Hidden Heart, Book 2 of the Hidden Trilogy (Fantasy)

by Amy Patrick

  Screams rebounded through the bus.

  “No one will ever love him as much as I do!” vowed a girl one row ahead of me. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She’d never even met him.

  At Amalia’s instruction, we filed down the stairs and lined up in front of a stage erected in the station’s parking lot. A crowd—mostly girls but some boys, too—had already accumulated on the other side of the lot, though they were being held back from the stage area by ropes and security guards. Once we were in place, the ropes were removed, the guards stepped back, and the mob surged forward, coming to join us.

  It was strange to be at a concert in the morning. Clearly everyone here had enjoyed their Toffee Mocha Frappuccinos already—the faces around me were wide awake, bright with expectation.

  The warm California air was so different from the clingy humidity of Mississippi summers, but the atmosphere still felt thick with anticipation, with a buzz of excited chatter. Laughter and conversation filled my ears from every direction.

  A thin bald guy dressed in all black and wearing a TV station I.D. badge and sunglasses came out onto the stage. “All right—listen up please—Darcy and Brad will be out in about five minutes. They’re going to announce The Hidden, and then the band will take the stage. We want lots of enthusiasm and lots of noise—do you think we can do that?”

  A chorus of screams erupted, making the guy laugh. He held both arms over his head to calm them. “Okay, okay—save some for the show.” He looked down at his wristwatch and announced, “Four minutes,” and then walked away toward the station’s back door.

  The noise died back down to an animated murmur. “Anticipation” was the wrong word for what I was feeling—the swimming sensation in my belly was more like anxiety. In a few minutes, Nox would be standing on that stage. The microphones and amps would come on, he would play his guitar. He would sing. And then I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.

  Would I lose my mind, lose my own will, behave like these girls around me? Would I become a podette for real?

  I searched the area for an escape route. I was boxed in by bodies as well as our bus on one side and the back wall of the TV station on the other. Rotating all the way around to inspect the back of the parking lot, I spotted Amalia.

  She was scanning the crowd with a serious expression, focused on her job. And what was her job exactly? Chaperone? Zoo keeper? Pimp?

  Had she cast the glamour over my fellow pod members? She was obviously Elven, and she certainly kept a watchful eye on us all. Maybe she was combing the sea of other girls here, looking for new recruits.

  Now that I thought about it, these fans were probably hoping for exactly that—to be noticed—to be chosen to become part of our elite and privileged group. As if to prove my point, a girl behind me tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see her face.

  “Are you in Nox’s fan pod?”

  I had to swallow a hard lump in my throat before answering, “Yeah.”

  Her curious expression melted into obvious envy. “You are so lucky. I didn’t get in. I thought I was one of the first to sign up—they played the Roxy six months ago, and I immediately contacted his agent and left my name. I guess a lot of people did.”

  Reading her dejection, I almost felt sorry for her. But she had no idea how lucky she was. “I’m sorry,” I said because it was the natural thing to say in a moment like that, but then I added in a lower tone, “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be—you should withdraw your name.”

  She drew back and studied my face, wide-eyed. Then her forehead creased and she nodded as if convinced. “Thanks,” she said, and I watched as she moved away, pushing toward the back of the crowd, giving up her coveted spot near the stage.

  Well, that was easy. I shrugged. If only it were that simple—I could just tell the others to pack up and go home, resume their lives and abandon the whole fan pod idea. All I could figure was that girl hadn’t been glamoured yet, or not very thoroughly.

  “Welcome everyone—are you ready to rock?”

  The amplified voice and answering screams caused me to turn back to the stage where Barbie and Ken’s real-life counterparts stood side-by-side, smiling at the crowd. The woman spoke next.

  “I’m Darcy and this is Brad—we’re the hosts of L.A. Morning, and it’s our pleasure to welcome to the L.A. Morning stage one of the hottest new bands we’ve seen in a long time. They have an album dropping next month, and It. Is. Incredible.”

  “They really are fantastic, Darcy. I was lucky enough to see them play Whisky-a-Go-Go a few months ago, and they tore the house down.” Addressing the crowd again, Brad said, “And now, without further delay…we bring you… The Hidden!”

  Screams erupted around me. A drumbeat began, joined by a baseline, and the girls on each side of me began jumping like kids on Christmas morning. In fact, I doubted Santa had ever gotten such a reaction. Nox was not onstage, but his three bandmates were.

  I didn’t remember noticing them the night I’d seen The Hidden play in a small Oxford nightclub, but seeing them now in the bright California daylight, there was no question they were Elven.

  No wonder the girls were so star-struck. The Hidden was like a boy band on steroids—each guy was perfect in his own way but more grown-up and dangerous-looking than the typical boy band member.

  Naturally, they were all tall and built. The guy on keyboards was blond, a lighter shade than Lad’s. He looked like he spent a lot of time on a surfboard when he wasn’t performing onstage.

  The drummer had longer, sandy brown hair and was shirtless, revealing a delicious tan. The base player had his dark hair cropped very short, but I knew if it had been longer, it would bear the hallmark waves of male Elven hair.

  People in the crowd were screaming their names—Rolf, Anders, and Matteus from what I could understand. My eyes skipped from one to the other—it was hard to decide which one was better looking. Any of them would have easily been the cutest guy in school if he were dropped into the average American high school or college campus.

  And then Nox came out on stage. And the others seemed to disappear.

  The noise around me increased to a frenetic pitch that was almost deafening. The anxiety in my middle ramped up to full-on terror—this was about to happen. I had nowhere to go and no idea what my reaction to his music would be or whether I could control it. I was possibly on the verge of deep personal embarrassment.

  Nox strode toward center stage with his guitar strapped around his body. He wore what must have been his usual on-stage uniform—similar to what he’d worn that night in the nightclub—a tight dark t-shirt and perfectly fitted jeans with black boots. It was weird seeing him like this. I was used to viewing him up close, through a filter of personal knowledge and distrust. But this was different.

  Separated as we were by the crowd and the stage, it was almost as if I didn’t know Nox, like he was someone else. Like I was someone else and viewing him through the eyes of the fans surrounding me. And through these new eyes… he looked amazing.

  He strutted across the stage, playing the song’s opening chords, his movements fluid and athletic. His face was the picture of concentration and passion as he poured himself into the music. I wanted to look away, struggled to replace the beautiful male image before my eyes with the scenes of angry confrontations that had occurred between us, but those seemed fuzzy and distant now, like dreams that slip away moments after you wake.

  Nox reached the microphone stand and began to sing.

  And I was lost.

  As soon as the first verse came through the amps, I was under a spell. My body felt heavy and warm, anchored in place as if I might grow into the pavement beneath my feet and be content to live in his spot forever, listening to him, watching him play to the crowd.

  As he sang, Nox’s teeth flashed whitely, a cross between a smile and a snarl as he delivered the vocals. Now I didn’t care about the reactions of the girls around me—were they still even there? I couldn’t see anyone else, h
ear anyone else. There was only Nox and his voice washing over me in luxurious Caribbean-warm waves of sound and feeling.

  He stepped back from the mic for a guitar ride and the languor lifted slightly, though the rhythmic movements of his body in time with the music captured my gaze and refused to let go.

  I’d fantasized about Lad before, about what might come after the passionate kisses we’d shared. But with both of us being virgins, and never having seen a movie bearing a rating past R, I didn’t have much to work with in the visuals department. Now my mind was flooded with images that made me blush, though anyone watching would assume the California heat was getting to me.

  My tongue felt thick, my belly tight, my body growing warmer by the minute. I squirmed, uncomfortable in my light, non-restrictive clothing. I’d only seen Nox shirtless one time—that horrible day in Altum when I’d realized his true identity and that he’d been lying to me all along.

  Now the memory came back to me in vivid detail. Worse, I saw myself in the picture, touching his bare chest, running my hands over his shoulders and down his well-muscled arms. The hot tightness in my belly increased and expanded, twisting in on itself, making me want to move, to do something.

  Gigi, who’d apparently been standing next to me (I’d forgotten) bumped me playfully. “There you go, girl. You can dance.”

  “What?”

  I looked down at my own body and realized I was moving to the beat of the music. Just like in the nightclub that night, I had lost control of my own body—like it wasn’t mine anymore. Like it was his.

  Nox resumed singing, and the full mesmerized state dropped over me again. I hate this. And at the same time… I loved it. The feeling of being lost in sensation, controlled by something, someone so much stronger than myself was strangely pleasurable. Freeing, in a way. Like I could simply let go of all my thoughts and stop worrying and drift in this enveloping bath of emotion forever.

  The song ended. I felt like I might fall down, only the other fans were packed in so tightly around me I could probably have passed out and still remained on my feet. I had a quick impulse to push through the crowd, say I needed to get to the bathroom or something, and then the next song began.

  This one had a slower beat, more of a ballad sound. I stared down at my feet, determined to maintain control over myself, not to look at him, not to listen—maybe I could somehow mentally block out his vocals.

  But then I heard his voice—not just singing the lyrics. He was singing, but he was also speaking in my mind.

  Ryann, are you okay?

  It was him—as clear as Gigi’s voice had been a few minutes ago. But when my head whipped up to look at him, Nox was singing to the crowd. His eyes narrowed in a crinkly smiling expression as he sang. Then he cut a quick side glance at me. Dang it. He knew I’d heard him.

  And now, once again, I was really hearing him as he sang. If I’d been capable of feeling anything other than ultimate peace, I might have panicked when I recognized the song—it was the same one he’d sung the night in Oxford when I’d tried—unsuccessfully—to leave. Just like on that night, a confusing swirl of emotions twisted through me.

  Tears gathered behind my eyes. Nox’s voice was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard, his face the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. How had I ever looked at Lad and preferred him over this masterpiece of masculine beauty? I could never leave him, never leave California, unless it was to follow him… anywhere…

  A tap on my shoulder caused me to turn to the side. I blinked. Gigi’s bemused expression met my eyes.

  She laughed. “I’ve been saying your name for, like, a minute. We’re supposed to go back to the bus. Come on.”

  I blinked again and shook my head. The concert was over? I glanced up at the empty stage, stared around me at the parking lot and the girls walking away in groups and pairs, chattering with each other about the show they’d just seen.

  How long had I been… under? Away? Asleep? I didn’t know what word to use to describe the spell that had come over me. Had there been several more songs or only those two? And where had my mind been all that time? Had I danced and screamed like an idiot? Part of me wanted to play back the recording of this show and look at the crowd shots, and part of me didn’t.

  This must be what full-on glamour was like. This was why a stranger could drive away with Emmy, and her mother wouldn’t protest. Why people would agree to do anything they were asked.

  So far no one had been able to glamour me with their words or with a look—perhaps I was resistant to that. But I was an absolute textbook case of susceptibility to musical glamour—at least to Nox’s. It was terrifying to know he had so much power over me, and to admit that for now, I’d have to put up with it.

  Chapter Ten

  Losses

  Still mortified, I followed Gigi toward the bus. As we reached the steps, someone called out, “You!”

  Gigi and I both turned toward Nox’s voice. He was standing beside the open door of a yellow Mercedes sports car. He pointed at me. “You, the brunette—what’s your name again?”

  “Uh, it’s Ryann.”

  “Ryann. Come here—you’re riding with me.”

  Gigi’s astonished gaze flew to me, and she gave me a huge smile followed by a little shove. “Go… go!”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I obeyed. What choice did I have? If I told him to go to hell or even said, “No thank you,” I’d be outed as a fan pod fraud.

  I walked toward him, glancing back once over my shoulder at the bus. As expected, Amalia stood at the front, watching through the huge windshield.

  When I met Nox at his car, I kept my voice low, though I couldn’t prevent the irritation from leaking into my tone. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to take a ride with me. Keep smiling,” he instructed through his own grin. “Big Sister is watching.”

  Plastering on a fake smile, I tried to appear delighted as Nox walked around and opened the passenger door for me. I held onto my rant until we’d pulled out of the lot and onto the busy highway.

  “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to show me any special attention.”

  “That’s not true. Alfred says the fan pod members are ‘at my disposal’ and I may ‘use them as I wish.’ I’m expected to spend time with individual girls. If I don’t, it’ll raise suspicion. So you’re helping me keep my cover. I told my handlers not to expect me back for a while.” He drew out the last word suggestively and raised an eyebrow at me, his mouth sliding into a sexy sideways grin.

  “As long as ‘keeping your cover’ is all you expect me to help you with. Eyes back on the road,” I growled, pointing through the windshield.

  He laughed. “Of course. So, where do you want to go?”

  As nervous as I was about being near him after the show experience, I really wasn’t in a hurry to get back to fanpod headquarters and dissect The Hidden’s performance with the other girls. It was exhausting to be around such hysterical enthusiasm all the time. I missed the woods, too. I wanted to go somewhere natural.

  “The hills?” I suggested. “All this concrete is getting to me.”

  “The Hollywood hills it is. Got your hiking shoes on?”

  Nox drove us up twisting streets with amazing panoramic views and parked at the Griffith Observatory.

  “We can hike to the Hollywood Sign from here, if you want to,” he suggested.

  “Yeah. That sounds perfect, actually.”

  He popped the trunk and pulled out two water bottles, then led the way toward a path beyond the parking lot. The walk was only marginally challenging, steep, but with a clearly defined path and not much in the way of undergrowth—so different from hiking in the thick woods on Grandma’s land. Suddenly I was suffused with the desire to be back in those woods, where I’d first met Lad, where we’d spent so many happy times together.

  “So… you haven’t told me what you thought of the show this morning.”

  I rolled my eyes over to Nox, w
iping a fine sheen of sweat off my forehead. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  A sneaky grin prefaced his laugh. “Glamour-drunk is a good look for you, Ry.”

  I pointed at him, my finger jabbing the air in time with my emphatic words. “I will not be attending any more concerts, by the way.”

  “Ryann—”

  “I mean it. That’s not why I came out here, and you know it. And it’s not fair for you to do that to me against my will. I really don’t appreciate it.”

  Nox threw his hands out to the side, keeping pace with my new, increased walking speed. “It’s not like I can help it. I didn’t want any of this—the fan pods, the celebrity. I’m doing this whole thing for you, if you’ll remember.”

  I glanced over at him, finding my footing easily on a flat stretch. “So, you don’t want to be famous? Why sing then—why have a band and record music?”

  He looked away, studying the view in the valley below through squinting eyes as he considered it. “Music doesn’t feel like a choice, either. It called to me—it felt like something I had to do, you know? It gives me peace. It makes me happy. And when I sing… the… effects on humans… it’s not something I’m trying to do. I was born with it, I guess. My parents were musical artists—our house was always filled with music. I think that’s why I like California so much, why I started coming out here as soon as I was old enough to travel alone. This is where all my memories of them are. This is where we were happy as a family. I… miss that.” He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the trail ahead.

  I stopped and watched his back as he went on, studied his strong calves as the incline of the path increased. I’d never spent any time considering the losses Nox had experienced.

  He was an orphan. I wasn’t sure how it all had come about, but I knew he’d grown up in L.A. until the age of twelve and then was forced to live in a secret underground society in the backwoods of Mississippi through no choice of his own. And from what he’d described, he’d felt like a burden or at least an interloper in Lad’s home. It was a lot of upheaval for one short life, and it seemed pretty lonely.