by SM Reine
Whether or not I liked it, I was going to have to wait for the band to drag me to Los Angeles before Chad could rescue me.
In the meantime, I was going to spend an entire day and night at the mercy of The Forbidden.
The idea made me shiver.
Even though there was nothing I could do to escape at the moment, I couldn’t sleep, either. I was too stressed out to be able to rest. So after Donne left me feeling horny and lonely in my doorway, I curled up in bed, digested my Pop-Tarts, and stressed about the finals that I was missing.
Leah Todd, kidnap victim, is nothing if not productive.
The minutes ticked by on the bedside clock—analog, of course, to match the older décor. Somewhere around noon, I heard people talking outside my window.
I dragged myself out of bed and slipped onto the balcony.
From that perspective, I could see the whole yard surrounding Rage’s mansion. He had a lot of well-maintained grass, enough trees to make the property more than private, and a great view of the ocean. At least, I assumed he had a great view; my bedroom was on the other side of the pseudo-castle, so I could only see a sliver of the crashing gray waves.
It was summer, but the air blowing in off the ocean was cold enough to make me shiver. I almost went right back inside again. But then I saw who was talking.
Rage and Donne were underneath my balcony. The two men looked nothing alike, superficially speaking; Donne was bulky with muscle, square all over, and dressed almost like a normal human being aside from the mohawk. Rage was darker in coloring, slender, and absolutely coated in tattoos. I could tell because, apparently, he had just come out of the shower. All he wore was a towel. Damp hair clung to his neck.
My mouth went dry at the sight of his body exposed to the elements like that. I swallowed hard.
I was staring so hard that it took me a second to realize that the men were arguing.
More interestingly, they were arguing about me.
“She doesn’t want to be here. She thinks we kidnapped her.” It wasn’t directed at me, but Donne sounded so pissed off that I wanted to crawl into the armoire and hide from him.
“In a way, we did,” Rage said. He sounded bored by this conversation. He didn’t really care that he’d kidnapped me.
“Dammit, we’re not kidnappers. We need her.” He paced away from the vocalist, balling his hands into fists. “You’ve got to explain everything to Leah. Make her understand. Make her realize that she can’t leave.”
“She doesn’t believe in magic yet. How do you think she’s going to take the rest of the story? We’ve got to wait. Give it to her slowly.”
Donne growled. “I can’t believe she’s the one we need.”
That stung.
How could Donne make me feel so sexy, so desirable, so hungry, and yet make me feel tiny and insignificant just as easily?
“She’s got the card, and those things are slippery fuckers. You can’t keep one in your possession unless you’re the right witch. She must be one of the forbidden witches.”
“But why her?” Donne asked. “Why not someone who’s less…less…” He shook his fists in frustration, unable to find the words.
Rage grabbed Donne’s arm, forcing the other man to face him. For all that they didn’t look alike, there was something brotherly in the intense glares they exchanged, as though their relationship ran as deep as blood. “It’ll come together. Destiny’s going to take charge and make everything fine.”
“I don’t do patience well. There are only so many more moons we can afford to wait before we lose him.”
This talk of “moons” again. Donne had mentioned that in the dining room, too. I had a feeling that they weren’t just talking about the moon in the sky by the way he said it, but I didn’t know what else it could mean.
Rage raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Donne. He’s not going to die.”
“What do you think is happening to him? You saw him the last—”
“He’s not!” Rage’s volume climbed until his voice echoed over the lawn. “When I said that I was going to find a way to save him, I meant it. Have faith in me!”
“How can I have faith in you? It’s been years!” Donne advanced on him, and everything in his posture spoke of violence. “Time’s running out. How long am I supposed to have faith in you?”
“As long as it takes!”
I flinched at the harshness of Rage’s voice. It had dropped an octave. He almost sounded like he had on stage the night before.
His voice burned in my gut. My vision blurred. I had to grab on to the railing to keep standing.
“Watch it,” Donne said sharply.
Rage lifted a fist like he was going to strike out at Donne. But instead, he stepped back and let out a breath.
The tension in the air eased.
No wonder they called him Rage. He was usually so level—but once he did get mad, it was infectious.
“We’ve got a tarot witch here now. One of the forbidden. It’ll be fine.” Rage’s tone was measured, careful. “I’ll talk to her as soon as possible. In the meantime, don’t get attached.”
“I’m only attached to what she represents. What she can do for us.”
“I’ve seen you with her, Donne. It’s a lot more than that.”
Donne laughed harshly. “What are you talking about? I don’t even like her.”
Sting number two.
I shouldn’t have cared that someone I’d just met didn’t want anything to do with me, but I did. I cared a lot. Call me crazy, but I’d thought getting fingered by a guy meant something.
More of my Mormon naiveté, I guess.
My eyes burned and I stepped away from the edge of the balcony, moving toward the doors. Only Rage’s voice kept me from going back inside.
“There’s more than one of these witches out there. This one doesn’t have to be for Graham.”
For Graham? The graying man who lived in Rage’s house?
How in the world could he need me, and for what? I’d been assuming he was some kind of butler, but Rage said his name like he was way more important than that. Almost reverently.
“We’ve been looking for Forbidden for ten years now. Ten years before this clueless kid showed up at your concert. When’s the next one going to appear? No. We can’t wait any longer. Graham needs her.”
“You don’t get to choose your path,” Rage said. That had the sound of something he’d said a thousand times before.
“It’s not chosen. She’s not mine.”
“If you’re sure.” Now Rage sounded kind of amused. “Just don’t fuck her and maybe you’ll be fine.”
Donne growled. “Shut up, Rage.”
“No, really, don’t stick your dick in that tight little pussy. Should be easy, right? Even if she is a gorgeous piece of ass, if there’s nothing there—if you don’t like her—then it’s no big deal.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered that this rock god thought that I was a gorgeous piece of ass or if I should get angry over the way they talked about me like I was a commodity.
For the moment, I was leaning toward anger.
Apparently Donne was too.
He hauled back and punched Rage across the face.
The sound of knuckles against cheekbone whip-cracked through the air.
In an instant, that tension was back again—the tug in my stomach, the rushing in my head, the feeling of immense fury that radiated from Rage. He threw himself at Donne, plowing his shoulder into the other man’s gut.
His momentum carried them down the hill and into a tree. They smashed into it so hard that leaves showered around them.
I smothered my gasp with my hands.
The men fought, punching and kneeing each other like they were out for blood. I’d assumed they were friends, the way they’d been talking, but it seriously looked like they wanted to kill one another.
Someone had to stop them.
I rushed into my room, leaving the doors open behin
d me. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. It looked like I was the one who had been in a fistfight with Rage. I smoothed out the dress’s layers, fluffed up my hair, tried to wipe off a few makeup smudges.
I only got two steps to my door before I heard the knocking.
Graham stood on the other side—Mr. Distinguished himself.
It had been awkward meeting him in a t-shirt on the beach. It was even more awkward to come face-to-face with him now that I’d heard Rage talking about how this guy “needed” me.
“Graham!” I seized his sleeve, trying to drag him to my balcony. “Donne and Rage are going to murder each other!” He made a quiet choking sound. No, not a choke—he was laughing at me. Confusion rooted me where I stood. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“They’re always on the brink of murdering each other,” Graham said. “What’s it about this time?”
The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t tell him it was about me. “I don’t know. Stuff. Are you sure they’re okay? Because—”
“They’re fine. I’m sure it feels frightening to be exposed to Rage’s moods when you’re not used to it, but they won’t hurt each other. Donne will hold back.” Graham lifted shopping bags in both hands. “I ran into town. Thought you might like normal clothing.”
My fear and confusion whipped away. It was hard to panic when Graham was so calm—and when I might be able to finally escape the whole gothic Lolita look.
“Oh my God, yes,” I breathed, taking the clothes from him.
Maybe it was rude to look at his gifts while he was still standing there, but I couldn’t resist the urge to go through them.
While I ransacked the bags, Graham peered over my balcony. He chuckled again, then came back inside and shut the doors.
“Boys,” he sighed.
I took that to mean nobody was dead.
With everything emptied on the bed, my fashion situation was looking much less bleak. Graham had great taste in clothing, especially since he was dressing a twenty-year-old woman he didn’t know. Everything was designer, for one. There were earth tones and even some things that were white. And jeans—bless his heart, he’d brought me denim.
When I got to the underwear, Graham looked uncomfortable. “I asked one of the clerks to put together a selection. I guessed at the size. I hope everything’s good.”
“So incredibly good.” He’d gotten me large panties instead of extra large, which I preferred to give my booty breathing room. Considering I currently had no clean panties whatsoever, I would do my best to squeeze my ass into them. Better than continuing to run around commando.
Gratitude just about melted me into a puddle. I bounced onto my toes and kissed his grizzled cheek.
“These are perfect. You’re awesome, Graham.”
His smile was warm, almost paternal. “I’m glad you like everything.”
My excitement was chilled a few degrees when I took a second look at the bags and started processing what it really meant.
He’d taken the price tags off of everything, but I could guess at what his credit card bill must have looked like. My mom and I were kind of clotheshorses.
“It’s also too much for me to accept. This must have been expensive.”
Graham shrugged. “I have access to Rage’s accounts, just as everyone in the band and coven does. We’re not short on money here.”
“But I’m not going to stay, you know.” I toyed with a bit of lace on one of the shirts, which was a ruffled empire-cut blouse in a shade of peach that would complement my red hair nicely. “It’s just one more night. I don’t need this much.”
Emotion flickered through his eyes. It was gone before I could interpret it. “They’re gifts. Don’t concern yourself.”
“Okay,” I said. “I won’t.”
“Let me know if I can help with anything else.”
He started to step out, presumably so I could take off the gothic princess dress and slip into something less undead-looking. Watching his face as he left, a thought struck me. “Are you and Donne related?”
Amusement played over his lips. “Who told you?”
“Nobody. You guys just have the same jaw line.”
“Good eye. I’m his father.”
“You don’t look old enough for that. I would have guessed cousins. Maybe a young uncle.”
His smile broadened. “No, much to Donne’s dismay, he’s my only son.”
I wanted to ask him, Why does Donne think that you need me? But it sounded creepy in my head, and I could only imagine it would sound creepier when I tried to vocalize the thoughts. I settled for just saying, “Thank you. Again.”
“Any time,” Graham said. “Any time.”
Even though he was obviously trying hard not to be as weird as everyone else in the house, there was no hiding the longing in his voice.
Whatever was going on with this band, Donne’s father thought that he needed me, too. And he definitely wanted me to stay.
I never would have thought that being wanted could be so darn freaky.
VIII
After I got dressed in normal clothing, I found myself back in that basement again.
That’s right. I was stupid enough to leave the relative safety of my bedroom, venture through the kitchen (iron maiden and all), and head back into Rage’s murder basement.
Whenever I watch horror movies, I have to boggle at how ridiculously stupid the heroines are. It takes a pretty special level of idiocy to search the dark corners of the haunted house when three of your skanky roommates have already turned up dead. Or there’s always the heroine who goes into the shed filled with sharp gardening tools when there’s a killer prowling the yard.
Stupid. Right?
But now I understood how those heroines felt. I shared in the irresistible lure of the dark and dangerous.
My whole body was revolting against the idea of going into that monster-filled night, but my heart was the one in control…and my heart wanted the unknown.
That was how I ended up back in the basement.
I got downstairs without running into anyone else. The fading light coming through the stained-glass windows cast my shadow over the walls, stretched out like a gray ghost. The heels of my ankle boots clicked against the stones as I walked around the edge of the pentagram, staying outside the line delineating the safe zone from the creepy statue zone.
“What do you know about all this?”
The sound of someone else’s voice in the room made me startle. I spun to find Rage lurking nearby.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt again, which made me think he must have had an allergy to such things. Poor baby. I really felt sympathy for his terrible condition.
His tattoos weren’t enough to conceal the bruises on his chest that were suspiciously shaped like Donne’s fists.
“What do I know about all of…what?” I opened my arms wide to indicate the basement. “What is this? The candelabras, the statues, the giant pentagram…?”
I was hoping for a totally sane answer. For instance, We had a really big Halloween party last year and never got around to cleaning up the decorations. That would have been sane.
Or maybe, We really get into our games of Dungeons and Dragons here. You can find your very own robe and wizard hat in the chest under the window.
Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, I received neither of those answers.
“This is our ritual space,” Rage said. “It’s where our coven practices.” At my blank look, he said, “A coven is a group of witches that work together to cast spells. One witch isn’t very powerful on her own. Get thirteen of them together and you can do some impressive things.”
I felt like laughing, it was so ridiculous. But I managed to restrain myself.
It probably wasn’t a good idea to laugh at the guy whose house has a freaking dungeon.
“So who’s in the coven?” I asked. “You are, right?”
“I’m the high priest.”
“And then there’s Donne,�
�� I said.
Rage sauntered toward me around the edge of the circle. I walked in the opposite direction so he wouldn’t reach me. “No. Donne’s not a witch. Neither is Graham, before you ask. They’re something much worse.”
Much worse? What could be much worse than a coven of witches?
I bet if I asked Rage, he would be “honest” with me and explain. But I didn’t want to hear another of his lies. He’d probably say that Donne and Graham were dragons or fairies or purple dinosaurs. They seemed to think that I would fall for just about anything.
Well, Leah Todd might have been a little sheltered, but she hadn’t been born yesterday, thank you very much. I deserved better than having some rock star telling me that his mohawked roommate was a unicorn and laughing behind my back.
“If Donne and Graham aren’t witches, then what about the rest of the band? Hardwicke and the drummer?”
“Hardwicke and Huxley are incubi. Demons who feed off of sex. They won’t bother you; they know better than to get in Donne’s way.”
My jaw dropped. “Sex demons?”
There was no chance in heck that Rage wasn’t pulling my leg at this point.
He wasn’t laughing, though. He was watching me closely as if to see if I was the one making jokes. “You really don’t know anything, do you, Kitten?”
My pride, tiny as it was, reared up in offense. “I’m a straight-A student. I’ve worked my butt off to graduate with perfect grades. I know a lot of things, mister, and if you want to keep making silly stuff up, then—”
“Silly?” The air grew thick, and I tasted a hint of his anger.
“You might have gotten your fans to believe you’re magical, and maybe you even believe it yourself, but I come from a more sensible background.”
“Sensible.” Now there were virtually storm clouds gathering around him.
My every sense told me to stop provoking him, but I couldn’t. What was he going to do? He’d already kidnapped me. It couldn’t get much worse.
“You’re just repeating everything I say now,” I said. “What are you, twelve?”