Marked By Fire (Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society Book 2)

by Meg Ripley

  Less than a month after Nora and I made things official, we started to realize that living directly across the alley from each other was getting to be ridiculous. What began as shacking up together only on the weekends quickly evolved into the two of us spending every night together.

  My place has a better view of the Rouen Cathedral and is a little roomier than Nora’s, so we decided it would best for her to let Claude know she’d be giving up her apartment to come live with me. It wasn’t something we spent too much time thinking about; we just knew it was the right decision. In no time, Nora used her eye for design to warm up the place, decorating it with stuff from quirky little boutiques, giving it just the right feel.

  Once Julienne got wind of this, her ball-busting kicked into overdrive. The relentless chiding that I once found irritating I now play into for fun, all the while giving her ammo by telling her how soft our new 1000 thread count sheets are, or how although pink, or salmon, whichever Nora likes to call it, wouldn’t be my first choice to decorate a bathroom with, I find it rather relaxing.

  I snap out of it the instant Yann puts his hand on my shoulder and whispers, “Good luck, bro! Knock ‘em dead.”

  A wide grin spreads across my face. I lean toward the microphone and announce, “Don’t take off yet; I have a special surprise for all of you tonight.”

  The majority of the main lights go down and only the small trail of lights leading backstage remain lit. I hand my guitar over to Daniel, our roadie, and make my way down the small set of stairs to the hallway and into the dressing room.

  The rest of the guys are already there, happily cracking into the large cooler of beer that our manager arranged to have ready for us. I peel off my sweat-drenched black tee shirt and grab a fresh towel from the rack nearby. The mirror in front of me is cracked in a bunch of places, and for a second, my eyes pour over the graffiti left by other bands that have played here, scribbled in black Sharpie, when I catch my reflection.

  My tattoos are such a part of the fabric of who I am, that I sometimes don’t even notice they’re there. My attention goes to the latest addition on my sternum that Nora sketched for me six months ago. My fingers slide over the outline of the freesia blossom, which symbolizes trust, and I remember how proud I felt to have an original design that she created permanently etched into my flesh.

  “It’s time!” Pascal calls, and in an instant, I grab a clean tee shirt out of my bag, yank it over my head and sprint back to the stage.

  When I get there, I see that Daniel has set a small wooden stool near my Martin acoustic guitar and lowered the height of the microphone stand for me. I slip the guitar strap over my head, take a seat and lean into the microphone.

  “Before I get started, I just want to thank you all for coming out. The Four Pistols wouldn’t be where we are today if it wasn’t for you guys. You’re the reason that we get up here and keep doing what we’re doing.”

  I catch my breath and pause for a moment. Beads of sweat begin to gather on my forehead.

  “Tonight, I have something very special to share with all of you; a new song that I haven’t even shared with the band yet. It’s probably my most personal song to date, and it’s about someone that’s very dear to me: my talented, beautiful girlfriend, Nora.”

  The crowd begins to cheer and I seize the opportunity to point her out. “In case you don’t know who she is, she’s right here in the front row,” as I motion to her. “I’m sure a lot of you in the back can’t see her so, hey, why don’t you come up here for a second, baby.”

  Nora turns red, makes and face and starts to shake her head from left to right. The crowd begins to chant, “No-ra! No-ra! No-ra!” as I lean forward with my hand extended, inviting her up to the stage.

  Reluctantly, she climbs up and fiddles with her hands for a few moments before folding them behind her. I turn back to the crowd and say, “Before I play the last song of the night, I want to tell all of you how this woman has completely changed my life. She’s the fuel that inspires my lyrics and the music I write. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without her, and because of that, I always want her to be by my side.”

  With that, I stand up, place my guitar back on its stand and reach into the pocket of my jeans. I pull out a small, black velvet box and smile to the sea of people that begins just a few feet away from me.

  I lick my lips and bite my lip; I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as hell right now. I get down on my right knee and stare up at Nora, whose hands are now clutching her chest, her face in utter disbelief.

  “Nora,” I begin, “the time I spend with you is as precious to me as you are. I want you by my side; not just today, or tomorrow, next week or next year. I want you by my side forever. Nora Nolan,” I look over and Yann gives me a nod of encouragement, “will you marry me?”

  The crowd screams with joy, but then, a hush quickly falls over the venue as everyone waits to hear her reply. Tears of joy stream down Nora’s cheeks and her eyes move from me to the crowd, and then back to me again.

  “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

  I stand up and wrap my arms around her, pulling her closely against me as our lips meet and we kiss for what feels like an eternity. I pull back and stare into her eyes. “I love you. I’ll always love you, Nora.”

  “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.” She leans down to the microphone, and with a new-found courage, starts speaking to the crowd. “Wow! What a night, huh? Now, who wants to hear Jacques’ new song? I know I do!”

  The crowd goes wild and Nora claps along with them and hops off the stage, reclaiming her place in the front row.

  Strapping on my guitar, I stop and smile, realizing that my boss, Julienne, has been absolutely right all along. God knows I’ll never bet against her again. I laugh to myself and settle back down onto the stool, strumming the first chords of my new song, “By My Side.” The crowd fades from my mind as I lock eyes with the woman I love and begin to dream of all the crazy adventures we’re going to have together.

  THE END

  Julian

  I’m the lead guitarist in one of the most successful bands in the Miami scene named Molly Riot. Our label is trying to convince us to tour with Juniper Woolf, a rival band that’s fronted by an attention-seeking brat named Fran Chambers.

  When my band mates finally convinced me to sign off on the tour, I thought there was no way that I’d ever get along with Fran…that is, until I started spending time alone with her on the tour bus.

  You know, I’ve gotta say, no woman has ever had such a pull on me. We can’t keep our hands off each other, but the problem is, we can’t let anyone else in either of our bands know about our little tryst. If the press were to get a hold of this, we’d all be in for one hell of a shitstorm.

  Do you have any idea how hard it is to hook up on a tour bus without anyone else knowing about it? I’ll tell you one thing, if the two of us can keep this a secret, we’ll each deserve an Oscar…

  CHAPTER ONE

  I shifted in my chair, looking around at the other members of the band; Ron had just left the room “to give you time to discuss the proposition from the label,” and true to our forms, we’d all stopped talking altogether.

  “It’s not a bad deal,” Dan said quietly, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah, but fucking Juniper Woolf? Are they even serious with that shit?” Nick shook his head in disgust. I twisted my hips so I could fish a half-finished pack of cigarettes out of my pocket; Alex looked at me as I shook one free of the box and found my lighter.

  “If we can keep Julian from killing Fran, it might work,” Alex suggested.

  “I won’t kill her,” I said, lighting my cigarette and taking as long a drag as I could fill my lungs with. “I’ll leave her alive.”

  “The only reason they think this is a good idea is because of Jules’ rivalry with her,” Mark pointed out. “Maybe if you had a filter, dude…”

  “Maybe if I had a filter I wouldn’t notice how
much of an attention whore she is?” I rolled my eyes and blew smoke through my nose. “We can’t do it.”

  “They’re promising us an extra half million for the next album if we do,” Dan pointed out. “And a bonus if their first album on the label sells fifty thousand.”

  “We’re never going to see even a cent of that fucking bonus, dude,” I told Dan. “Who the hell’s going to buy the Juniper Woolf album? Fucking nobody, that’s who.” I took another drag of my cigarette and shook my head.

  “Still, just the extra half mil is worth it,” Alex said. “We could make the next album huge with that kind of money.”

  “That’s assuming none of us ends up in prison,” Mark said.

  “Julian is all talk about Fran,” Nick told everyone. “He just doesn’t want to work with her because he’s worried she’ll cut in on his wanking time.”

  “Like he’d even hesitate to jerk off with her in the room,” Alex said.

  “If she walked in on me that’d be her problem,” I pointed out. Nick dug a cigarette out of his gig bag and lit it, and for a moment silence filled the room again.

  “Half a million more for the next album,” Dan said finally. “Guys—that’s not chump change and you all know it.”

  “Neither is two billion,” I said, flicking the ash off the end of my cigarette in the general area of the ashtray. “But working with Juniper Woolf isn’t worth that, either.”

  “Come on, Jules,” Alex said, looking me in the eye. “This could be really good for us.”

  “Besides, apart from getting yourself involved with a drug ring like Mr. Alex North over here, or having sex with the rising music press star like Nick, what else can you do to promote us that would be better than putting aside your stupid fucking feud with Fran Chambers?” asked Mark.

  I glanced at Mark. “I didn’t know it was my fucking job to promote us,” I told him. “I thought we had someone taking fifteen fucking percent from our royalties for that.”

  “What’s your problem with her, anyway?” Dan looked up at me from his position on the floor, an eyebrow raised in query.

  “Jules doesn’t need anything so petty as a reason to hate someone,” Nick said with a smirk. “He can judge someone’s worthiness within thirty seconds of meeting them.”

  “He’s never made a decision that works against the interests of the band, though,” Dan countered. “I want to know where this all started.” I shrugged, leaning over the arm of the chair and reaching for the acoustic guitar I’d put aside when Ron had come in.

  “She’s just an attention-seeking bitch and I can’t stand her,” I said, splaying my fingers over the fret board until I found the chord I wanted and picked at a few of the strings.

  “They met like a year ago,” Nick told Dan. “We were out after one of the shows, and caught the tail end of Juniper Woolf.”

  “So, what happened?” I kept playing, ignoring Alex’s question; it had been around about the time that Alex had been either in rehab—meeting his girlfriend Mary—or on the run from the main dealer in South Florida.

  “She threw glitter at him from the stage,” Nick said with a shrug. “Apparently, she does that a lot.”

  “Like I said,” I cut in, “she’s an attention-seeking bitch.”

  “Did you get glitter in your eye or something?” Dan looked at me, incredulous. “I mean it’s not like we haven’t done some crazy shit to get attention.”

  “You played an entire show in an Elvis costume,” Mark pointed out. “It wasn’t Halloween.”

  “You guys were in costumes, too,” I said. “It’s not like I was the only person on the stage in a fucking costume.”

  “But you still did it,” Alex insisted.

  “Costumes are one thing,” I told him, shaking my head. “Throwing glitter at people? Christ.”

  “Green glitter at that,” Nick said with a smirk. I stubbed out my cigarette and went back to playing.

  “Can’t you put your stupid rivalry with her aside for a few months to get a deal for us?” I looked up at Alex and sighed.

  “I will if she does,” I said, knowing I sounded petty as shit and not even caring. “Besides, she owes me an apology.”

  “I doubt you’re going to get that from her,” Mark said, shaking his head.

  “She’s not that bad,” Dan said. “I met her last week at Respectables up in West Palm.”

  “The hell were you doing in West Palm?” I frowned at Dan.

  “Girl I know works up there,” he said with a shrug. “Her car broke down and she needed a ride.”

  “A ride or a ride?” In spite of myself, I laughed at Nick’s clarification.

  “She got home safely in the morning,” Dan said, smiling slightly. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Juniper Woolf was playing Respects and I chatted with them a bit afterward.”

  “And what’s your verdict?” Alex looked from Dan to me and I played an off chord just to irritate him.

  “They’re legit,” Dan said, shrugging. “Offstage, Fran’s pretty nice.”

  “Did you give her a ride, too?” I gave Dan a significant look.

  “She had a ride,” Dan told me. “Went home with the rest of her band after closing.”

  “Jules,” Alex said, shifting in his chair and lighting a cig, “You’re the only holdout in the band. Come on, man—it can’t possibly be that bad. We’ll play a few joint shows with them, do a little PR bullshit, act like buddies for a few months, and get a huge fucking paycheck at the end of it all.”

  “I think we should hold out for a full million,” Mark said, picking up his drumsticks and tapping a fast-paced staccato on the arm of his chair.

  “They’re not going to give us a full million on top of our old budget,” Alex said, shaking his head. “A one and a half million dollar album? Are you crazy?”

  “One million altogether is more than we’re worth for an album,” Dan added.

  “If it was, we wouldn’t be getting it,” I pointed out. “They wouldn’t offer us that if they didn’t think we could make it back.”

  “They think we can make it back between our sales and Juniper Woolf’s,” Nick said.

  “Okay—let’s make this at least somewhat official,” Alex said, raising his hands in the air. “All in favor of taking the deal?” Nick, Dan, and Alex raised their hands. “All opposed?” I raised my hand. Alex looked at Mark sharply. “What about you, Marky?”

  “I’m abstaining,” Mark said, grinning. “I don’t want anyone in the band pissed at me for backing the wrong side.”

  “Come on, just fucking vote,” Alex told him. Mark looked at me, at Dan, and then at Alex.

  “Fine,” Mark said finally. “I’m in favor of it, as long as Julian can keep from getting himself arrested for vandalism or something like that.”

  “You’re the only holdout, Jules,” Alex told me.

  “I thought we’d agreed that we either all agree on something or we don’t do it,” I pointed out; it was an old agreement in the band: if any one member of the band disagreed with a deal, or didn’t want to do something that impacted the whole band, we didn’t do it.

  “That shit went out the window when everyone voted me into rehab,” Alex said, shaking his head. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d at least give it a fair chance.” I sighed and found another cigarette in my pack, lighting it as I considered. Alex was right; there was no point in holding out when everyone else in the band wanted to move forward with what we were doing.

  “Make sure Ron has a lawyer on retainer for us,” I said as I exhaled a plume of smoke. “I have the feeling we’re going to need it. I’m in.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Everyone! Five minutes,” Ron called into the room. I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. It’s just a couple of months. That’s all. I glanced at the rest of my band mates; Alex looked pleased as punch, Nick had his usual too-cool-for-the-world expression, Mark might as well have been glowing, and Dan was scribbling something in a noteboo
k, utterly relaxed. I was the only one in the room that was tense.

  “All right,” I said, stretching against the tightness in my back. “Let’s get this stupid shit over with.”

  As soon as I’d agreed to the arrangement from the record label, they’d put the final package together so fast that I figured they’d already had it planned before they even came to us. We’d announce our promotional tour at a press conference alongside the members of Juniper Woolf, and then there would be three months of dates around the country—New York, Florida, Oregon, Washington, California, and a few scattered across the mid-west. Along with that, we’d do a bunch of press, a bunch of interviews. And at the end of it, we were slated to release an EP with them, with songs recorded at the shows and potentially—if we could work together long enough—a co-written track.

  “Remember, Julian,” Alex said, rising from his seat. “Smile.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I don’t smile anyway,” I pointed out.

  “Sure you do,” Mark countered, grinning at me. “You smiled for that girl in Paris last year.”

  “That’s because she had weed and wasn’t wearing a bra,” I told him. “Amazing what pot and the promise of a good lay will do to improve my mood.”

  “If you’re good I’ve got some spare grass,” Nick told me, glancing in the mirror and adjusting the sleeve of his ripped tee shirt.

  “Just as long as she doesn’t act like a little shit,” I said, glancing at the rest of the band significantly. “I’ll do my job.”

  We went out into the conference area; a bunch of local press had gathered, along with some of the national music mags—I spotted Nick’s girlfriend in the crowd piled up in front of the long table, along with a few other magazine beat writers. The members of Juniper Woolf came out from the other side of the stage, and I was actually surprised at how normal they looked; Fran Chambers still stood out, with her violet-colored hair in a chin-length bob, but she’d managed to dress in normal clothes: a skirt that came down to just above her knees, a pair of Mary Janes, and a tee shirt ironically promoting Leading The Heroes—a band that had broken up two or three years prior, its members scattered across the country. The other three members of her band looked as average as average could be; I’d never paid enough attention to Juniper Woolf to learn their names.