you haven't pass out yet. How many drinks have you had?"

"Stopped counting at seventeen," I replied. I smiled sarcastically at the judgmental glare he sent my way. "Don't worry, I can't really get drunk."

He tilted his head, scoffing, "Well, ain't that a load of bullshit."

I shrugged, nonchalantly. It was true. Ever since the night my father forced Sage to kill me, my body has changed in ways I couldn't even begin to explain. My fingers grazed across my neck unconsciously. Shivering, I could still feel the freezing cold touch of her magic squeezing the life out of my lungs. Something lethal burned in my veins, and I harshly clamped a hand over an arm.

"Just give me another drink," I hissed.

Steve narrowed his eyes, "No, I'm cutting you off. You're lucky I haven't kicked you out."

Anger surged through me like rapid fire: another side affect of the pasts' events. Everything, every sinful feeling -- anger, lust, sadness -- was heightened. I couldn't even think about Sage without either becoming furious or turned on.

I glared at the obese male, maintaining an empty expression.

"Drink. Now. Please."