The moon still hung high above Blackveil when I decided that staying idle would accomplish nothing. Shadows clung to the walls, lanterns flickered with weak light, and the murmurs of the tavern's regulars blended into a low hum that felt almost comforting.I had made my choice—I would work here. Not for survival alone, not merely to hide, but because every day spent in the wilderness, exhausted and starving, had reminded me how fragile life could be when you had no one watching your back. And perhaps, in this lawless town, I could start rebuilding the power and control I had once lost.
I approached Moremi, who was wiping down the counter with mechanical precision. "I'll work here," I said simply.
She looked up, startled, amber eyes narrowing. "You mean… serving?"
I shrugged lightly, as if shrugging away the weight of what I had endured. "Yes. For now."
Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she motioned for me to follow her, leading me through a hidden doorway behind the bar. The smell of smoke and cheap leather hit me immediately. At the end of the narrow corridor, a thick wooden door stood closed. She knocked once, then opened it to reveal a small office, dimly lit, with shelves stacked high with ledgers and bottles.
A man sat behind the desk, fat, bald, a cigar clenched between his teeth. Smoke coiled around his face, catching the dim lamplight. He looked me up and down without expression.
"Who's this?" he asked, voice low and gravelly.
Moremi's lips pressed together tightly. "This… is Selene. She says she wants to work here."
The man leaned back, eyes still assessing. "Work where? Behind the bar? Or… other services?"
I met his gaze evenly. "I'm capable of whatever role you need. I'll do it well."
He raised a brow, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny. "Pretty," he muttered. "You'll do nicely." He leaned forward, tapping a ledger. "I'll pay fifty drakes for now. You'll get a room here, meals included. Sound fair?"
I shook my head once with precise dissatisfaction. "That's…unacceptable."
Moremi's hands flew to her face, muttering under her breath. "Bloody hell…" she hissed. She turned to me, eyes wide, panic flashing. "Selene… wait, I don't think—he might—he'll kick us both out. You can't just—"
I ignored her, stepping closer to the desk. "If I'm not welcome here, I'll go to another tavern in the city where my skills will be more valuable," I said calmly. "But I intend to make this place more profitable for you."
The fat man blinked, then laughed, a harsh bark that filled the office. "You… think your looks will sell drinks?" He leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips, cigar smoke curling. "Go on, pretty. Convince me."
I met his gaze without flinching, feeling the familiar heat of control bloom in my chest. "I do not offer my looks as a trinket," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I offer value. Patrons come to see beauty, but what makes them stay is the fierceness sf that beauty. They spend more, linger longer.
Your establishment thrives on attention. I provide it. I ensure your profits rise. But if my presence is unwanted, I can leave. There are others who would pay for my services elsewhere."
The man leaned forward again, eyes lingering, calculating. Then he chuckled, the sound a low rumble. "Well… damn. You've got nerve. And brains." He tapped the ledger again. "Four hundred drakes. Room, food, everything included. You're mine now, pretty."
I blinked once, faintly surprised at the sudden increase, but kept my expression controlled. Moremi, however, nearly toppled backward. Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide as she stared at me like I had conjured a ghost.
"You… how…" she stammered, muttering words I couldn't hear. Her face screamed disbelief and, I suspected, a hint of jealousy. She had brought me here to help, thinking the boss might be harsh, and now I had secured a better arrangement than she herself enjoyed.
The man—Theodus, he introduced himself—cleared his throat, waving a hand dismissively. "Enough gawking. You, pretty thang are gonna start tonight.
Moremi, show her to her room. And make it a decent one. En-suite. Don't skimp."
I inclined my head slightly toward him, expression neutral. "Understood."
Moremi led me down a short corridor, muttering under her breath, her hands clenching and unclenching. "Bloody hell… she's unbelievable. I don't even know how she did that…"
I ignored her murmurs, noting every detail of the tavern as we passed: the worn floorboards, the patrons scattered about, some quietly drinking, others engaged in low-stakes gambling. This place had rules, hidden ones, and I intended to learn them all.
She stopped at a door, pushing it open. Inside was a small but comfortable room, clean, with a simple bed, a chest, and—most importantly—a private bathroom attached.
"This will do," I said, letting the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. I walked to the window and peeked out at the street below, lights flickering, shadows twisting in the corners. Blackveil was alive, chaotic, and dangerous—and exactly the kind of place I could make use of.
Moremi lingered in the doorway, finally meeting my gaze. Her amber eyes were wide, and for a moment I thought she might speak her thoughts aloud. Instead, she simply muttered, "I don't… I can't believe you pulled that off."
I gave her a faint smile, one without warmth, more a mask than a feeling. "I know how these places work," I said simply. "Beauty, influence, leverage. A well-placed word, a calm stance, and the patrons come. The rest is skill, patience, and knowing when to speak."
Her lips pressed together, jaw tight. "You're… you're something else, Selene Hale," she whispered. "I wanted to help you, and now… now you've taken more than I ever could have imagined."
"I didn't take anything," I said. "I earned it. And I plan to earn far more. You helped, and I appreciate it. But make no mistake—this is earned by my wits, not a gift from anyone."
She flinched slightly, nodding, clearly humbled and perhaps a little intimidated. The werewolf mind was a curious thing, protective and territorial, and I could sense her mix of admiration and envy. I didn't blame her.
I moved toward the bed, setting my cloak aside, and let my hands run over the simple desk. Every detail mattered—how the room was arranged, how the light hit the window, the feel of control beneath my fingertips. This was not just a job. This was a foothold, the first step toward rebuilding strength, influence, and perhaps one day, vengeance.
"Rest," I said finally, turning toward the door. "Learn the patrons. Watch the flow of money, the attention, the loyalty. This is a game, and every player has a role. Your role is to survive—and serve well. I'll teach the rest."
Moremi's eyes flicked to me, wary, uncertain, but she inclined her head. "Yes… Selene," she murmured. Turning she went to back to the tavern the tavern.
As I sat on the edge of the bed, closing my eyes briefly, I allowed myself a small, private acknowledgment: I was no longer the broken Luna wandering the desert. I was alive, capable, and dangerous. And with every calculated move, every glance, every carefully measured word, I would make this world bend to my will.
Even if it meant stepping into the roles I despised, using beauty as a tool, and watching those around me struggle to keep up.