Chapter Text
Moonlight reached its frigid fingers into the corners of Trilby's home office, lines of grey shadow kept at bay by a puddle of yellow lamplight. It was the only thing about the room that felt warm. Trilby shuddered, goose-flesh prickling along his arms. This room was always cold in the winter and hot in the summer, something he never failed to impress upon the landlord when they spoke. After two years, it had yet to be fixed. It was dark, and late, and he was working.
Despite his relaxed posture and boring work, he was on edge. His lanky body stretched out in his chair with all the ease of a man in his element. Keeping track of his wealth was usually one of his favorite pastimes, but it failed to bring him any joy tonight.
His instincts warned him of something, an approaching danger that kept him on the edge of his chair as the hours ticked on. Everything smelled and looked like it was properly in its place, but he couldn't shake the feeling that nothing really was. There was something missing, a puzzle piece torn out of the world that someone had deliberately thrown away just to make his life a little worse. Trilby tried to shake it off, to focus on the numbers on the paper in front of him, but it all escaped him, the lines of dark ink blurring into meaninglessness. The shadows waited for something to lurk in their corners.
Trilby leaned back in his cushy desk chair, staring up at his ceiling, dropping his pencil on the desk as he lost interest in his work. There was a tense little headache kneading its way along his temples, something he had been trying to ignore for hours. There was no alcohol left in the house tonight, which meant this headache would have to resolve itself without any effective aid. However, Trilby and the headache weren’t exactly seeing eye-to-eye about tonight's agenda; it continued to throb in his brain, and he kept trying to dismiss it by massaging the bridge of his nose with increasing amounts of condescension. So far, it seemed to be incapable of taking the hint.
His eyes felt heavy, but Trilby knew what was waiting for him as soon as he finally slipped into sleep, so he didn’t give in to their siren song. He hadn’t fallen asleep in his bed in weeks now. He refused to keep track of the exact number of days, in fear that it had been closer to two months than a few weeks. Sometimes he drank enough to pass out. Sometimes he collapsed in his favorite chair in the living room, startling upright as soon as a motorcycle passed by his house. The TV was a good companion, drying his eyes out from forgetting to blink as his chin sunk on his chest. It also worked as a great excuse to give the neighbors when he woke up screaming — easier to pretend it was a show than to explain what was wrong with his everything nowadays.
Despite the pressure in his head, nervous energy twitched through his limbs, his thoughts circling an eternal drain. Normally he tried to deflect his attention from his nightmares by working all night and sleeping all day, but this was losing effectiveness. The nightmares had started to slip into his mornings, sure, but he was also sporting a mounting Vitamin D deficiency on top of his alcohol… dependency. Not addiction. Not yet. He was going to give it a few more months before calling it.
Sighing, he sat up, scrubbing his face with his hands. He couldn’t think with this pounding between his ears. There was some paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, right? He thought so. He was pretty sure he remembered seeing it the last time he had shaved.
When had that been? Grimacing, he rubbed his chin, a field of stubble bristling under his hand. A week ago, perhaps? Well, he was hardly in a state to clean it up tonight.
He turned off the lamp, the world snapping into starlit monochrome. As he moved out from behind the shelter of his desk, stretching out his long body, the cold winter air seemed to sap all the warmth from his limbs. Trilby rubbed his arms with his hands, shivering to himself. He couldn’t see his clock in the dark, but it had to be around 10, maybe 11.
Not for the first time, he wondered if there was something seriously wrong with him. Something that wouldn’t go away if he did his usual ignored it. Something that festered and prickled inside his head, thicker and deeper and more real than the familiar scent of his own apartment. The bathroom tiles felt deathly cold under his bare feet, rejecting the warmth he shared with them. He snapped on the green-white buzzing light that always annoyed his ears, and looked at the mirror over his sink.
“Well, I did get possessed by a ghost and… kill someone. I think I’m allergic to that.“ He tried to take a joking tone with his reflection as he paced through familiar thoughts. It didn’t seem amused. It mostly just looked exhausted as it stared back at him.
Only months ago, he would have denied the occurrence in DeFoe Manor as a mere fantasy, a delusion or a psychotic break experienced by someone insane. Unfortunately, he knew too well that it was all real. He had blood on his hands.
Just my hands. Nothing else. He rummaged through the cabinet, dragging out a bottle of pills. Three was probably a good place to start. He leaned down, and drank a mouthful of lukewarm tap water from the sink.
Trilby had never wanted to kill anyone. He had taken objects, possessions, treasures, and riches, but never a life. Never. He had promised himself again and again that he hadn’t even really been the one to hold the knife.
The puddles of blood leaking into his nightmares weren’t his fault. Philip Harty was just a man, not some ghost seeking vengeance that haunted his every waking moment. Harty himself must know it wasn’t really Trilby that drove the knife in deep. Trilby didn't remember what his last words had been, or if Harty had screamed when he was stabbed. Surely he must have. In his dreams, Harty always screams.
The broad strokes of the nightmares always escaped him, leaving him holding fine details like disconnected puzzle pieces, memories half-shredded to keep himself safe. A faceless head. A rug covered in viscera. A blade and a statue bathed in innocent blood. Flashes and visions of the manor danced in his brain, too big and spacious for the tiny little bathroom. The walls in the corners of his vision were shrinking down as he stared into the mirror again. Without his permission, the bricks were creeping in, the door threatening to lock him up tightly. Trilby splashed water on his face, and left the room quickly, before Simone Taylor could finish slamming the door shut and turning the key in the lock.
“I’m just in a bad mood because I haven’t gotten to work in a few days,“ he whispered, hoping he would believe his own lie. Work was his only distraction right now, a pleasant brightness in his life, the reason to get out of his half-sleep and into the real world. Tomorrow evening, he had a heist planned for a house that would be empty. It would be easy, almost insultingly so. But he needed something easy, a clear win he could notch on his belt and move on from. Just a quick good deed —stimulating the local economy by circulating some antique or bit of money that would otherwise stagnate inside a safe. He couldn’t even bring up the smallest hint of a smile at that thought.
Maybe this is worse than I thought.
An overpriced nightcap felt like the perfect way to top off an awful day. Something to fill him up with warmth and send him to bed with a half-hearted smile.
His hands couldn't be shaking just from the thought of a drink — no. His fingers had just been trembling from the cold, hadn't they? Trilby tried not to think about how he had trained his hands to stay steady even when he was nervous. He wasn't filled with nervous anticipation at the thought of a drink, so it couldn't be an emotional response making it difficult for him to grope for his coat in the dark. Just the temperature. “I just need one drink and some rest. Some rest and some work and a drink and it'll all be right.“
His headache, sensible for once, finally agreed with him on something. Yes, Trilby would be alright after that.
After he looked presentable, he put on his titular hat, and locked his apartment up tightly behind himself. He tried the knob three times, just to make sure it was all closed. Each time, it was just as tightly bolted as the last. He still gave it one last suspicious look before walking off into the night.
December's chill bit at his face. It was almost Christmas, and it was snowing. Trilby pulled his coat tighter around himself as he walked, the city around him almost silent. Thick tar, old cement, cold bricks and the faintest hint of smoke filled the air. Trilby had never considered himself a very feral alpha, preferring to navigate the world with his most refined senses — touch and sight. But his inner beast, born from a time when humanity was far less developed or civilized, still knew his surroundings from scent alone. He knew this part of the city well. He knew the richest part of town even better, enough that he could blindfold himself and still navigate to every mansion by listing price, cross-indexed in alphabetical order by owner's last name.
Another familiar flood of scents as he climbed up a stern set of cold metal stairs, the upper entrance to the bar beckoning him silently. The building on the first floor was a different establishment, already empty and closed for the night. The upstairs had weak neon lights and a hand-drawn sign, flickering pink and blue on the drifting snow.
Trilby could already feel his mouth watering and stomach tensing in anticipation. The sour, sinking headache that had haunted his hours still clung to him, but it was quieting down. It was time to do the little song and dance of being human so he could get his fix. When he pushed open a creaky door and stepped into the room, he was greeted by a wave of vaguely curious blood-shot eyes, then a wave from the bartender.
"Better order quick," Vic husked, waggling a wet towel towards him. "You're out late tonight, Trilbs."
"Don't call me that," he groused, sliding onto an open stool at the darkest, most silent corner of the bar. Not that there was much noise. Almost everyone here was thinking about going home, and conversations were hushed. The most noise came from a small group of young people crammed into a table meant for an even smaller group, but even they were winding down. There was more cigarette smoke than conversation in the room. That smoke covered the scents of everyone there, but Trilby knew the look of almost everyone in the room.
"Oh, sorry. Chris's been around, you know? He always calls you that. Guess I picked it up from him," she shrugged. "Didn't know you didn't like it."
Trilby worried his lip between his teeth. "Has he? Is he around tonight?"
"Oh, he's been around, and around, and around tonight. He's sitting at the table over there, talking to the napkin dispenser." She nodded towards a table that Trilby couldn't see from where he had stood in the doorway. Sure enough, a lanky body and a mop of red hair were both splayed out on the table. His droopy face was currently nose-to-nose with the napkin holder, mumbling into its cold metal side.
"Damn it,” Trilby winced. Demon hunter Chris Quinn always looked like he was in the middle of the worst night of his life, but tonight he seemed especially haggard. "Please tell me you've cut that bastard off already.”
"Yeah, don't worry. I won't let him die of liver failure in this establishment," she poured his usual, then took out another glass. "No such consideration for you, I'm afraid."
"You know me so well," Trilby replied loosely, immediately taking the glass he was offered. It burned down his throat, but warmed his insides, thawing some of his frigid fears. It felt much hotter in here than it had back in his office, almost stuffy; his hands weren’t shaking anymore. "How's it been tonight?"
"Dog shyte," she whistled. "They've settled down now, but two of the girls in that group over there are omegas. Caused a real fuckin’ scene, I can tell you."
Trilby choked on his swallow, breathing hard to steady himself. Alphas — like Trilby himself — were rare, sure. Omegas who were openly displaying their scent was even rarer. Most of them started taking heat suppressors and scent changing pills in high school, then never looked back. They got to ignore their lesser instincts. Who would choose anything else? Trilby himself wasn't fond of the more animal instincts that graced his subconscious, and made sure to take his suppressors every day. He couldn't imagine living with brain chemistry that told him to submit to others, or made his body weaker. "How do you know?"
“The boys at that table over there started getting jittery, and I couldn't figure it out. Thought I'd have to throw them out, or even get the cops out here. Turns out those bitches (pardonmyfrench) aren't on blockers.” Vic's hands roughly clenched around the glass she was cleaning. “They've settled down now, but if they're gonna be out late without blockers, it's stupid not to bring an alpha.”
Fascinated, Trilby spun on the stool, leaning his back against the bar, letting his eyes roam around the room. Omegas were a rare curiosity nowadays, one he had never had the chance to sample. Access to an omega without blockers smothering their instincts was a privilege restricted to the wealthy and famous — which meant that Trilby felt distantly entitled to it in some way. Sampling the choicest meats of high society was the privilege of a successful conman, after all.
It was supposed to be better than fucking a porn star (something he had crossed off his to-do list years ago), and the idea of access to such an experience being gated behind the wiles of two omegas in this very establishment made his head spin. “Two omegas, out alone?” He wondered aloud.
"They're trying to get pregnant, Trilby. God, don't you know anything?" She rolled her eyes. "Baby trap the right guy and you're set for life. If I was an omega I'd do it myself."
"Oh, but then I wouldn't have your good company." Trilby smiled, glancing back at her.
She smirked. One of her parents must have been an alpha; she had fangs. "Yeah, but I'd have like a million quid."
“Which ones are they? The girls?” Trilby asked, cocking his head at the group of young people clustered at the back. It was about 4 men, two women sitting together in the cluster of the group.
“Yup, right there in the middle. No luck tonight, love, they've gotten their prey already.”
Trilby rolled his eyes. “I don’t need luck. What you’re about to see is pure skill.“
She laughed. “Gonna use those superior alpha hormones to bewitch a poor innocent omega?“
“This isn’t one of your mother’s Harlequin novels,“ Trilby loaded his voice with as much disdain as it could hold, which was a lot. “Seduction is an art, one I could wield regardless of circumstance.“
“Uh-huh. I’m sure,” Vic said dryly. “Those big blue eyes and your whole tall, dark, and handsome thing you always have going on don’t weigh the odds too much in your favor, right?”
“I said it was an art. I didn’t say it’s one where we all start on an even playing field,“ Trilby tipped his glass against his lips. It was his turn to smirk at her.
Something clattered, heavy and metal, against the table. Trilby turned his head towards it — a napkin holder being dropped. His headache threatened to make its re-entrance.
"Holy shit, is that Trilbs?" Something tall and alcoholic staggered out of his chair, and wandered to the bartop. Resting his elbow on the counter, Chris Quinn gave his friend a sloppy grin. "Oh my god. Trilby! It's been ages. Why didn't you come get me, Vic?”
"Chris! It hasn't been long enough." Trilby smiled in a way that didn't reach his eyes.
"Don't be mean to me. I've been such a good friend to you, haven't I? Put in a good word with my employers and everything. S'not my fault you won't take a good job when you see one," Chris sighed. He staggered forward a bit more, catching his balance on Trilby's shoulder. "You haven't been here in ages. Were you avoiding me? Don't say you were."
"Why don't you sit in your own chair?" Trilby said firmly, not enthused with his employment becoming the topic of conversation. He wasn't sure which would invite more scrutiny — burglary, or supernatural investigation.
Chris smiled. His fangs were bigger than Vic's or Trilby's. In the dim light of the room, with his ice blue eyes, he looked more like a domesticated wolf than a man. He almost smelled the part, too. "Can't I sit in yours? It looks so much more comfortable."
"Aww, come off it, Chris," Vic said helpfully. "Let Trilby finish his drinks."
"Can I've one too?" Chris immediately perked up, turning to lean on the counter at her. "We can drink together.”
"Sorry, Chris. It's last call," Vic shook her head, lying by a couple minutes. "Can't serve anything else or I'll lose my license, you know?"
"Awww."
Trilby wrinkled his nose as Chris pressed up against him. The outdoor-barnyard-animal scent, the (as it was more euphemistically known) musk of an alpha, was overwhelming this close. "Back off, Chris, you reek. Have you missed your pills?"
"I don't take them anymore. They fuck with my concentration," he shook his head. "And hand-eye corb… hand-eye chords. Hand eye… " He shaped his fingers like a gun, and pulled an imaginary trigger. "You know. It's all animal instinct."
Trilby did know. He knew that Chris Quinn was a demon hunter who used very big guns to get his job done. If he depended on his instincts to keep him alive, then suppressing them was out of the question. That was why Trilby never depended on his instincts, and never wanted to. They were too unsophisticated, too messy, especially for everyday life. A deadbeat junkie like Chris had less of a life to ruin, so maybe he wasn't as concerned.
"I just haven't showered today," Chris frowned. "And maybe yesterday."
"Get away from me," Trilby buried his nose in his sleeve. "You're ruining my drink."
"Oooh, sorry," he winced, and finally retreated to the cover of his own stool. "It's just been really tough keeping up with life lately. Lotta work to do. You know." He stared at Trilby meaningfully.
"Yeah. I know." Chris had tried to talk him into joining his little supernatural task force before, but Trilby had never been interested. He was going to leave the mysterious unknown well behind him. From now on, he was a burglar, and always would be. That was it.
Chris peered at him, annoyed that his words weren't having any effect. "It'd be nice to have another set of hands around."
"Yes, it probably would," Trilby rolled his eyes.
"Me and you. Old times' sake?" Chris tried, much less subtly.
Now this was just ridiculous. "What old times? We've known each other for a few months!"
"Come on, its almost been a year. That's long enough to be long,” Chris protested. His elbow rubbed Trilby's as he pushed in close again. "We have our differences and shit, but you’re the best partner I ever had. You and me, Trilbs? We could be doing bad-ass adventures together again. Real alpha shit."
"You're forgetting one thing about that, Chris."
"Aroo?"
Trilby paused, giving him an intense look that he hoped was strong enough to psychically transfer the rest of his headache from himself to Quinn. "I tolerated you tagging along on my adventures up to a point. But I cut things off because you were annoying, loud, flaky, irresponsible, and dumb. After everything I’ve seen tonight, it’s very clear to me that you haven’t changed. Why the hell would I want to go back to what we were before? Your alcoholism is worse, and you've stopped taking your medication!”
And the Defoe Manor incident changed everything, he nearly added. He and Chris had already had that phone call. Trilby wasn’t willing to hash it out again in this bar, but he didn't want to continue engaging with the supernatural anymore. Chris knew that. Chris should know that, at least. He should remember. And he, of all people, should be able to understand.
Maybe it was due to the alcohol. Maybe Chris was just as stupid as he always was. Maybe there was nothing about Trilby that he could understand after all, only simulating comprehension like a dog cocking his head at hearing human speech. Chris pshed, unfazed. “Psh! Those medications they have us on are fucking awful. You and I don't need bullshit like that.“
Trilby's eye twitched, his teeth clenching. He chose not to indulge the argument, only slid his cups away from Chris so he couldn't swipe one. If Chris wanted to drink himself to death and lose what was left of his personality to the overwhelming restlessness of alpha hormones, then nothing Trilby said would dissuade him. At least Trilby really knew that he wasn't a monster, that Defoe Manor didn't define him. There was no one in the world whose existence he wanted to end more than Christopher Quinn's, and he still wouldn't be able to do it. Although, it would be a close thing.
Before he could degrade Chris any further, something warm and heady attacked his nose. Nostalgic and close, the immediate memory it brought back was blood puddling on a kitchen floor.
The second memory the scent brought with it was of secrecy. The vaguest taste of this smell from afar, protected behind perfume and the suppressing effects of medicine made to keep it away from him, an alpha. It grated on his conscious thoughts, but slotted neatly against all his beastlier instincts.
Classifying someone as alpha, beta, or omega felt silly most of the time — no one was fighting predators in the wilderness for their mates anymore. But when an uncovered scent hit his nose like a live wire dropping into a puddle, Trilby felt a jolt of electricity snapping through all his nerves, like his insides were pouring baking soda into the volcano destined to win first prize at the middle school science fair. He straightened up, immediately seeking the source of the scent.
A woman stood by the bar, far away enough from Trilby that their closeness could be passed off as coincidence. The way her eyes sought him out made it seem like intention. She had dark red hair framing a sweet, young face. Something about her made it impossible for Trilby to tear his gaze away, trapped by her melancholic grin. The same emotion seemed to have infected Chris Quinn, who ogled from Trilby's other side, leaning on his shoulder to get a view.
She was quite short, and had to look up to study his face. Trilby was quite sure she was looking at him, and not at Quinn; her eyes narrowed strangely. Was she feeling a similar rush of tumultuous emotions? She turned her attention to Vic long enough to ask for a glass of water — her voice was low, Trilby could barely hear her. Then, her gaze flicked around the room, pretending to study the walls when she was really looking at the two men.
Trilby knew that he was supposed to say something. His mouth didn’t know how to move. It felt like his brain was temporarily possessed by something that didn’t know how to act around girls — he had thought he had left that emotion behind in his school days. Suddenly aware of how little control he had over himself, Trilby gripped his own reigns, forcing himself to pull words together. The woman beside him was only human, omega or no. He was in charge of this situation, regardless of what his instincts were trying to pull.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you just visiting, or moving in?“ Trilby tipped his head towards the omega in a friendly nod. His tongue felt thick and heavy; sweat was sliding down his chest. He couldn’t even think about finishing his drink under these conditions. Self-control was an evasive eel that he was trying to catch with his bare hands, his focus pinned on her with an intensity that was nearly painful.
Oh, she looked back at him. He shifted in his seat, tension sparking through the air as she seemed to consider his words. “I’m visiting my friend.“ She finally said.
Beside him, Chris gave a barely-audible sigh of relief. Was he feeling this too? Trilby set his cup down firmly on the bartop, trying not to look as seasick as he felt.
“Enjoying the view?“ Vic smirked at the girl, sliding a glass of water towards her. “Trilby’s a good boy. You can ogle him a bit and he doesn’t mind.“
Trilby glanced away self-consciously as the girl giggled, just as nervous at the spotlight suddenly turned to their interaction. He shouldn't be unbalanced so easily, but it was hard to think.
Chris interrupted with a low, fake cough. “Ahem! Aren’t you forgetting someone?“
Vic snorted through her nose. “Oh, Chris, you’re the bad boy.“
The air felt greasy and thick on Trilby’s skin, clinging to his face until he wanted to claw it all off. He felt like there was something dripping off his shoes, and he looked down at their black, shiny depths, expecting to see something dripping from the bartop, or maybe some melted frost finally sliding off his treads. No. There was nothing. His chest felt tight, like his clothes had suddenly decided to become ill-fitting. Vic and Chris were talking, but they felt like they were far away from him. He finally chose to look up, trying to listen in to their conversation better — he met eyes with that girl again, and his heart sank down into his stomach. It pulsed there painfully, enshrined in the depths of his intestines.
She looked away from him, then towards him again. This time, Trilby didn’t look away. She had everything he was looking for, every taste of untold luxury in her anxious half-smile. The way she sipped the water was like she was looking for it to save her, but she didn’t walk away from him. Her dark eyes were tight around the edges. They settled on him briefly. then flicked past him, staring over his shoulder, visible relief sagging her mouth into a loose line. He nearly turned and looked over his shoulder, but he didn’t even need to bother.
The scent was unmistakable — the second omega. Unlike the omega, there was no safety for Trilby in the approaching stranger. No wonder things had gotten restless in here earlier. Trilby yanked on his collar, the room far too hot for comfort under these conditions.
In the not-so-distant past, did alphas really have to function like this almost all the time? All unmedicated, all filled up with sensations that felt like they had fallen out of a bad romance novel? Trilby bit down on his lip until it hurt.
Knowing there was a priceless experience, something he could never steal or buy right under his nose, was sending nervous shudders down his spine. It wasn’t for the pure rush of sexual pleasure— sex with strangers was boring, and he avoided it at most costs — but the kind of aching attraction he felt towards a safe when he was 3 tumblers deep in a difficult lock. Moments away from a vast and glittering prize. Only on top of that sensation is his body’s sticky-hot and useless urge to breed, a critical mass of blood lowering itself between his legs.
The second omega was taller and clearly more confident than her companion. The two women conferred with each other briefly, and Trilby lost sight of the redhead behind the insistent gestures of the other.
Finally, the new-comer flicked a curtain of shimmering platinum-blonde hair out of her face, turning towards him. She rested a hand on Trilby’s shoulder without any hesitation. “Hope you weren’t planning on keeping my friend here for too long.“
“S-sorry,“ Trilby steadied himself as much as he could. This was a delicate maneuver. “I’ll give her back soon. Though I don’t think I caught her name — or yours.“
The blonde studied him intently, much like her companion had been, and Trilby found himself straightening up in his seat. His shoulder felt warm where she touched him.
Wait. Why do my shoes still feel wet? Trilby resisted the urge to check under his stool for a puddle he hadn’t noticed, his attention still fixed on the woman before him.
“I don't think names matter,“ the blonde was responding to Trilby, but her eyes looked at Chris with an appetite that was palpable. Trilby wondered what the crowd of young men at the table thought about their companions suddenly leaving them this late in the night. Their prize had already dropped out of the claw machine’s grip, based on the way the omegas were looking at them. It was just basic biology, or maybe chemistry. “We were just out tonight for some fun, you know?“
Chris Quinn brightened up beside him, smiling at the first girl. “Oh, that’s great. That’s what we were out here for too,” He ignored Trilby’s indignant snort, pushing past the roll of his eyes at the blatant lie. “That’s two alphas, two omegas. Sounds like a perfect match to me. Why don't we finish up drinking and get out of here? Right, Trilbs?”
The redheaded girl hid her nervous smile with a splutter. “Oh my god!“
Trilby rubbed his thumb over the lip of his glass. Maybe he could subtly wipe his shoes on the welcome mat as they walked out. Whatever was on them felt textured, a little sticky. “Well, I wouldn't object... ”
Chris teetered on his stool. “It's like I've been telling you, Trilbs, the whole medication thing is bullshit. Alphas and omegas don’t need it. Stuff like this — you know, meeting in a bar, knowing you’re right for each other — that’s what we need more of. Alphas can handle themselves better without needing everything suppressed.“
Trilby readied himself to catch Chris's balance, in case he needed it. “Right. Of course. Is part of shaking off that suppression quitting showers? Or is that just your side hobby?”
"Shove it," Chris pointed to his chest. "At least I know what I am."
One incredulous eyebrow crept up Trilby's forehead. “Do you?”
Chris squinted. “Alright, smart-ass, you got me there. Things are a little hazy right now. But guess what? At least I'm not ashamed of what I am.”
“You'd have a lot less problems in life if you were.”
“You boys fight a lot,” the shorter girl interjected softly, stepping closer to Trilby. “Are you friends?”
“Yeah,” Chris sighed. “Maybe.”
“Sometimes.” Trilby agreed. He made eye contact with Vic over the bar, and she flashed him a dry smile.
Trilby shrugged at her — a silent I told you so — and drained his glass. If he could figure out a way to push Chris down the stairs without anyone noticing, tonight would be perfect. A good end to the night after his earlier unease.
His feet splashed in something when he touched the floor, and he looked down, finally at his patience’s limit with the mysterious puddle. To his surprise, it was bright crimson, pooling from deeper into the room. His eyes traced the red puddle, following a thick, slow flow — from a body.
Cold, dead eyes looked up at him with an accusatory glare, mouth open in a fearful gasp. Trilby’s grip locked on the bar, his mouth dry, his entire body going still. Dread wormed its way down his spine, settling inside his stomach in a heavy lump. Phillip Harty’s blood spread out on the floor, his face pale and rigid. After death, with no skin and body odor and social norms to cover him, his scent was obvious. Why had Trilby never remembered this before? Harty had been an omega, too.
Why was he still alive, and why was Harty dead? Pure chance? One man chosen to be the prey, and the other the predator, a meaningless flip of a coin? Was it because he was the alpha? Did he have the ability to overpower the man who died at his hands, and so was spared?
Trilby finally let go of the bar so he could step out of the blood, but it kept following him. The river of blood seemed drawn to him, chasing him no matter how far he ran. He couldn’t escape that scent, the heavy, overwhelming salt-heat of human sweat that revealed an omega’s presence.
“Sorry… “ he tried to apologize to the blood puddle, but the insufficiency of the word weighed on him like his guilt. The walls were made of brown wood paneling, already outdated in this decade, and they were shrinking, reaching, trapping him with the bloody corpse on the floor. Didn’t anyone else see this? Didn’t they care?
The door. He had to get out the door before Simone locked it.
When the cold winter air hit his face, Trilby realized he was bent over the railing, gasping like someone had been choking him. The bottom hem of his trousers felt wet, but he knew they weren’t. There couldn’t have been a puddle of blood on the floor, because Phil Harty’s corpse could not have been in that bar. It had been another hallucination. He repeated those words, trying to ignore the wet touch of cloth on his skin, knowing that it wasn’t real.
Someone was looking at him. Trilby snapped his head up, looking around. The distinct feeling of being watched prickled hairs on the back of his neck. Whatever he had been anticipating was here. He closed his eyes, and dropped his head. Whatever it was, he was in no state to fight back.
The very next thing he was conscious of was a nose-curling reek of alpha and spilled alcohol as Chris Quinn placed a hand on his back. “Everything okay?“ he asked, his eyes flicking over Trilby’s face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.“
For once in his life, it was easier to breathe with Chris around, and Trilby opened his eyes to look at him. “I wish I had,“ Trilby rubbed the railing between his fingers. The distance between here and the ground suddenly looked like too much, and Trilby turned away abruptly. “I’m going home.“
“What?“ Chris took a step back, trying not to get walked into as Trilby made his way towards the stairs. “I… are you sure?“
“Yes. I have work tomorrow. Need to prepare,“ he said sharply. “Thief… things. You know. Nothing personal.“ If he took one step back into that bar, he was going to be sick.
Chris hurried after him, grabbing his arm and stopping Trilby with one foot on a lower stair. “Hold on, hold on. Those are omegas back there. You’re just gonna leave without even saying anything?“
Trilby shook his head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not… not because of you.“
“Me?“ Chris laughed sharply. “What… ?“
“Just go back up there. Go have fun. Call me afterwards and mock me if you must,“ Trilby yanked out of his grip, nearly throwing himself down the stairs in the process. "I just have to go.“
Chris let him go. “The Ministry can help. They have… resources. Stuff. Power. When you know how to kill those things, it’s easier to deal with. You won’t feel like that anymore. I can get you in tomorrow, just do some paperwork and you’ll have a job. You don’t have to do all of this alone, Trilbs.“
Trilby clenched his jaw. “Thanks, Chris. I’ll keep that in mind if I ever want to stop living a life of fabulous luxury and almost more wealth than I care to count.“
Chris didn’t say anything, so Trilby didn’t say anything else. The night air was very, very cold, and the world was very dark. Trilby just wished that the shadows felt as empty as they seemed.