Awoken

Mara: CH15: Mordecai

Tonight, I've decided on the tavern to find my next sperm donor. Being a weeknight, there aren't too many options. Half the tables are empty, and the taken seats are occupied by regulars ending their long day with a cold beer, most being men looking to be in their forties, apart from the ones sitting at the bar, neither old or villagers.

They're young travelers. Looking to be nearly seven feet tall, they aren't your typical legacies but it's not because of their average height. The brown-skinned man has fur covered canine ears and a fluffy dark brown tail, while his olive complexion friend has a thin sleek, curling feline tail with matching caramel brown ears. There will be fur underneath those clothes, I can see a sneak peek already, some showing on the back of their hands, blending with the human skin.

It didn't happen through having an animal familiar, they inherited the multiple traits from their many ancestors. I've never been with a furry before. I don't understand the current craze sweeping through Samira, they're the most requested in den houses, but I'm more than willing to give in to the fad.

After finishing off my glass of Midori, lemon and lime, I stand to my feet, straightening out my little black dress before strutting towards the bar, leaving my glass on the small table.

"Hi boys, I'm Mara," I easily wedge myself between them, leaning against the wooden bar so I can see them both at the same time. They're even cuter up close.

"Hey, I'm Dean," the one with flawless brown skin introduces himself first, and then motions to the other, "and that's Sam, can we buy you a drink?" his lips curl into a delicious smile. Both with dark brown hair, it's their eyes that really set them apart. Dean's being a vibrant green, while Sam's iris' are the colour of the sky on a beautiful clear day.

"No need, the drinks are on me tonight," I reply before ordering tequila, telling Morris to bring the bottle to our table. Sam and Dean don't hesitate, following behind me.

Earl's tavern might not be as sleek and stylish as the den, but it's homely with its worn grey stone slab walls, scratched grey hardwood flooring, hovering fairy lights, and chicken statues scattered all over the place, sculpted without their ferocity, made to look cute and harmless.

"What brings you boys to town?" I ask.

"We're hunters, we kill things and save people," Dean shrugs.

Hunters are freelancers, a subdivision under The Guardianship- the policing force for all on the continent, for every person in this world. Each hunter needs to register for a license to be able to collect coins for their trophies and to get the chance to undertake hunting bounties.

"So it's business and not pleasure?" I raise an eyebrow as Morris places the alcohol and shot glasses on the table, filling the glasses. He's a kind old looking man, large round-rimmed glasses, grey hair and white ashy skin, a white apron wrapped around his waist, stained along with his cotton shirt and grey slacks.

"Why can't it be both?" Sam asks.

Glug. I savour the burn as it descends and settles in my chest, it's a pleasant spreading warmth.

"Are you two brothers?" I question, already pouring another round, sculling the liquid.

Smooth jazz is playing in the background on the record player, the saxophone and lyrics pairing perfectly, the melody is divinely in my ears. It's time for our third shot. We finish drinking at the same time, our glasses clinking as they return to the table.

"Not by blood but we share the name Windchest," Dean replies.

Wait . . . My mind races as the familiarity hits hard. They're practically famous, the Windchest hunters. They get to be in the light, in the public they're practically the public face for The Guardianship, well one of many but I'm not going to feed their ego. Sam and Dean are expecting a fangirl reaction.