“Well, lucky for me, my hook-ups aren’t your problem,” she shot back, her temper flaring at his assumption. “If I want to go out and suck face with a random, that’s my call to make.” Her gaze heated as his sparked like flame in response. If the pigheaded ass thought being part of his posse meant he could dictate her love life, he had another thing coming.
“She’s right, you know.” Trevor nudged Kieran in the side as he dropped beside him on the booth. “We do our own fair share of dipping into the pool. If we’re allowed to then so is she.”
Kieran balled his hands into fists as he turned to look at Trevor. “Did you happen to notice our kind take a keener than average interest in her? What happens when she’s distracted and one of those creatures attacks? She’ll be too far away to protect if we’re on stage.”
Liz waved her hand in front of his face. “Yeah, I’m right here. Guess what? They’re after you, not me. So if anything, the other guys should be keeping tight focus on you for when the next beasties decide to pay you a visit.” Even though her temper flared, Liz excelled at control. Unlike her, Kieran blazed, his emotions raging clear as day on his face. The man broadcasted such raw honesty he made the worst poker player out of the lot.
Before he said something they’d both regret, she jumped in again. “Look, I’m rolling on pure logic with this one. I’m not part of the band, and I know how to lose myself in a crowd better than most.”
Renn popped up from the back of the RV while struggling to clip a dog collar around his neck. “Besides, we’ll have the best view in the house keeping an eye on her from stage.”
Trevor sat beside Kieran, watching him with an unreadable expression. She’d have to drill him later to figure out what the hell percolated in their frontman’s brain.
Kieran heaved a sigh. “Guys, I’m sorry,” he apologized. As fast as the temper arrived, it slipped away again. “I don’t like my problems bringing danger on you all.” Even as he spoke to the room, his eyes locked on her. That’s how he always was, a bundle of emotions more raw and real than she ever hoped to possess, and seconds after the storm passed, he’d be the same charming, magnetic person as usual.
Trevor clapped a hand on his shoulder. “All the more reason to figure out who’s wanting you dead. Don’t sweat it, though. We all have our baggage.”
“Amen to that,” Liz agreed out loud, leaning against the table. “Now how about we head to this gig and you lot dazzle an audience?”
“Speaking my language.” Jett wove past her, casting a wink in her direction as he made his way to the front of the bus. Even with shared tempers, sex addictions that would make normal rockstars look like prudes, and a view of humans veering toward callous at times, she’d come to trust the boys of Discord’s Desire more than anyone in her life. Not like she had a breathtaking number of options for stability during her foster home hops and city jumps.
Renn followed Jett’s lead, sauntering off to the front of the RV. Trevor gave Liz a nod on the way out, perfect Southern gentleman he was. Kieran hauled himself off the booth seats with a creak and gestured for her to go first.
Liz shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’ll lock up behind us and then make my way to the normal kids’ entrance.” No matter how Kieran might protest, she stood knee deep in cement on this.
“Hope you enjoy the show then, darling.” Heat flickered in his amber eyes, and his lowered voice made the implication quite clear. A shiver rolled down her spine, but as always she didn’t betray those impulses.
“Give ‘em hell, rockstar.” She reached up to squeeze his shoulder. The warmth from his body emanated at the touch, and her mind traveled to the same places those wicked eyes of his did. Together, they wove their way down the aisle toward the doors. If Kieran was a normal, complication-free guy, she’d be on him in a heartbeat, but as it stood, the man camped in dangerous territory. And Liz spent her entire life running from danger—with the unique abilities she’d been born with, her survival required it.
****
She’d booked a gig in Berkeley at a college bar with a large hardwood stage and even larger viewing space for university students to flood in. Discord’s Desire, while not being radio-replay material, happened to have garnered quite a name for themselves for how rowdy their live shows got. Half the time they spent on the road involved taking down their videos from YouTube since they’d alert way too much attention and get blocked from venues if folks saw what went on behind the scenes. Trevor’s paranoid behavior combined with his knack for hacking meant he deleted video streams the second they entered his radar.
Still, with an underground reputation for orgies, college kids flocked to the shows looking for a good time. She walked through the swinging glass doors and showed the ID she’d clipped to her skirt—being their manager offered some perks after all.
The lights dimmed in the place, and folks bustled around her. Most were the PBR-swilling sort, while a couple of punk rock kids filtered in. A few guys along the way stopped, stared, and offered her a shit-eating grin, but after living around the guys in Discord’s Desire, her standards had gone way the hell up. Starlit spotlights cascaded over the darkened room, highlighting the near hundred people crammed into this place, whether they roamed on the base floors or walked to the balcony on the second. Faint buzzing intensified in her mind as she found one of the few open stools by the bar. Liz plunked down on the worn vinyl and glanced to the bartender.
A surly guy packing more muscle than Arnold Schwarzenegger in his heyday stood behind the bar, a couple of scars marking his arms. Girth didn’t intimate her, but once she got a glimpse of him, the buzzing increased to a roar, warning her away. His golden eyes flashed as he locked gazes with her. Everything about his features from his nose to his teeth appeared sharper than average, and his inhuman stare sealed the deal.
“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and gruff. She didn’t let her surprise betray her, even as fear trickled like ice down her spine.
“Glass of JD, neat,” she said with a saccharine sweet smile. Years ago, Liz graduated from the pisswater beer the average venue served, and she attended enough shows to know she needed to stick to the corners to enjoy herself. The bartender’s gaze lingered, but she kept her mask firm in place. The second a fae or supernatural creature knew you sensed it, you became enemy number one.
“Hefty drink for a small thing like yourself,” he remarked while pouring her a glass of the amber liquid.
“I don’t do anything in half measures.” She kept her focus on the stage and her voice nonchalant, even though her skin prickled at this foreign fae so close to her vicinity. Sure, he might just happen to work at this bar, but the incursion last night sent her paranoia into overdrive. The place reeked of B.O. and Drakkar Noir, and the boys hadn’t even stepped onstage yet. That’s when the sexcapades began.
Liz accepted the drink from the bartender and took a sip. Even though her gaze slid in his direction, she kept it furtive, as she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. The sweet Jack Daniels slid down her throat, sending a shudder of relief through her for one moment. One guy with a septum piercing and popped collar slid into the seat beside her. She leaned against the bar with her back turned to the bartender to remove the temptation of staring. Her back prickled at her vulnerable position—however, if the fae tried any mojo on her, his whammy wouldn’t work. Newcomer kept giving her a glance as he ordered horse-swill from the bartender in the form of Coors Light.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing at a show like this?” he said, leaning on the stool and palming the beer the bartender passed him.
Liz pursed her lips, debating what response would send him flying away the fastest. “Oh, there’s a show going on? I had no idea.” Her dry tone reached desert depths, but dumbass blinked and nodded at her.
“Yeah, did you miss all the signs?” At this point he’d pivoted his body in her direction. Despite the offers and interest on the table from the crowd so far, her n
erves jangled at high speed after meeting the not-so-human bartender, and the specimens weren’t top notch. After the thrill of flirting with Kieran day in and out, most guys didn’t stack up to his level of wit and sexiness.
“Must’ve walked straight past ‘em,” she kept her voice deadpan, staring into her Jack Daniels to keep the look of annoyance off her face. Three more seconds of interacting with boy genius here would have her ready to bash her head against the wall.
To her relief, the lights dimmed even more, and the spotlights circled to the front and center stage, casting a hush through the crowd. A smile curled her lips once Kieran’s sultry voice came over the speakers, the effects dropping like a pheromone bomb onto the audience. A visible ripple didn’t cascade through the air, but once his voice reached a familiar intensity and the rest of the band began playing, a huge scream resounded through the crowd.
Even without the incubus abilities at work, she had to admit, the man possessed a toe-curlingly sexy voice. As she scanned over the crowd, the beginnings of the orgy broke out, where strangers locked lips and deepened their kisses. A pair in front of her started getting handsy, and all of a sudden shirts were coming off. They weren’t even finished the first song, and the scent of sex laced through the room.
Liz let out a sigh. This was why she stayed backstage during the shows. Her glamour-resistance turned her into the one sober person at this lust inspired rager. Her dry spell would have to continue for now since she refused to hook up with the tool next to her and didn’t mainline the swell of sexuality like everyone else. Plus, with Mr. Fae Bartender behind her, she needed to act with extra caution. Bolting from fae sent the same message as a red flag to a bull—pretty please, come chase me.
On stage, Trevor thrummed away at the guitar, his fingers plucking over the strings with the skillful focus he always employed. He leaned up to the mic in front of him to add in the background vocals, the sensual tenor blending with Ky’s baritone. Renn’s hair flew as he thrashed away at the drums, his hands moving lightning fast and his hooves tapping the pedals. Meanwhile Jett romanced the length of his bass, providing the deep undercurrent the siren always did as those notes came out soul-wrenching.
Kieran’s voice reached a crescendo, drawing her attention front and forward. Normally when he sang, his gaze cast far and wide over the audience, as if he were romancing the crowd as a whole, but tonight, his eyes were locked on one person alone. She tried to swallow, but her throat grew dry.
Long strands of his dark hair drifted across his eyes as he clutched the microphone and rocked back and forth with it, the intensity projecting in his voice. He’d tossed his patched leather to the floor, stripped to a black wifebeater that clung to him like a second skin and revealed the intricate phoenix tattoo coiling down his arm. His hips shifted while he moved to the beat of the music, his grey jeans clinging to those powerful thighs. Yet nothing snared her as much as his amber eyes focused straight on her the entire time.
Heat flushed through her at his undivided attention, and while she’d like to blame it on all the bump and grind going on around her, Kieran got her hot and bothered. However, she wasn’t one to sit back and melt. Liz met his eyes and winked with a smirk. She caught the hint of a smile by the crinkle in his eyes as he crooned away.
When he finished the song, half of the crowd screamed, while the other half tangled themselves with whatever warm body stood the closest. A couple of scantily clad girls tried to climb onto the stage, and Renn humored them with a wink and mouthed ‘later.’
As they launched into another song, the guy beside her mashed face with a girl whose method of approach included fondling his balls. Liz heaved out a sigh as the band played a faster paced song, one of the fan favorite ones. She tapped her foot against the side of the stool to the beat of the music, taking another sip from her glass of JD in the process.
“Not going to join the rest of them?” a gruff voice came from behind her.
Liz almost jumped out of her seat in surprise, but keeping her composure, she instead slid around to face the bartender. Ice washed over her in a rude awakening. She’d gotten distracted by the way Kieran performed on stage and had forgotten about the not-human bartender standing behind her.
The man’s gold eyes scanned her over with an overabundance of curiosity. “Ballsy for one of your kind to show up at a show frontlined by mine.”
Her blood froze at the knowing in his eyes. She should run. She should run far and fast away from here. Should’ve bolted the second the literal warning bell in her mind buzzed away. Yet she stood there, unable to move, her nails biting into her palms, because he knew. To so many fae she’d been a curiosity, the butterfly whose multi-hued wings they wanted to pluck. Not him—he’d said her kind, like he’d run into them before.
Liz’s throat squeezed tight, and to her surprise, her eyes burned. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice coming out at almost a whisper. Hope twisted in her chest, thrashed in the cage where she’d stuffed it after years of waiting for an explanation to arrive. Of waiting for her parents to walk through the doors of St. Catherine’s and claim her.
The bartender’s thick brows lifted as he settled against the bar and crossed his arms. Fear flashed across his expression. “I’m not the only one in this place, and the others won’t hesitate to kill. Scram, before I make a call you won’t like.”
Fear flushed through the brief second of exhilaration, scouring her system clean. Survival took over. “I’m done with my drink anyway.” She finished off her glass of whisky, setting it onto the counter with a clink. Her skin prickled. The bartender made his threat clear—if she lingered, he’d bring down trouble she couldn’t defend against. Time to lose herself in the crowd, and fast.
She felt the burn of his gaze as she plunged into the audience. Liz waded through the outskirts of the crowd, avoiding the thick of what devolved into an orgy. Her heart sped, a thump, thump, thump reverberating in her ears. Sweat rolled off of the half naked bodies she passed. Liz swerved to the side to avoid running into a pair of breasts that got a chance to breathe and the schlong another guy whipped out right in the middle of the arena. Onstage, the boys soaked in the sexual energy to feed.
Liz cast a glance to the bartender, but being short had its drawbacks. Half of her wanted to damn the consequences, aim her Beretta straight to his skull, and demand the answers she longed for. But if other fae mingled through the crowd, she might not be the only one at risk.
The room exploded with heat from all the bodies pressed so close together, and already, sweat pricked her forehead. This swell of people made her goal for the backstage door even harder, and every elbow jab launched her paranoia into overdrive. Old Spice warred with Drakkar Noir as she waded her way through, trying to not choke on all the sweat-soaked perfumes.
The boys switched to a slower song by the time she waded past the crowd and reached the narrow side steps leading to the back. A big bouncer with thick-rimmed glasses stood in front of the door with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. She waved at him.
“I’m the booking manager,” she said, nodding toward the door.
He rolled his eyes. “And I’m the president. Nice try, sweetheart.” Caught in the haze of the music, he eye-banged her with a lust-filled gaze. Oh hell no.
Liz clenched her jaw and lifted her chin. “Excuse me? If you think I’m some slobbering groupie, you’ve got another thing coming. Let me the fuck back there.” She unclipped her badge and flashed it his way.
He shrugged and moved a few paces away from the door. As she stepped past him, his meaty hand inched in her direction. She was not in the mood for that bullshit, not now, not ever. Liz whirled around, grabbed his wrist, and yanked, hard. He let out a howl of pain as she dropped it and made her way up the stairs to the backstage. Of all the things she wanted to deal with tonight, mindless hornballs were the lowest on her list. The groupie assumption capped off her irritation too. If she got a nickel for every time someone made the mistake, she could op
en her own Five and Dime.
Their music pounded through the place, reverberating even here. The black bricked walls soaked in shadows, and dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling did little to shed more light. When she reached the landing where the boys stored their backup equipment, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Huge white letters had been spray-painted across the wall.
‘Pars Virilis, Ace.’
Chapter Four
Whatever mojo Kieran filled up on throughout the night fast deflated once he stepped backstage. The scrawled note pierced straight into his heart like an arrow. Only one person called him Ace, and Pars Virilis had been repeated so often in his house he wanted to hurl.
Liz sat underneath it, a grim expression on her face and her Beretta in hand.
Despite the clear message delivered on the wall, he let out a sigh of relief as his sweaty palm pressed against the cold bricks. “So this is where you ran off to.” He sidled beside her and slid to the ground.
“Luckily didn’t cross paths with that fucker,” Liz said, pointing to the graffiti above. “Don’t think he would’ve been in a share and care mood.”
A few girlish giggles sounded from the stage as the guys all filtered in. Along with them came three different gals of the highlighted blonde hair and stripper pumps variety, their falsies flickering and manicured nails latching onto offered arms. Kieran hadn’t bothered, even though a couple of sorority girls made their way onstage after the set and tried to give him a TSA-level pat down. His brain wasn’t skating anywhere near a fuel-up though, not after Liz disappeared from his sight in the crowd. He’d been performing on autopilot ever since.
Jett whisked his lady out the back door, while the other two stopped in their tracks.
Trevor squinted as he stared at the graffiti. “More shit from your secret admirer?” he asked, his voice lowering. The girl beside him tugged at his shirt and wiggled her hips, annoyed at the hold up. Trev didn’t pay her any mind as seriousness emanated from him, the concern that made him such a valuable friend.
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