But when we’d kissed, all I could do was compare it to Devon. When I kissed him, I felt more alive. My body sang with vibrancy as if he’d managed to actually touch every part of me with that kiss.
How wrong it had felt with Joey, woke me up to how right it had felt with Devon.
If I’d never met Devon, would I have felt different about Joey kissing me? Could it have led to something more?
No, I didn’t think it would. It was attraction, not love, just as I’d told him.
I needed to focus on something else, anything but pine for someone who lived an ocean away.
I’d agreed to stay with the band for now. If there was any place where I could lose myself, it was in music. I could be anyone onstage, the subject of whatever song I sang.
But, I needed something more. The time for running was over. It was time to settle down and adjust to this immortal existence.
Sure, my life plan hadn’t gone as I’d expected, but I couldn’t dwell on that any longer. I was a lone vampire out in the world. While that had terrified me in the past, I was able to take on two old powerful vampires and still remained standing while their corpses had rotted away. If I could have managed that, I could find a way to create a life that I wanted—and on my terms.
Devon had asked me what I wanted to do before I had changed. I’d told him about my studies and passion for the living world around us. When we’d spent time in the forest, it reminded me of that passion. I could only interact with nature by night, but surely, I could find a way to benefit the world from that angle. My acute vampire senses might even be an advantage.
I needed to think of what I could accomplish with immortality rather than what I could no longer do. One person’s curse was another’s gift, right?
Just as love could bring on immense happiness—or heartbreaking anguish.
Ugh, why did my mind have to go there?
Don’t think of him. Move on.
Before our next show at a new club on Commonwealth Ave, I pulled Joey aside. “Are you going to be okay with this?”
“I will,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Then why are you scowling?”
“I didn’t say I’m okay with it right now, but I will be. I get it, Angelica—we’re not going to be together. Nobody likes being rejected, but I’ll move on.”
“Thanks, Joey. Someday you’ll find someone who is a much better match for you than I could ever be. She’ll blow me out of the stratosphere!”
Joey’s scowl gave way to laughter. “Then I better start looking for her. Plenty of hot little numbers here tonight.”
“We’re still friends, right?”
“More than friends. We’re bandmates. Live, work, and breathe together.” He raised his chin. “What about you?”
I furrowed my brows. “What about me?”
“I assume things have ended with that guy, and that’s why you’ve been so morose lately.”
My muscles tightened on hearing Joey refer to Devon. “Yeah. That’s definitely over.”
Chapter 15
Three weeks later
Devon
I was out of my mind. That’s the only explanation I had as I left my flat.
“Heathrow Airport,” I told the taxi driver.
“Right, mate.”
As we skirted in and out of London traffic, I tried to talk myself out of what I was about to do.
She left you here. She hasn’t made any effort to contact you, nor have you made any effort to contact her. Don’t you think you should call her first and see if she even wants to speak to you before you see her?
She must be relieved to have everything that happened here in England behind her. Nothing but bad memories of vampires who tried to frame and kill her, and a goddamn shapeshifter who led her right back to them.
The memories weren’t bad for me, however. I remembered the times we’d spent together, and how much I’d enjoyed having her around.
What about you helping her in the end? Doesn’t that count for anything?
No. It just meant I was less of a dickhead than when I started. I didn’t get brownie points for eventually doing the right thing.
The traffic eased a bit as we headed away from the city. We circled many roundabouts, and I read the signs for Heathrow’s terminals. This time I didn’t have the luxury of being transported with one of Stefano’s light-blocked jets through his undercover methods. It was coach class for me.
After the driver dropped me off at the terminal, my heart hammered with each step bringing me closer to Layla. And, most likely to being burned by her rejection. I should have talked myself out of going by now and climbed into another taxi. Instead, I checked into my flight, went through the rigorous security screening, and sat down at the gate.
Sitting didn’t work, so I paced. I’d been thinking about her almost nonstop since she left England. I’d hoped that as the days went by I’d think of her less and less, but if it was even possible, I thought of her all the more. Seeing her face everywhere I went, wondering what her reaction would be to something I’d encountered, creating conversations in my mind on what we’d say if she were with me.
Although she wasn’t physically with me, she was a part of my everyday life. She dominated my waking thoughts and penetrated my dreams. I was turning into a madman. I had to see if I’d just created this reaction to her, due to her absence. Or. Would I feel the same way if I saw her again?
Only one way to find out.
What the hell was I going to say to her?
I spent two days in Boston walking around as I tried to figure out my next step. My hotel was a short walk from Park Street Station at Boston Common, so I walked through the Common for a bit of green space, and down the Freedom Trail to distract myself with bits of history from the American Revolution. This was an odd experience for a British bloke. The Tea Party ship amused me as did the stories about the Battle of Bunker Hill. These Americans were fixated on that period. Didn’t they realize they were just one part of what was once the British Empire?
One part of Boston I enjoyed was the North End, an Italian neighborhood near the waterfront, which had excellent food. I feasted on pizza, pasta, cannoli, and gelato.
Sightseeing gave me an excuse to stall. Especially if this trip turned out to be a poor idea.
When I picked up a newspaper listing local entertainment, an ad stood out. Bloodlust Diamond was playing in a club on Friday night. Fuck. I couldn’t delay approaching her any longer.
That would be my next move. I’d go there and watch her sing, staying at the back of the crowd so she wouldn’t see me. If I realized I had been idolizing her and my feelings were no longer, I could slip out of the club. I’d return to London without her even knowing I’d been there. No harm done.
And if I did realize my feelings for her were real—well, I’d have to figure out my next step.
Friday night came. The club was within walking distance from my hotel, which was both good and bad. The good being that I could get there easily, the bad being that it gave me more time to think as I walked, which gave me more time to second-guess my plan. It was a half-assed one at best
What if she sees you and freaks out, thinks you’re stalking her? What if she sees you, only you’ve realized you don’t want her anymore, how are you going to explain being there? What if that jealous guitarist sees you and starts something? What if…
Enough! I couldn’t debate on what would or would not happen. I was a man of action and sitting around thinking about things was not something I was good at. When I reached the club entrance, I paid my fee, had my hand stamped, and steeled myself to take things in stride.
An opening band was playing, one I didn’t recognize. I bought a Guinness and tried to disappear into the shadows of the club while I waited for Bloodlust Diamond to take the stage. The worst thing that could happen right now was for Layla to catch me here. I wouldn’t even know how to explain my presence in the States, let alone at her show.
Shi
t, a couple of guys came to the bar whom I recognized, and it only took me a moment to figure out why. They were in the band. I had seen the band twice last month when I was—ahem—hunting Layla.
How things had changed since I first agreed to take the job. Stefano was dead. The other vampires were dead. Layla was safe and back in America. And I’d been brooding over her like some bloody fool.
While the guys waited for their drinks, they watched the opening band. I tried to slink even more into the shadows, like I was a damn vampire. If two of the band members were out here, it could be any moment that the other two arrived—including Layla. The bartender brought them a couple of Sam Adams. When the band left the stage, the two guys left the bar and walked up to the stage area. After they disappeared, I figured they went backstage to prepare for their set.
Layla must be back there.
I watched the activity on stage while they moved equipment. The Clash’s London Calling filled the club and I smirked.
Still, I hadn’t seen her.
A flash of panic zipped through me. How could I be sure she was even still with the band? How reckless of me to just assume she’d come back here to resume the persona she had invented, one as a cover while she was on the run. For all I knew, some ugly bloke would be coming out with the band while Layla had started yet another life under another name in some other city.
If I was looking at this situation analytically as a bounty hunter doing a job rather than a guy going after a girl, I would have analyzed all these possibilities long before getting on a plane. Funny how my feelings for this woman had clouded my judgment. I’d been vacillating between excitement over seeing her and anxiety over her reaction that I failed to look at the bigger—and possibly more realistic—picture. Layla could be someone else in another city by now. My hopes plummeted. Had I crossed an ocean like a damned fool?
Somehow, I kept myself together that night while I waited for Bloodlust Diamond to play their set.
The stage was still dark when the drummer came onstage and took his place at the drum set. He was followed by the bassist and guitar player, who waved to the crowd before walking up to their instruments. My heart pounded as I waited to see who would come out next to stand in front of the mic. A sheen of perspiration covered me. I wiped my hands on my jeans.
A woman strode on the stage wearing a long black duster that hid her silhouette. Through the darkness on the stage, I could make out dark hair, but not her features.
She walked up to the microphone stand. “Hello, Boston. It’s good to be back here. Who’s ready to start this shit tonight with some good old Def Leppard?”
I knew that voice. It had cursed me, seduced me, called to me, and haunted my dreams.
The crowd cheered, and spotlights lit up the stage.
She wore chunky boots that gave her several more inches of height. She’d kept the more natural shade of brown hair as when we parted three weeks ago, save for a thick purple streak that graced one side. My girl stood on the stage.
My Layla.
She warmed the crowd with a smile, but it had a greater effect on me. Bewitching me as only she could. My senses alighted as if turned on by her presence.
Had it only been three weeks since she left? The tightness deep in my chest made it feel like months.
Layla sang Pour Some Sugar on Me, which energized the crowd. They sang with fists pumping in the air. Layla knew how to work them. She moved with subtle gestures at times, but would then leap up into the air, screaming out lyrics and encouraging the crowd to join her. I smiled. She was a natural charmer.
And I was one of many bewitched by her.
When I pictured how she’d seduced me to try to lure me to free her, I shook my head with a private smile. If I was a mortal man, I would have done whatever the hell she asked for; she could enchant them with her voice. Or mesmerize them. Or whatever vamp power she had that could reduce men to jelly.
I was a fool to think I might not feel the same when seeing her again, that my feelings for her might have been magnified and made fonder by the time and distance between us. Because what I knew now after seeing her again was something I’d been suspecting.
I was in love with her.
I’d cared about Muriel. It was an infatuation from my childhood that had devastated me. It was clear to see the difference now with what I felt for Layla. I would do anything for her. Kill or die for her without question.
I had already.
Even so, we’d face several obstacles. She would never age as a vampire. I aged slower than humans, but wasn’t immortal. My family would not be thrilled with me bringing a vampire home. But since we’d faced life-and-death situations already, we could manage.
But, I was getting ahead of myself. Layla didn’t even know I was there. She might have forgotten about me.
At the end of the song, she whipped off the black duster, revealing a tight black catsuit as well as an array of silver jewelry. My gaze raked over her curves and I sucked in a sharp breath, remembering those nights we’d spent together.
Forget vampire powers. She could get any man to do her bidding with her body alone.
Not that I’d let anyone get near her. She was mine.
If she’d have me.
Since Layla had left England, I had been sulking around London, missing her. Her smile, her laugh, her scent, the sound of her voice. It was only in the darkest moments late at night when I focused on her touch. The way her hands ran down my body or clutched me when she was close to coming. How soft her skin felt under my fingers and how her body instantly responded to my touch as if waiting for me. I ran my fingers over my lips, remembering how she tasted.
A longing rose in me, leaving an ache in my gut. I needed her. If she didn’t feel the same—well…
I’d be fucked.
Layla
It was a great night with a full, responsive crowd. We played our most requested numbers that night, everything from fun crowd favorites like Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name and Mötley Crüe’s Girls, Girls, Girls, to darker stuff like Metallica’s For Whom the Bell Tolls and Black Sabbath’s War Pigs.
Joey and I decided to put the flirtatious banter we had onstage on hold. The real reason was the crowd might sense the tension between us. It might take a little while until we were comfortable around each other once again.
“Thank you for coming out tonight,” I said after the closing notes of one of the songs faded away. “We’re Bloodlust Diamond from good old Boston, and it’s great to play at home tonight in this motherfucker! Now we’re going to slow things down a bit. Didn’t every metal band of the eighties have a signature ballad? It’s so hard to choose one of the many good—and not so good—ones. But tonight, we’re playing one we haven’t played before. Most of you know this song and know most of the lyrics. Bring out your lighters like it’s 1989 and sing along as if you’re in high school again, thinking about the one who got away.”
I stood still in front of the microphone as I began with barely a whisper, singing The Scorpions’ Still Loving You. The lyrics told the story of two lovers falling apart, their distance exacerbated by pride, with the singer declaring how he still loved her.
The lyrics reminded me of the roller coaster experience with Devon. Yet, pride was merely only one of our problems.
I only hoped Joey wasn’t feeling any of this song for me. Maybe this wasn’t such a good choice after all, but he agreed to it in practice earlier this week. And as they say, the show must go on.
As I continued to sing, I closed my eyes and ignored the prattle of the club and the scent of beer and bodies. I pictured myself back in the Forest of Dean with Devon. My new happy place. What a remarkable time that had been, despite the underlying anxiety of being on the run.
When I reopened my eyes, I swore I saw Devon in the crowd.
It’s not Devon. You were just thinking about him and have projected him onto some other guy in the club. It’s an effect of the stage lights and your mind. Snap out of
it. Devon is in London. You’re in Boston. There’s an ocean separating you—in more ways than one.
I blinked a couple of times to see if someone was standing there. Yes, and he looked like Devon.
But it couldn’t be him. It didn’t make any sense for him to be here.
I tried not to focus on the mirage as I finished the song. When it was over, I spoke to the crowd. “Now to snap you out of wanting to drunk-dial your ex-girlfriend or ex-boyfriend and declare some undying love, we’re going to close out our set with a special treat. Don’t any of you think of calling the exes. It didn’t work out for a reason. And if I catch anyone outside on the phone after this set, I will personally kick your motherfucking ass. Got it?”
The crowd hooted and cheered their agreement.
“Here we go. Get all your frustrations out right now with a little Guns ‘n’ Roses. How about Welcome to the Jungle?”
After our set, I left the stage with the guys. After talking to as many people as I could, I escaped to the ladies’ room. When I came out, a voice stopped me.
“Layla.”
I’d know that deep, sensual English accent anywhere.
“Sorry,” he whispered when he stepped closer beside me. “I forgot you’re Angelica over here.”
It was Devon’s voice. And only he would know me as Layla in Boston.
“Devon?” I said with uncertainty before turning to face him.
He wore a black T-shirt that clung to him just enough to remind me of the muscles that lay beneath, ones that I could have explored infinitely. When my gaze traveled up to his face, he looked at me with such warmth I thought I had to be imagining things.
“I had to see you,” he said.
“You did? Why?”
He glanced around the crowded club. “Can we go somewhere else to talk? Somewhere private?”
As if on cue, a couple of guys interrupted us. One said, “Hey Angelica, great show. Can I get you a drink?”
“Thanks. I’m fine right now. Excuse me, please.”
Burn: A shifter and vampire rock star romance (Underground Encounters Book 4) Page 19