You Can't Run From The Dark

{Part 2}

~Zaire~

Zaire waved away Colette before she reached his table. She was one of the more flirtatious waitresses of The Den, and she was always pestering him by trying to take his order. At least she'd managed to wait an hour this time, rather than risk his irritation by swarming him the second he sat down. He didn't need to order anything, and he rarely did. He didn't like to choke down mortal food just to keep up appearances. It tasted like ash to him - though, he seemed to be an exception, since many of the Fae patrons appeared to enjoy the mortal meals, regardless of the fact that they didn't need  to eat it. Dark Fae fed on emotions, namely the more potent ones like fear and fury. Zaire didn't mind snacking on lust as a dessert - it was a dark feeling with a sweet flavor, like a fine chocolate - so occasionally, he allowed Colette's hovering. But most of the time, he just wanted to be left alone. He could draw off anyone who passed close enough to his vicinity, so he didn't need the waitress to lean over his table, trying to flaunt her bust. Besides, he was sated by the disappointment she felt when he shooed her away without a glance. It tasted a little salty, but he wasn't feeling picky. He just wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet, and read a book. It was an old tome he'd read before, but he found comfort in stories he was familiar with. 

Suddenly, he couldn't concentrate on the words on the page. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, causing his spine to stiffen. A flood of emotions burst on his tongue. His eyes tore away from the script to see where it had come from. It was such a strange combination of flavors, it was hard to discern. Relief and joy, laced with a deep, cloying hunger. Positive emotions typically left him with a buzzing tingle in his mouth that made him uncomfortable - he didn't enjoy them. But that fucking hunger was bitter enough to make him want to spit. And even though he had not been particularly hungry, the feeling was so strong it tainted his own. Now, he felt famished, even though he wasn't, and that annoyed him. 

Who the fuck -

There was a girl sitting at a table a few feet away, with her back turned to him. She was sobbing as Maggie tried to console her. Maggie looked helpless and worried, so he easily surmised that the girl was training to be a waitress. Maggie didn't get that look on her face unless she was training a girl she was afraid was about to quit. And so many had "quit" lately, since the Fae who frequented this part of the city had become more recklessly ravenous. Maggie was desperate for one to stick around. Her emotions were mild and easy to dismiss - not to mention, she was further away from him than the crying girl.

Zaire grit his teeth against the urge to spit and lit a cigarette instead, to try and dull the intensity of the taste. Now, he was wishing he had ordered a coffee from Colette. He forced his eyes to return to his book as he called out to Maggie,

"Break the new girl already, Mag?"

In his periphery, he could see Maggie's hands plant on her hips, and she fixed him with a haughty glare. She was one of the longest-running employees, and one of the few who knew what he was - what most of the patrons were. She had the Sight, and it was a rare ability for a mortal to have these days. Usually those born with the Sight get picked off for noticing too much. One had to be pretty good at pretending not to see through glamours to live to middle age. The mortals who weren't born with the Sight but could see through glamours were those who had been Marked by their Fae mates. Maggie was born that way, though, and it was impressive, to say the least, that she was clever enough to survive working in The Den for a decade without being killed for it. 

"I didn't mean to!" Maggie huffed at him. "Can I get you something to eat, sweetie?" Maggie asked the girl, softening her gaze when she looked down at her.