Page 23 of Stars in Halo

Flicking his eyes away, Xion sat and gestured for the barman.

‘A whisky,’ he told the Allorian man who rushed over. ‘And another of what he’s having,’ gesturing at the man beside him.

Hanias glanced up with surprise. ‘Who are you, and why the hell are you buying me a drink?’

Xion leaned in. ‘Just a guest, wanting to make friends.’

A glass of dirty brown liquor was placed before the security man.

‘Malort?’ Xion quipped, raising a brow. ‘Can’t understand how people can down that swill.’

His scotch arrived, and he swirled it around in the tumbler, lifting it into the light where its amber beauty glowed. ‘For me, the choice is clear.’

He brought the glass to his nose and sniffed long and hard.

‘It’s infused with smoke, but ‘tis not fire. It smoulders like flames but flows like water. It streams through oak but appears in vapour. It has a bite but no teeth. Yet, it lights you up brighter than the twins of Alphetraz. And after all is said and done, it’s what remains after the angels and devils have had their share.’

The Rider nailed Hanias with a smirk and a wink. ‘Your shit is shit. My shit is the shit.’

He slugged back his drink and slammed the glass on the bar with a satisfied smile.

To find the security man’s eyes glaring at him with an unholy fire.

‘Ah, I gather I’ve caused offence,’ Xion murmured.

‘Who are the fokk are you? Some loser with a death wish? Coming into my place of work, talking shit and causing a scene?’ Hanias growled, his voice timbered and dangerous.

Xion immediately understood the kind of man Hanias was.

One of those kinais, who when they laid eyes on him, their expressions shifted into envy or incandescent scowls - as their thick heads perceived him as a threat to their careers, situationships, and fragile masculinity.

A fair few in the past had been enraged enough by his face to try to punch it.

Numerous individuals had tried to attack him, rout him out, or suggest a fistfight out of displaced resentfulness.

For Xion, his natural physique was a poison chalice, and outside of the Riders, he had sparse male acquaintances.

Over the years, a few stopped speaking to him. He suspected, with good reason, that envy was the precise cause.

Which was why he worked hard to repel the attention.

His meta ink was now programmed to flash in warning if someone came too close to attempting to knock his lights out.

His brooding features were set into a resting brute face.

Or in a careless smirk that only savvy men would perceive as dangerous.

Xion reclined in his seat, unfazed by the hostility radiating from the security head, and smirked, confident Hanias had no clue who he was glowering at. ‘Oh, I’m a humble admirer of a good palate and questionable beverage choices.’

He paused for a dramatic moment.

‘Also, just a man seeking some answers,’ he drawled on, swirling the remnants of his whisky around the glass. ‘It turns out you might have some.’

Hanias’ eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched as he studied Xion with suspicion. ‘What answers are you looking for?’

Xion leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘The woman you were chatting to prior to my arrival. Who is she, and what did she want from you?’

A flicker of panic crossed Hanias’ face before he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,’ he clipped, pushing his half-empty tumbler away. ‘Now get the fokk off my patch, or I’ll be forced to make you disappear,’ Hanias growled.

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