Page 2 of A Kiss of Deception

The barkeep sets down the glass. “I’ve got a buyer lined up,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “Someone who’s willing to pay top dollar for the right goods.”

“What kind of goods?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

The barkeep leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Rare magical items. Illicit contraband. You know the kind of thing.”

He rummages through, taking care as he pulls out a few choice pieces: a golden amulet, a pair of enchanted gloves, a small vial of dragon’s breath.

“Impressive. But I’ll need to see more before I can set up a meeting with the buyer.”

Jarvil nods, smiling to himself. But before he can pull out more goods, Garrick reaches into the bag and pulls out a delicate vase.

“Garrick, what are you doing?” he hisses, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

Garrick lights up as he holds the glittering silver vase. “This one’s a gem, Jarvil. We’ll get a pretty penny for it.”

Jarvil glares at Garrick. “Put it back,” he says. “We’re not selling goods at a market.”

Before he can return it, a hooded figure approaches. “I’ll give you fifty gold for it,” they say, their voice low and gravelly.

Garrick hesitates, and Jarvil steps in. “Make it seventy, and it’s yours.”

The hooded figure's attention pivots to the mesmerizing band encircling Jarvil’s finger.

Jarvil, anxious and agitated, barks, “Well?!”

He produces a pouch of gold coins. While Jarvil steps away to count, Garrick hands over the vase. It glows with an otherworldly light, and Garrick’s eyes go wide with terror.

“What’s happening?” he screams, as his body contorts in ways that seem impossible. His face elongates, his skin stretches like parchment.

Jarvil steps back even more, a cold calculation in his eyes. He doesn’t help or flinch as Garrick’s screams grow louder.

The Red Stallion patrons watch in horror as Garrick transforms. His eyes burning with an eerie red glow.

“Blood Lord,” murmurs one patron.

“Blood Lord,” another patron says louder jumping out of their seat.

“Blood Lord!” several others scream.

The room erupts into chaos as they realize the true extent of Garrick’s transformation. They know what it means, the destruction and death that Garrick’s new form will bring.

“No!” Garrick screams. “I’m still here!”

The hooded figure screams, “He’s still human! Kill him before he transforms!”

Panic sets in, and they attack, fueled by fear and desperation.

Jarvil stands still, his gaze fixed on the chaos unfolding before him. He’s thinking of the gold, of the advantage this situation gives him. Garrick’s screams turn to snarls and growls.

If Garrick is out of the picture, I won’t have to share the spoils…

The attack is brutal and short-lived. Garrick’s form, mid-transformation, seems no match for the Red Stallion patrons. Jarvil watches, detached, as their blows rain down on Garrick’s twisted body.

Then, the room falls silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the patrons, exhausted from their exertion.

Suddenly, with a guttural roar, Garrick springs to his feet. “I am not a monster!” he bellows, his body convulsing.

Seeing Garrick's fight to stay alive, the patrons prepare to attack again. But the hooded figure, with a swift, arcane gesture, unleashes a torrent of dark energy that crackles through the air like a living thing.

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