Off the Beaten Track
Warwick was wiping down the bar in the Beaten Track Bar, trying to subtly read two men sitting together because one had caught his eye. The man he was interested in was tall and well-built with messy blond hair and green eyes.
“I wouldn’t get caught staring at a table of hunters Warwick, you know in our little den we cater for dangerous men who fight the very darkness to keep it at bay. Some of them stay good folk, but others get a temper,” his boss Greg says in a low voice, coming close—maybe to see what, or who, has Warwick’s attention.
Greg had hired him knowing Warwick was bisexual and had never made an issue out of it, but he always advised that Warwick be discreet. Not all hunters, he’d said, were the most enlightened; it was almost as if hunting and killing s
