by S W Vaughn
“My pleasure.” He managed to keep his voice from shaking, though everything inside him trembled. “I suppose I should go with…Vern.”
“Yeah.” She squeezed his hand and released him. “Don’t go too far, though.”
“You will not leave my sight.”
Pausing to toss a triumphant glance at the angel, whose smoldering glare threatened to set him ablaze, he followed after the manager.
While David explained what was expected of him—basically what Blue had said in the car, only the bouncer used more words—Jaeryth watched Logan as she helped the others carry things to the stage. She’d lost the alarming pallor that had come over her while she talked to Reid and now she seemed happy, almost excited.
He hoped it wasn’t the angel’s arrival that had lifted her mood.
The blur of activity and David’s instructions made swift work of time, and soon the lights dimmed and humans poured into the room, a mass of energized anticipation. Jaeryth had been compelled to take a position in front of the stage, along with David and another of the bouncers, while Logan and the rest had sequestered themselves to prepare. Now only the man who monitored the equipment remained on the stage.
A few moments after the room had been filled completely, someone extinguished the overhead lights, leaving only a row of small, white bulbs along the edge of the stage. The crowd hushed enough to hear the flurry of footsteps on wood, the thunk and scratch and click as the unseen band took up their instruments. When the movement stopped, the mob held its collective breath.
“Hello, Pottstown!”
Reid’s amplified voice threw the crowd into a frenzy. Though he was supposed to watch the audience, Jaeryth glanced back long enough to catch a glimpse of Logan under the swirling, multicolored spotlights. She stood at the center behind a microphone stand, poised and breathless—and looking straight at him. Her lips curved into a brief smile just before she closed her eyes.
He turned away reluctantly and attempted to focus on his task. This was going to be a long night.
“Y’all know who we are, right?”
The noise swelled impossibly louder. As he tried to scan the mob, Jaeryth realized that if there were Tempters here, he’d likely never see them. With the lights at his back and the mortals packed tightly together in the dark, nearly every one appeared to be dressed all in black. He would spot nothing unless a human—or a demon—broke through the line and tried for the stage.
“Well, then. Let’s get it on!”
The music began almost before Reid finished speaking, a frenetic rush of dark harmony at ear-thumping volume. It was rather pleasing, as mortal music went.
And then Logan began to sing.
The crowd responded with a definitive roar of approval that Jaeryth scarcely noticed. He’d heard her sing before, to herself and during a handful of so-called practices with the addicts she’d first fallen in with in Crystaltown. She had been good then. Shockingly good.
Now, she was phenomenal.
The power she’d exhibited in small flashes poured into her voice and thundered through the electrical system. Raw emotion hammered every word, sultry and beckoning. It wouldn’t have surprised him if every human in this room fell to their knees and worshipped her, as he was tempted to himself.
At least there was little chance she’d require protection from the demonic element here. Few Tempters would be able to withstand such a display.
When the song ended, the volume did not decrease—the screaming crowds raised their voices to fill the music’s absence. And after a beat, the band launched into a new song.
Jaeryth tried to concentrate on the undulating shadows of the audience before him while Logan’s voice penetrated his blood. With such power, he could understand why those at the bar worried about an attack. The beauty of her voice could drive a mortal to bliss, or to madness. Unfortunately, he could discern little in the shifting, darkened mass.
A figure near the back of the room suddenly caught his attention, one slightly taller and somehow more visible than the rest—perhaps because of the way the mob parted as he moved closer. Even from this distance, the figure was plainly male, though it shouldn’t have been possible to tell.
While the silhouette drew nearer, the music became slightly distorted. Perhaps they were having trouble with the equipment. Concerned, Jaeryth glanced over his shoulder.
As he watched, Logan and the others froze in place—and everything went utterly silent.
Jaeryth swallowed hard, suddenly consumed with dread. He turned back slowly to find the crowd in the same immobile state, save for the distinctive figure navigating through the mortals toward him. Though the lights were still off, he had no trouble seeing the male’s face. Strikingly handsome with dark hair and a goatee, and dusky golden skin. His perfect lips held a grin colder than the ages, but the flames of Hell danced behind his penetrating blue eyes.
Though Jaeryth had never seen this human form, he knew of only one demon that possessed the power to stop time itself.
Samael.
Chapter Fifteen
The Prince of Hell wore blood-red leather. Not a common choice of apparel for the Otherworld, though Jaeryth knew that some of the higher-level demons enjoyed wearing garments of human skin. And he doubted that Samael’s clothing had once been a cow.
Samael emerged through the front lines of the crowd and stopped before him. “Jaeryth.” Even in human form, chilling authority filled his voice. “What in the name of my father are you doing?”
He tamped down rising fury. “I’m working, sire.”
“Are you?” The Prince cocked his head. “I only ask, Jaeryth, because I have grave concerns regarding your well-being.”
“If that’s the case, then perhaps you should have left me with some of my abilities. Or my clothing.”
Samael laughed. The sound did little to put him at ease. “Jaeryth, you do amuse me so. That must be why I haven’t yet struck you down.” The Prince sent a leisurely glance around the room. “Are you enjoying yourself with these meat-sacks? They can be such unpleasant company, you know. Always scheming and lying and abusing each other. Good times.” He winked.
“Indeed.”
“You disagree?” Samael shook his head, offered a mock sigh and turned to the closest time-stopped human, a female with dark, heavy makeup and unnaturally black hair. “Let’s show him a good time, dear one. Shall we dance?”
Before Jaeryth could react, Samael grabbed the motionless mortal and pulled her from the crowd.
“Strike up the band!” Laughter rolling like thunder, the Prince executed a graceful, demented waltz through the cleared space between stage and crowd, with the female flopping about in his arms like a fresh corpse. He hummed under his breath as he trotted her across the floor and then stopped to dip her.
The human gasped, opened her eyes—and began to shriek.
“Oh, for the love of Hell.” Samael dropped her. When she hit the floor, still screaming, he gestured and froze her mid-shriek. “Females,” he said with a merciless chuckle. “They’re never happy. And speaking of females, let’s have a look at your prophet.”
Jaeryth had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. He did not want the Prince anywhere near his Logan—but there was little he could do about it. If he protested, Samael would probably do worse than whatever he already had in mind.
Samael leapt easily onto the stage. But instead of inspecting Logan, he headed for the drum set and Tex. “Brother!” He stopped before the angel, cupped the immobile face in both hands and bent to kiss his forehead. Quick sizzling sounds rose with the contact, and when Samael drew back, a lip-shaped mark blackened Tex’s skin. The smudged lines blazed orange and evaporated in curls of smoke, leaving only a faint shadow. Shrugging, the Prince turned and hooked a thumb toward the angel. “This one is defective.”
“Is he?” Jaeryth said weakly, wishing with all of what passed as his heart that Samael would leave.
Having apparently lost interest in Tex, the Prince pranced acr
oss the stage. He stopped to grab handfuls of Blue’s long, thick hair, bring it to his nose and inhale deeply, and then to snatch the guitar pick from Reid’s frozen fingers and throw it into the crowd. Finally, he came to Logan. She’d paused in time with her head thrown back and eyes half-closed, the microphone in one hand nearly touching her curved lips while her other hand stretched toward the crowd, beseeching. Beautiful.
After subjecting her to a long, rapacious stare, Samael looked to Jaeryth and grinned. “All right, I’m convinced. She is Nabi,” he said. “Do you know why I believe this?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess, sire.”
Samael jumped from the stage and landed in front of him with a thud that shook the building. He was no longer grinning. “Because this place burns with the light of Citadel,” he snarled. “It reeks of good feelings. Every one of these putrid heaps of miserable flesh is happy. And she is the cause of this!”
Jaeryth didn’t even see the Prince move. One moment he was standing—and the next, he was flat on his back with the breath driven from him and Samael’s foot crushing his ribs.
“You are failing me, Jaeryth.” Samael stepped off, reached down and hauled Jaeryth to his feet with one hand. “I do not tolerate failure. Is that understood?”
He gasped for enough air to speak. “Yes, sire.”
“Ronwe is aware of this problem.” Samael shook him hard enough to jar his bones together. “I do not care which one of you solves it, in what way, but it will be solved. And if Ronwe is the one to rid me of this blight…well, you know what will happen to you.”
“Yes…”
“Say it.”
He hesitated. “Tartarus.”
Samael backhanded him. Pain drilled through his head and the taste of blood filled his mouth. “And worse,” the Prince said. “Your suffering will make the trials of Prometheus seem like a picnic.” He let go and Jaeryth dropped to his knees. “If I were you, Jaeryth, I would simply kill her now. Before Ronwe finds a way to accomplish it.”
With that, Samael strode past the stage, hauled the back door open and vanished into the night.
Shivering, Jaeryth forced himself to his feet and tried to ignore his aching body—which, unlike Samael’s mortal form, was not infused with demonic strength. And he’d just barely begun to recover from the first thrashing at the Prince’s hands. This would not help him accomplish his goals.
But then, it was obvious Samael had no intention of helping him.
As quickly as it had stopped, the flow of time rushed back into place. Motion and noise flooded the room and the music faltered only briefly. Particularly the guitar.
And the screams of the crowd swallowed the continued shrieks of the female Samael had assaulted.
Disconcerted as he was, Jaeryth moved to help the screaming woman. He told himself that it was part of the duties he’d been assigned, his efforts to appear one of them. Certainly not because he’d been stirred to sympathy. He bent toward the sprawling, wild-eyed female, offering a hand. And for his trouble, she reared back and punched him in the face.
Well. At least that would explain the damage to his mouth.
Her gaze cleared and then settled on him in shock. “Oh, shit!” she said, her voice barely audible above the wailing music and the roaring mob. “I don’t…I mean, I didn’t mean that. Um. You okay?”
“Fine.” Jaeryth held out a hand again, aware that one of the other bodyguards had taken notice and did not look pleased. This time, the female accepted it, and he helped her stand. “The crowd pushed you out,” he half-shouted. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and flashed a smile. “Thanks.”
Nodding, he guided her back into the mob and returned to his post. Other than a thumbs-up from the other guard, no one took notice of the brief scuffle. The mortals carried on, oblivious to the fact that the Prince of Hell had been among them only moments before.
But Jaeryth had his pain and Samael’s threat to remind him. And if he continued to fail, he would suffer far more than a few bruises.
* * * * *
Logan poured everything she had into the performance. By the time they finished the third encore—and they’d only planned on doing one—her throat ached like a sore tooth and she figured she’d sweated away a good five pounds. She’d also been ready to clock Reid if he’d so much as thought about running another song.
But it had been worth the effort. Being up there in front of the crowd, having a few hundred voices echoing her words back to her, was indescribably amazing. Orgasms had nothing on that feeling.
The bouncers had cleared most of the room, and Jaeryth worked right along with them as if he’d done it a hundred times before. She definitely owed him something for this. Maybe she could let him sleep in the bed tonight and she’d take the couch. At least he’d be able to stretch out. He was probably still hurting, and she didn’t doubt working the room had made it worse.
As the lights came up, she sat on the edge of the stage, drenched in sweat and more exhausted than she’d ever been—and ridiculously happy. Maybe she wasn’t doomed to die in a gutter after all.
“Thirsty?”
She twisted her head up to see Tex offering a bottle of water. “You read my mind,” she said, and winced at the plodding rasp that was her voice.
“Don’t worry. This’ll help, and you’ll sound way better tomorrow.” Tex hunkered down next to her and passed the bottle. “You really banged it out tonight, Frost. I had chills.”
She rolled her eyes in response, then twisted the cap off and drank. The water wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt like ice sliding down her burning throat. “I don’t see how you could’ve been chilled.” She did sound a little better after the drink. Almost human. “It was like a billion degrees up here.”
“A billion and one. I checked.” Blue thunked down next to her, grinning. “Holy shit. That was awesome.”
She smiled back. “Yeah. I guess it was.”
“You guess?” Blue nudged her with a shoulder-bump. “You shouldn’t be so modest. You’re a rock star now. People expect a certain level of smarmy.”
“What, like Reid?”
“Exactly.” Blue swiveled her head to look behind them. “Where’d he go, anyway?”
Tex smirked. “Bathroom. He must’ve downed a case by himself during the show, not counting the shots. And I think he had company.”
“Ugh,” Blue said. “Somebody should really neuter that boy.”
The last of the crowd had been ushered out and only Jaeryth and one other bouncer remained. The two of them were headed back across the room toward the stage, deep in conversation—well, the bouncer was conversing, anyway. Jaeryth looked as wiped out as Logan felt. When they’d almost closed the distance, he looked at her and gave a tired smile.
And she saw the nasty bruise that darkened the corner of his mouth.
“Oh God.” She slipped off the stage and headed toward him. “What happened?” As soon as she asked, it occurred to her that maybe he’d had another run-in with those black-eyed things. The idea sickened her.
“All in the line of duty,” the bouncer said before Jaeryth could respond. “Some crazy Goth chick broke the line, popped him when he was trying to get her back. Took it like a champ too. Didn’t even blink.” He clapped Jaeryth’s shoulder. “Pretty good for a rookie. I’d let him watch my back.” With a half-wave, he turned and started away.
“Like your back needs watching, Stone.” Logan hadn’t even noticed Blue approaching them until she called after the retreating bouncer. Then she looked Jaeryth over and said, “Okay, I’m impressed. You’re hired.”
Jaeryth raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall applying.”
Laughter burst the bubble of tension that had been building in Logan’s chest. She reached out and grabbed Jaeryth’s hand. “Thank you for protecting us,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Will you, now.”
He moved closer and the hungry look in his eyes made her knees weak. S
he forgot they were standing in the back room of a bar with a bunch of people watching. And then she forgot how to breathe.
“You don’t look so good, friend. Maybe you should sit out the celebration.”
Logan barely recognized Tex in that cold comment. She turned and sent him a deep frown. “Come on, Tex. You have to admit, it’s a good thing he was here tonight.”
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s about time, Rivers,” Blue called out louder than necessary, shooting Tex a narrow-eyed glare that Logan could’ve kissed her for. She nodded toward Reid, who was coming across the room from the direction of the bar. “I hope you washed your hands. You don’t know where she’s been.”
“Good thing she wasn’t you, then. There ain’t enough soap in the world.”
Some of the coldness melted from Tex’s expression. “Hey, let’s not ruin things now,” he said. “We had a great night. Like I said, we should celebrate.” He gestured toward the bar. “Drinks are on me.”
The offer sent a quick burst of anger through Logan, but she held it back. He probably didn’t mean anything by it. He’d just gotten caught up in the moment. “I’ll pass,” she said.
“Lighten up, Frost. It’s just a drink. What Miss Turner doesn’t know won’t hurt you.”
At first she was too shocked to respond. Damn it, Tex was a substance abuse counselor. He knew how fragile recovering addicts were and exactly what could happen if she slipped, even a little. Any kind of high could push her back.
“How can you say that?” she finally managed.
Tex blinked and his face fell. “Oh, damn,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” She summoned a smile she didn’t feel. “Tell the truth, I wouldn’t mind celebrating, but I’m totally exhausted. I’d really like to get home…that is, if it’s okay with you, Blue.”
Blue nodded. “Not a problem.”
“Fine,” Tex said, though his expression suggested it was anything but. “We need to get together tomorrow night, though. Obviously, the game’s changed a little. We have to talk strategy.” He sent a pointed look at Jaeryth. “Strictly band business.”