Slow Burn
A Sexy Spy Thriller
by
Sascha Illyvich
Copyright 2015 Sascha Illyvich
Kindle Edition
ISBN-10: 1-62827-994-X
ISBN-13: 978-1-62827-994-8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of this author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Published by Ardent Books, an imprint of Assent Publishing
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To those lost in darkness, May you find your Self in the Light.
Chapter One
The shitty light show didn’t bother his eyes; he was otherworldly. The extra effort of the band onstage was lost on both him and and the other patrons slowly filling in to see the main act.
He’d been in worse places with even crappier light. Such was the life of a spy, especially one who could move between worlds like Derrick. The term spook didn’t just hold true for his human side; it was reinforced exponentially for him as a shifter.
Tonight he wasn’t here to think of the past.
Stale cigarette smoke and sweat hung in the air, irritating Derrick’s puma senses. After thirty minutes, the opening band managed to move the crowd into some semblance of frenzy, if the tiny mosh pit could be called that.
Too bad no one gave a shit about the poorly expressed political message in the band’s lyrics.
Derrick stood in the back with the bartender, Rob, a leather-clad human that dwarfed most people. Rob’s auburn curls emphasized the scariness of his face; black eyes sunk deep into a skull that might have made Derrick afraid if he were simply human.
Pumas didn’t fear mankind. A two-hundred-pound solid mass of muscle that could easily leap eighteen feet need not fear anyone, especially when it could tear out the throat of its victims with ease.
Scanning the crowd, Derrick swirled his drink around and took a sip. The Manhattan slid down his throat before he set the glass on the bar and another quickly sailed his way.
Derrick reached for his wallet while thunderous kick drums, booming bass guitar, and fast riffs from the band onstage assaulted his ears.
Rob’s voice didn’t change despite the loudness in the club. “No charge. You’ll want to sip this one slowly, though, Derrick. In fact, keep your eyes on the stage.”
Nodding, Derrick turned to face the stage, grateful for his enhanced hearing. He could actually hear Rob’s words over the riffs played by the newest band in the death metal scene.
The band Ark-KaotiK jammed loud and fast onstage, causing a melee of noise while the crowd erupted into a mosh pit that would have made the Devil himself proud. For thirty minutes, they cranked out chords, kicked off melodies, and warmed up.
Derrick sipped his drink and kept an eye on the crowd. Many of the concertgoers were human, though he noticed a few wolves and bears had made their way in. As a former spy, he’d learned to watch the crowd for signs of violence, ignoring most of their behavior as harmless. Metal music listeners tended to get a little raucous, especially since this was one of the largest bands making the death metal circuit.
After a few more minutes of jamming, his target would appear onstage.
Ark-KaotiK sported a drummer on a par with the greatest of technical death metal drummers. Their guitarist played complex riffs and melodic rhythms like nobody else. Their bass player proved capable of bringing out a thunderous low end.
Sonja, their legendary lead singer, made them the most amazing death metal band around.
Stories circulated in the paranormal community about a witch with the voice of a goddess and the power to influence crowds. At a time in the country when waves of violent uprisings by angry mobs fed up with class inequality were becoming the norm, the youth remained neglected. Many of the displaced youth did what they did best: went to metal shows, got drunk, and took out their aggression on willing and sometimes unwilling participants.
Supposedly, Sonja could control all of that with her voice.
The tension in the crowd had risen to an all-time high. The previous band managed to pull out charisma at the last moment and rile up the crowd, jumbling listener emotions, serving as a reminder to many of the patrons of class warfare issues and capitalist pig ideas. Combined with alcohol, drug use, the aforementioned tension levels created a powder keg of violence. Already, two fights had been broken up between two were-beings. That couldn’t be allowed to continue. Humans would get hurt, a body count would be established, and everything that had been done by those in the shifter community to improve the perception of humans would be torn asunder.
Derrick chose to keep his distance from the crowd. Rob had asked him to watch the lead singer, tail her, keep her safe. Hanging back gave him the best vantage point; he could see who came in while he watched the stage.
“I really appreciate you coming out to watch her. I’d apologize about the music but—”
Derrick held a hand up. “It’s no problem. I’m a fan. Besides, you did me a favor, so thanks.”
Rob arched a brow. “I did?”
“Let’s just leave it at I needed to get out of the house.” Derrick smiled.
His routine hangout was the cigar club on the other side of town. Pumas were notorious loners. In his normal crowd, he hung out alone or included himself in conversation as he saw fit.
Except among his few friends, Derrick affiliated himself as a diehard metal head. If a show came to his part of town and even one of the bands was someone he listened to, he showed up. The large crowds allowed him to get out and mix his aggression with theirs. If he didn’t, he became irritable and that tended to turn off any women who might otherwise share his bed.
He had no misconceptions about sex. At his age, he could still have any woman he wanted, but commitment scared him. He shunned the idea after his last few relationships. Nicole turned out to be psycho. Mahalia couldn’t deal with him being a shifter. Margaret worried for his safety when he admitted to being a spy, and she hated the lies he had to tell her.
Most of them wanted commitment.
Even though he was out of the spy game, he still had reservations from his past that kept him from seeking a lifelong partner.
Except for the dry spell he’d been in, Derrick had a pretty decent sexual career, but his heart was empty and he desperately craved companionship.
Tonight, he wanted none of that. Tonight would be for the music, the drinking, and keeping the peace. And, oh yeah, protecting his target.
The lights went down.
The band left the stage.
Another drink slid across the bar.
Without looking, Derrick extended his hand and caught the glass before bringing it to his lips. Cool liquor slid down his throat and sent tingles racing through him.
Screaming voices erupted from the PA and mixed with loud thunderclaps followed by rain. A mist appeared from the darkness, illuminated by purple and blue lights just above the stage. The crowd quieted down just enough to let the aural buildup occur. Then the rain stopped.
A thundercloud outside shook the walls of the bar and boomed against the brick and mortar. A few hushed gasps immerged from random places in the audience.
The sound of shattering glass pulled Derrick’s attention center stage.
On the stage, he noticed what appeared to be glass shards reassembling themselves.
He scratched his head and did a double take.
Yup, the glass was indeed reassembling
itself into the wine bottle it had once been.
Then it floated offstage while band members took their places, instruments in hand.
The small lead singer dispersed the smoke with a wave of her hand.
At the same time, the lights kicked on, the band started playing, and the lead singer emitted the most beautiful growls through the mic.
His heart thundered in his chest, blood pooled south. Derrick did another double take. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the now-angry screams coming from the woman onstage.
She belted, grunted, made the disjointed music make sense.
Metal had a way of being both darkly angry and intensely beautiful if the singer’s voice and lyrics could captivate the listener.
Worse yet, she’d captured the attention of his dick. Hands angrily gripped the microphone. Dark, waist-length hair swirled around and fell at her sides, blanketing her face; Derrick saw plump lips ripe for kissing. Her ample chest rose and fell with each breath she took.
She moved with grace. Power spilled off her in time with the music.
The audience followed her every move.
The mosh pit opened up; bodies slammed hard into one another.
Then, as if they weren’t a death metal band at all, their music changed tones, became melodic. Her singing matched the music, and all the weight of the aggressive pit seemed to lift off the humans and into the air.
The pit slowed down.
Derrick watched the woman who now sang with an angel’s voice in absolute amazement.
Slowly, he slid off the barstool and made his way toward her, only to be stopped by Rob’s hand on his arm.
He looked over his shoulder and almost growled back at Rob.
The bartender shook his head. “Something’s wrong. She’s calling to all the shifters to come closer, to let go of their animalistic violence fetish. You go to her now, she’ll own you. Shake it off.”
Derrick must have looked puzzled because Rob scowled. “I’ll introduce you after the show. Trust me.”
He shook his head and found Rob staring back at him. “Thanks.” Derrick took his place back on the stool. He’d wait, but that melodic voice carrying such pain and sorrow had already woven a spell on him. The glint in her silver-blue eyes caught his gaze and helped push sensual lust into her death-laced lyrics.
Something resonated deep in his bones, but he didn’t quite understand why. Never had he felt a power like hers.
The overwhelming need to wrap his arms around her and hold her startled him.
The band went into the second song—a nonstop blast-beat number with rhythmic guitars that created the perfect scene of darkness and despair while Sonja continued singing. Sumptuous, clean vocals nearly forced him off the stool again.
Rob clapped his hand on Derrick’s shoulder and applied a bit more pressure. Derrick didn’t look back, but he gripped the bar until his knuckles ached.
She sang and took the audience on an auditory journey of a troubled teen struggling into adulthood who ultimately took his own life.
As hard as he was, Derrick found himself wanting to comfort Sonja now.
Lights flashed in sync with the rapid-fire drum kicks and created a strobe light effect.
Derrick leaned forward while still holding his drink. Lights onstage gave Sonja a more dramatic appearance. Corpse paint covered her round face; eye shadow set her eyes deeper in her skull than they really were; blood-red hair looked like the darkest tar. A charcoal sweater clung to full breasts and showed off a flat tummy meant for licking. Black leather hugged luscious hips. Derrick couldn’t pull his eyes away from her sultry swagger.
A third song morphed into a fourth, and an hour later, the band retired for the night after playing one encore. Sonja thanked the crowd and tossed the microphone onto the stage.
Derrick noted the mood in the bar as it slowly emptied out. People, moods, everything seemed lighter.
The air of danger and despair had fallen prey to sadness, acceptance, and finally relief.
His body still thrummed with sexual need.
Derrick finished another Manhattan and turned to pay the bartender.
“No need.” Rob shook his head. Auburn curls spilled down the sides of his face. Black paint around his eyes made them appear to be sunken deeper into his skull. “Give them a few minutes to clear out and I’ll take you backstage to meet Sonja. She’s…waiting for you.”
Derrick didn’t understand but nodded anyway. The nervous underlying tones in Rob’s voice made him wary. He gripped the glass, spun it around on the bar, and slid it toward Rob.
With typical bartender flair, Rob caught it, tossed the ice, and set the glass in the dishwasher.
A bottle of water flew past a patron and ended up in Derrick’s hand.
“I am still amazed at your speed.” Rob laughed.
His ears rang but he could still hear Rob with precision. Derrick popped the top off. “You’ve got speed yourself and you’re not even a shifter.”
Rob snorted. “I’m something, that’s for sure.”
Derrick laughed. “Indeed.”
He turned back to the empty stage and watched roadies carry equipment away. His mind wandered back to the singer, how her prowess on stage controlled the crowd with exactness, getting them to move just as she directed them.
Many singers were charismatic, but not like Sonja.
A few minutes passed and the stage emptied. Rob reached out and grabbed Derrick’s shoulder. “Come on. You want a proper introduction, right?”
Derrick nodded. Heavy sexual energy consumed him, making him fear he’d say the wrong damn thing. He made a mental note to keep his mouth shut and let Sonja do the talking—if she had the voice for it.
Besides, he wasn’t supposed to let her know he was watching her. As far as she would know, he was just an old friend of Rob's from school.
Rob escorted Derrick past the bar and down a long dark hallway. Fans ran on high and sent an obvious chill through the bartender. The leather he wore proved no match for the warmth of puma fur.
“Here’s her room. Remember, she shouldn’t know I hired you to protect her. Nor does she need to know about the note threatening her life. The guys typically head into the hidden cellar here for a shower.”
“Right, we’re just old friends from school. Took some of the same classes and I’m in town visiting.”
Rob nodded. “Right.”
Derrick rubbed his chin. “You said something went wrong when she sang and began pulling shifters toward the stage. What did you mean?”
“You’ll see in a moment.” Rob pushed the door open.
Behind the wooden slab that passed for a door, dimmed lights illuminated the area. Derrick made out the leather couch and the sounds of muffled cries. He rushed in and scanned the area.
Senses on high alert, Derrick spotted the tiny woman with her head buried in her arms on the couch. She curled up in a tight ball against the corner, sobbing…and clad in only hip-hugging panties and a bra that pushed luscious curves upward.
Alabaster skin glistened with sweat against the black leather couch. Her hair hid her face and muffled her sobs. Derrick sighed but caught a whiff of something.
Heavy, dark.
Lonely.
“Sonja?” Rob stepped in and knelt at her side. He reached out but didn’t quite touch her. “Come here, Derrick. If I’m right…” Rob didn’t finish his statement.
Derrick stepped inside and scratched his head.
Rob met Derrick’s gaze dead on. “Now, please.”
The urgency in Rob’s voice matched his concerned expression. Sonja’s sobs continued to tear at his heart. He wanted to know who made her cry and why. Then he wanted to pummel them. Vengeance filled him instantly.
Rob’s voice floated through the rage and managed to ground Derrick back to reality. “Calm down, Derrick. It’s not what you think. Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and touch her. Please.”
Derrick knelt, ran a hand through his ha
ir, and sighed, letting all the worry slip away from his mind. He found that calm place in the forest where the puma inside loved running free, and went there. Luscious smells confronted his sensitive nose. Colors sharpened. Then he returned to reality. Rob moved beside Sonja. His eyes filled with despair. “Touch her, please.”
Derrick didn’t miss the pain in Rob’s voice. What is going on here?
He reached for Sonja, touched a hand along her thigh. Smooth, soft skin met his.
Her thigh twitched and she stiffened against his hand.
Derrick started to withdraw but met Rob’s gaze.
“Not yet.”
Derrick nodded. Sexual energy along with something else crackled between them and sent a shudder through his body.
Sonja must have felt it, too, because she shifted and straightened. Her eyes widened.
Derrick slid his leather trench coat off and used it to cover her.
She sniffled and lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”
Intense silver-blue eyes stared back at him with such force they threatened to knock him back. He struggled to hold his ground, remaining unsure of whether to remove his hand.
She answered that question by cupping his hand with hers and offering a weak smile. “You’re tranquil,” she whispered.
Derrick nodded and smiled weakly. “Sometimes. What’s going on?”
Sonja shifted again, rolled her head back and forth. She swept a hand through her red hair and brushed it over her shoulders. “I’m…empathic, and in this crowd there was so much hatred. It’s overwhelming. I picked up on it instantly and it inundated me.”
Blinking, Derrick looked at Rob. “It’s like she was thrust in the middle of the mosh pit before it started?”
Before Rob could answer, Sonja nodded. “You’re a shifter. Your feelings are heavier than most. Let me just touch you back.” She leaned forward and the jacket slid down her body, exposing a black bra.
Her hand caressed his cheek, then slid down his neck and stopped at his heart. She pressed the palm of her hand against him and closed her eyes.
Slow Burn Page 1