Lyric & the Heartbeats

by Kole, Lana

  The music seemed more beautiful. The lights seemed to burn brighter, hotter, as she danced around the stage. She stripped her jacket off and tossed it side stage, wiped the sweat off her forehead, and grinned.

  “You’re electric tonight, guys,” Lyric said into the microphone.

  “I think that’s all you, Lyric.” Nohen’s voice rang through her monitors, and she turned a grin in his direction.

  “Or maybe it’s you guys!” she argued. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Desi replied into her mic. “We’re fuckin’ awesome!”

  The crowd cheered at Desi’s declaration, and Lyric couldn’t agree more.

  “Give it up for the heart of the show, my band!” Lyric called, and threw out an arm, stepping to the side and bowing. “Thank you guys for joining me on tour. These have been the best six weeks of my life.”

  Her lips wouldn’t stop curling, her cheeks hurt, but she didn’t care. She was just so… full. Of life, of happiness. Of giddiness. Of love?

  She wanted to laugh at her own sappiness, but they still had a show to play.

  “Let’s end this night right,” she said into the mic. “I hope you’re ready to dance!”

  The crowd screamed even louder, and she was suddenly thankful for her in-ear monitors. The first few rows seemed especially rowdy, shoving and pressing against the barricades.

  Gripping the mic tightly in her fist, she turned and, as the beat of the drums thumped through the venue and vibrated her feet, she danced toward her bassist.

  The final song of the set was fitting. She’d written it about beginnings and endings, and she wondered if the Lyric who’d scribbled desperately in her book would ever imagine she’d be performing it in her current circumstances.

  She almost chuckled in the middle of the chorus. The Lyric who’d written this song wouldn’t have believed she’d end up here.

  Lyric danced with Emerson, running her hands through the long strands of his hair and watching his fingers dance over the strings of his guitar. She spun with Adra on his keyboard stand, the lights and crowd spinning around and around them until she was even more drunk than before.

  Nohen was there to catch her of course, her safe, beautiful beta. When she turned back to the crowd, her hand lingering on Nohen’s arm, she found the crowd dancing and singing right alongside her.

  But amongst the thousands of fans celebrating their last night on stage, Lyric’s attention was turned to the front row.

  No, even before that. The pit, where barricade guards usually stood, was empty. Henry ushered the last guard out and stood like a solid wall between the crowd and the stage. Javier was alongside him.

  Lyric shot them a single confused glance before focusing back on the music. She let the last few seconds of the song fade into a mess of chaotic instruments, dancing and shaking her head. A confetti cannon exploded, raining tiny colored pieces of paper. It reflected the lights, and it seemed like fireflies were spinning around the room, drifting to the crowd.

  The room was spinning when the lights went down all at once, and she lowered her head. Her breath was loud in her ears, her pulse was heavy in her veins, and her heart was pounding.

  It was over.

  Lyric suddenly wanted to cry. Eyes burning, she lifted her head and swallowed roughly, staring out at the crowd, at all the people from her hometown who had come to see her at the last show. She tore out her in-ears to listen to the screams reverberate around the venue. More than anything, she wanted to remember this moment forever.

  “Thank you for coming!” Lyric called into her mic.

  The lights slowly came back up, and in all the chaos of the confetti, the crowd, the stagehands lowering the black shade to separate her from the crowd, Lyric met Henry’s gaze.

  A fire burned in them, one that took her breath away, and she tightened her fist around the mic or else she would have dropped it.

  In sync, Henry and Javier planted their palms on the stage, and in one smooth, fluid move, lifted themselves up. The black curtain fell just as they got to their feet and began stalking in her direction.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Heat blanketed her back, and she turned her head to look up at… Emerson.

  A similar spark was flickering in his eyes, and Lyric swallowed. A slow warmth that had been burning beneath her skin all evening, disguised as giddiness and dizziness, suddenly burst.

  Her eyes widened with understanding.

  “You’re in heat,” Henry said. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  He grabbed her hand, led her from the stage. Emerson walked at her right, and in the second it took her to turn her head, Adra appeared to blanket her left. Nohen and Javi followed behind, and the exit beckoned them.

  She’d been mistaken.

  It wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

  Her entire body was burning up. She couldn’t contain it, couldn’t stop it. Her alphas and beta curled around her like a protective bubble as they rushed through the venue toward the safety of the bus. Desi stayed behind to handle wrapping up anything tour related.

  “Take care of her,” Desi called out from the venue doors.

  Lyric didn’t even hear the rest of her pack’s response.

  She needed to feel them around her, needed to be surrounded by their scents.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she hissed. Lyric couldn’t believe her heat had arrived early.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured as they filed onto the bus. This was all her fault.

  Henry still had a hold of her hand, and he pulled her to a stop in the open bunk room.

  “What are you sorry for?” he asked.

  “For going off my suppressants. It wasn’t supposed to come this early. I’m sorry.”

  Henry’s brows dipped, and a quiet fury lit his eyes before he snuffed out the flames. “You’re not to blame for anything, and I don’t want to hear another word like that out of your mouth. Heats are natural, and I’m glad we’re here to help you through it, as long as that’s what you want?”

  Lyric parted her lips to answer, but the first of many waves of need washed over her and she dropped Henry’s hand so she didn’t leave marks.

  A haze clouded her vision, her senses, and through it all she heard Henry murmur some orders to the others, and distantly, the bus door opening and closing a few times.

  Lyric whined. She didn’t want her pack to leave, she wanted all of them with her. All of them.

  “Others?” she asked once the wave had receded. “Tell them to come back.”

  “They’re coming. They just had to get some things first. They’ll be right back.”

  Lyric studied Henry, trusted that he wouldn’t lie, and threw herself at him. Arms wrapping around her, he caught her effortlessly and eased her down to the mattresses.

  He settled between her legs, and even the slightest pressure near her core made her entire body clench, so she pulled him closer, nipped at his lips in a silent plea.

  “Okay, okay,” he soothed and petted her hair back from her face. “I’ll make you feel better.”

  Lyric was thankful to Henry for his help, but she couldn’t handle a gentle touch just then, she was too full of a fiery need that burned too hot. “Touch me, Henry,” she demanded, and wiggled out of her stage pants. Damned things had zippers on the sides, and she’d never been more annoyed to be right-handed in her life.

  Henry took over, the hiss of the zipper seeming so loud in the room, next to her own pounding heart and rushing breath.

  She kicked them off her legs, but it was Henry who took the time to unlace her boots and pull them off her feet. As the cool air licked at her skin, she whimpered, scissored her legs, or what she could of them since they were still trapped in her pants.

  Finally, Henry freed her, and she leaned up, wrapped her hands around his neck, and pulled him down to her. Even his warmth felt good, even though her skin was growing more sensitive by the second. She didn’t
like his clothes, didn’t like her own shirt.

  But she couldn’t care about that right then. All she could think about was the kindling spark, the burning need in her skin that could only be eased one way.

  “Henry,” she cried against his lips.

  “I know, I know. It’ll be okay,” he said, brushing a hand through her hair.

  Lyric opened her mouth to tell him exactly what he could do to better the situation, but he took the words right from her mind as he slid a hand between her legs. She parted her thighs, and he wasted no time in finding her clit and stroking over the bud of nerves. It was electric, sparks flying out from the point of contact, and the promise of his touch made her cramps ease for just a moment.

  She arched off the bed of blankets as he thrust a finger inside her and crooked it just right, hitting her g-spot on the second try. Her orgasm rushed over her like a hot wave, flushing her from head to toe and pulling a desperate cry from her lips that Henry silenced with a kiss.

  By the time the aftershocks dotted her senses, she was already rocking into him for more. At some point, he’d stripped off his pants, though Lyric didn’t remember when, and she sighed happily as he removed her shirt.

  Their skin pressed together, and Lyric cooed contentedly. He was so warm, not in the boiling needy way like the pressure under her skin, but in the soft, gentle way of an alpha.

  An alpha that wasn’t hers yet.

  Lyric reached up and pulled his face to hers, caught his gaze, and searched his hazel eyes.

  “Please bite me,” she said, so softly, so earnestly for the chaos of the heat, and it had just barely begun.

  Henry searched her gaze, must have found her sincerity amongst the need, and nodded.

  “Okay.”

  “Never thought I’d see the day where you were late,” she teased. He was so in charge, so intense, it surprised her that he hadn’t been the first to bond her. But that was Henry. Putting his own needs aside in order to see to those of his pack.

  “Only for the right things,” he muttered.

  He lowered himself atop her, and Lyric planted her feet, arching herself up into him. Henry was so hot and so hard against her core, she needed him.

  “Henry,” she cried, the solemn moment gone and need replacing her every thought and breath.

  He rocked his cock between her slick folds, her arousal and first orgasm leaving her so wet for him. “Where should I bite someone who causes me so much trouble?” he asked.

  Lyric barely heard him, rocking herself against his hardness. She didn’t care. She wanted his cock and his teeth inside her.

  “Don’t care,” she muttered.

  Henry chuckled. “You don’t, hmm? Well, news for you, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I know just where to bite.”

  Lyric hummed nonsensically, arching into him and whining. “Please, please—”

  He lifted her hand, and Lyric thought he was going to do something sappy like kiss the palm of her hand, but the nip of his teeth made her eyes go wide.

  His scent overwhelmed her, the tart tobacco and sweet gin making her want to drink him down, swallow him up, make him hers.

  “Do it,” she urged.

  But Henry was already listening before the words ever left her mouth. He pressed the head of his cock to her wet core and slid inside in one smooth move. And at the same time, he lifted her hand to his lips, and bit her right between thumb and forefinger.

  It sent her flying. That was all it had taken. His bite, his bond that snapped and popped around them like a firework show. She fluttered and squeezed around him, and he nursed her new bite mark as he began a brutal rhythm that made it hard to find her way back down to earth after the world-shattering orgasm.

  When the aftershocks faded, she sensed the next wave of the heat coming on, but for a split second, the clarity, the feel of all her bonds lighting up, moving closer as Adra and Emerson made their way back to the bus, was beautiful.

  The slam of the door, the snick of the lock, and Lyric tilted her head back to watch Adra, Emerson, Javi, and Nohen come through the doors.

  She reached out hands for them, and Emerson caught sight of her new bite mark. “That’s gonna be fun.” He lowered himself beside her and wiped a strand of hair off her forehead. “How’s our princess?”

  “S’good,” Lyric muttered. “Want you,” she said.

  “You’ve got us,” Adra promised, lowering down at her other side.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Nohen agreed.

  Lyric’s gaze turned to Javi, who locked the door and shut the world out of their little bunk room. “We’re here to stay, pajarita.”

  Her heart ached at the promise in each of their words, at the love that filled the room, that she felt from each of her bonds.

  Most people didn’t get to pinpoint the exact moment their life changed, but Lyric did. It was right there, in that tour bus, experiencing her first real, unhindered heat, that she understood herself for the first time.

  “You’re my pack,” she said, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. “You better be here to stay.”

  “Are you okay?” Javier asked, and they all seemed to wait with bated breath for her answer.

  Her eyes welled with tears as she nodded, but even after she said, “Yes, I’m fine. More than fine,” they still didn’t move.

  “Why are you crying?” Javier questioned.

  She grabbed at his hand and linked their fingers together, the new bite mark sending shivers along her skin. “Because I finally understand what you were saying that night we were by the bus. I get it,” she breathed. These were her alphas, instincts be damned.

  The smile that curled his lips was blinding, and he reached down to wipe at her tears before she grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down to her.

  That kiss was like hitting play, and she was lost to sensation.

  The next wave hit, and the only thing she felt was need. But then their kisses were there to ease the sting, to smooth away the sparks on her skin and make her feel better.

  And suddenly, she’d never been fucking happier to be an omega. Not with an entire pack there to hold her and make her feel better, to kiss her and stroke her hair and take care of her.

  It was what she’d been looking for all along, a family with no conditions, no expectations except to love one another.

  How ironic was it that she didn’t understand her instincts until she allowed herself to feel them? How silly was it that when she embraced them just like she embraced her pack she wasn’t afraid of them like she’d been her whole life?

  She was Lyric. She was an omega. And she was fucking happy.

  Silky soft bristles brushed over Lyric’s skin at the hand of a makeup artist, who tsked and leaned back to view her handiwork.

  “How do you have such clear skin? Is this what having a pack does for an omega?”

  Lyric chuckled, tilting her head to the side at her direction. “I don’t know, I guess I just have good genes.”

  “I’d hope so, the ones we’re putting you in are designer, after all,” she teased.

  A soft laugh was muffled behind her, and while Lyric couldn’t turn her head to see who it belonged to, she knew just from the light sound of it. “Nohen, are you eavesdropping?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Andi sent me to tell you the photographer is running late, so they’re going to do some of the interview while you’re finishing your makeup.” Nohen rounded the chair as he finished speaking.

  “Bring it on,” she said with a wink. He beamed at her and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

  “Leave it!” the makeup artist scolded him. Nohen froze with his hand near his face. “I saw the stylist mess with that curl to perfection, don’t fucking touch it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nohen replied, and dropped his hand.

  As he backed away, the artist turned her back to him, and he mouthed, “She’s scary,” before turning and running off to wherever he came from.r />
  “He’s a cutie, that one,” she remarked with a smirk.

  “Isn’t he?” Lyric gushed, her gaze following Nohen’s figure as he made his way across the studio.

  A flurry of motion approached, and Lyric sat up straighter in the chair.

  “Don’t fret, we’re just going to get a head start since the photographer is running late. We apologize for the inconvenience, and Designate will compensate you for your time.”

  Lyric knew Henry or Andi would handle whatever needed to be handle, so she just smiled and greeted the interviewer. A cute, silvery blonde-haired woman held out her hand. “I’m Lola, and I’ll be asking you a few questions about your music, the band, and how you got to be here. The piece will be on fashion and lifestyle, specifically an omega on her journey to fame and finding her pack.”

  “Lyric Ceran, it’s nice to meet you.” Lyric shook her hand and smiled softly. Henry had done a good job scoring this interview and photoshoot, though he claimed they had been the first ones to reach out, wanting the scoop on Lyric and her new bite marks.

  Since this was the same magazine that had done the spread Lyric had seen in the magazine in Javi’s truck, she’d agreed.

  “Get comfortable, but I don’t think the makeup we’ve designed for you today will take long,” Lola said.

  “We’re halfway done,” the artist interjected, and Lola nodded.

  Lola lowered herself into the other styling chair out of Lyric’s view, because the stylist tilted her face up to begin applying a silky eyeliner.

  “First, let me congratulate you on finishing your first tour. You promoted your second album successfully, and it’s holding its reign at number seven solidly. But those are just numbers. How do you feel the tour went?”

  Besides finding my pack? But Lyric figured they’d get to that.

  Lyric answered her question safely, sticking to first experiences and sightseeing and what performing on stage meant to her.

  What followed were a few more basic questions. Favorite show, most exciting moment of the tour, most draining. Lyric had an answer for each question, and the longer she talked, the less it felt like an interview and more just like two women chatting over coffee. Minus the makeup artist, who finally finished with a flourish of setting spray.