by Aubrey Ross
Eric pushed Julie behind him as she continued to struggle. “Get out of here before I have security throw you out.”
“You’re honestly going to throw me out over a worthless human cunt?”
“Go.” Eric didn’t need to raise his voice.
Lance disappeared in a swirl of violet mist and Eric turned toward Julie, casting her into sleep thrall with a wave of his hand. He swept her into his arms and headed off through the backstage labyrinth.
Mercedes watched him go, her heart filled with longing. For a split second, she’d actually envied the “bite whore.” To be cradled against Eric’s chest, held securely in his arms -- Mercedes could only imagine such tenderness.
* * *
“Please tell me this is a joke.”
Eric met Rafe Steele’s piercing gaze without expression. His friend’s angular features articulated enough emotion for them both. “Not what you were hoping to hear?” Eric kept his tone light without sounding flippant. Rafe had just played a two hour set. He was bound to be restless.
“We’re supposed to start recording on Monday.” Turning his chair around, Rafe straddled the seat and curved his fingers over the smooth wooden frame. Tension etched lines at the corners of his eyes and accented the grooves framing his mouth.
Eric had known Rafe long enough to recognize a stall tactic when he saw one. This was worse than he’d anticipated if Rafe was fighting for control. “I told you I was struggling. Haven’t you written anything?”
Rafe’s dark eyes flashed with warning. “Don’t try and put this on me. You had the chance to bow out when Phillip left the band. We all agreed to keep Pyrite going.”
Slumping back in his chair, Eric glanced around Club Carousel. The grand reopening had ended hours ago. Even the clean up crew was about ready to call it a night. “I’ve had dry spells before. I’ll get through it, but Monday isn’t going to happen.”
“How long do you need?” Something behind Eric caught Rafe’s attention and brought a smoldering intensity to his gaze. Eric didn’t need to turn around. Jessie Curtis must be approaching. After almost a year of soul bonded bliss, their faces still lit up whenever they saw each other.
“I don’t know,” Eric grumbled, trying to ignore the envy surging through him. Rafe deserved all the happiness he could find, but sometimes it was hard to watch. “If I can get things flowing again, it shouldn’t take me long to fill in the blanks. Phillip left me with a ton of raw material.”
“You’ve had the band house to yourself for the better part of a year. Would you rather have some company?” Rafe stood as Jessie reached their table and he pulled her into his arms. “I know I can’t compose when I’m hungry.”
Jessie snuggled against Rafe’s side. Stray wisps had escaped the elegant twist securing her golden blonde hair and fatigue shadowed her eyes. “Is your muse still on strike?”
“Unfortunately.” Eric pushed to his feet as well. “As for company, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear sexual overindulgence is what triggered my creative impotence.”
Jessie smiled. “An interesting description.”
“You’re about as sexually overindulgent as a monk.” Rafe laughed. “By our standards.”
“Usually, I’d agree with you. But the past few months have been anything but usual. You and Jessie are inseparable. Phillip took off to the Unseleighe realm with Brenna. Chad and Lynette are all but exclusive since they found Jason.” He took a quick breath and scratched his chin. “Someone had to work with Jon so he’d be ready to take over for Phillip.”
“Jon already knows our songs. That’s why we asked him to rejoin the band.”
“Knowing the songs and being ready to perform are two different things. Jon hasn’t been on stage since the sixties.” Eric held off Rafe’s objection and continued. “A couple of nights with Thane and Marissa had Jon moving like a pro again and a couple more nights had him acting like a rock star.”
“Meaning?” Jessie asked.
“A two week party that would put the Roman Empire to shame. I was ready to kill him long before I finally threw everyone out.” Eric shook his head as snippets of the debauchery rolled through his mind. “I haven’t written a word since.”
“You think your muse is punishing you for…” Jessie turned her hands up and shook her head. “Sounds more like you’ve got a bad case of guilt. You didn’t instigate the revelry, Jon did.”
“I was an active participant. At least in the beginning.”
“So swear off sex for a month as penance and get busy writing.” Rafe softened the suggestion with a smile.
“I think you’re on the right track. I need some time with no distractions. If you can put off Grange until after New Year’s, I’ll do my best to negotiate an end to the strike.”
“Producers aren’t known for their patience, but Grange is more reasonable than most. I’ll let everyone know the band house is off limits until after the first of the year.”
Eric nodded and turned toward the door. Jessie stopped him with a gentle hand on his upper arm. “Thanks for intervening with Julie. I saw what Lance did to her.”
“I’ll lodge a formal complaint with the council.” It was as much a reminder as a reply. “Somehow I don’t think this is the last we’ll hear of Lance.”
* * *
Three hours after rising the following night, Eric pushed back the piano bench and rubbed the nape of his neck. He could stare at the missing phrases and blank lines until the staff paper turned to dust, and it wasn’t going to help. Perhaps his muse had relocated, not gone on strike.
“You’re trying too hard,” he muttered, desperately needing to believe it was true. He’d email the council, take a long hot shower, then put the instrumental tracks Phillip had recorded for him on continual loop. He’d listen to the melodies, feel the beats, and let the music speak to him. Then he’d punch his fist through the nearest wall in true rock star style.
You haven’t failed yet. Take this one step at a time.
He needed to report Lance’s behavior while the details were relatively fresh in his mind. Eric left the practice room and crossed the spacious living room, heading toward the office tucked in the back corner of the band house. Four bedrooms, a state of the art recording studio, and a gourmet kitchen -- which had been included for appearances as none of the members of Pyrite consumed food -- completed the sprawling domicile.
Sitting down behind the glass and chrome desk, he turned on the computer and waited for the CPU to boot. A smile bowed his lips. Who would have thought encrypted electronic messages were more secure than telepathic communication? Perhaps it just made the council feel more in touch with the twenty-first century. It didn’t matter to him as long as they put a stop to freaks like Lance.
He launched his email program and groaned as messages flooded his inbox. It was shit like this that kept him from being creative. Recording the facts as he’d seen them, Eric compiled a brief report of Lance’s behavior and sent it to the council. Then he turned his attention to the messages he’d just received.
As he scrolled through the list, a subject line caught his eye. Ode to Darkness. That’s what he’d called the first song he ever wrote. The rest of the band loved the song, but hated the title.
The sender was listed as Euterpe. He shook his head. The muse of music? Clever, but he didn’t know anyone who used that screen name. Of course, if he never opened a message from an unknown sender, he’d never read any of his fan mail. Not that he received all that much fan mail. Shaking away his rambling thoughts, he clicked on the message.
Below is the chord chart for the first verse and the chorus of a song I think you might enjoy. The full score is attached. If you want the rest of the song, I have only one condition. You must spend one night in my bed. Play the song. See if it speaks to you. If it does, respond to this message and we’ll work out the details. And fight for the title this time. You never should have let it go.
E
Eric scrolled down and realized
a legitimate chord chart had been included in the body of the message. This couldn’t be real. Why would someone want sex for a song? If this had any promise at all…
This had to be Rafe’s idea of a joke. He shook his head and a chill slipped down his spine. This wasn’t funny by anyone’s definition of the word. How had Euterpe known about his dry spell? She hadn’t. This was just some fan trying to catch a break. He tapped his thumbs against the edge of the keyboard, his gaze glued to the screen.
She wasn’t the only one who needed a break right now. Before he allowed himself to contemplate her “condition,” he read over the lyrics. Not bad, not bad at all. With a little fine tuning they could be -- his. Holy shit, she had emulated his style so well anyone would mistake these lyrics for his.
More than curious now, he printed out the full score and took it to the piano in the practice room. Who the hell was Euterpe? The song opened with a flowing intro. Eric easily anticipated where she was taking each musical phrase. They felt natural, familiar. Why was her style so comfortable? He sang just loud enough to imagine Rafe’s voice caressing each note. The dynamics built with the chorus, a stronger rhythm and faster beat. He reached the end of the chorus and froze.
If you want the rest of the song, I have only one condition. You must spend one night in my bed. The ultimatum was repeated beneath the last staff halfway down the page.
Much to his chagrin his cock hardened and his pulse sped. He stood so abruptly he toppled the piano bench and gathered the pages of music. There was no fucking way he was going to sleep with a stranger for a song. Even if the rest lived up to the potential of what he’d seen so far.
He returned to the office and dropped into the chair behind the desk, frantically typing his response to Euterpe’s proposition.
Your song is intriguing. Your condition is not. I’d love to discuss other options. This is my private phone number. Call me.
Eric King
Chapter Two
Mercedes stared at her laptop screen torn between elation and fury. She hadn’t expected Eric to respond so quickly or with such vehemence. Why wouldn’t he even consider her proposal? One night of passion with no complications certainly wasn’t a novelty for him. She’d shared enough of his life to know…
She took a deep breath and stood up. She wasn’t Eric’s conscience. Despite their metaphysical interaction, she had never met the man. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of her presence in his mind.
After spending more time watching Eric than the stage during Pyrite’s performance, she’d decided to prolong her adventure. Faelon would berate her recklessness and bore her with endless lectures as soon as she returned to Italy, so she might as well do something to deserve the criticism.
She turned the laptop around and reread Eric’s response, scowling at the empty hotel room. He might not be intrigued by her proposition but she knew far more about his situation than he realized. She hadn’t intentionally cut him off -- in the beginning -- but every time she melded with him, he was engaged in some obscene act with some meaningless female. She simply got sick of watching him fuck.
A slow curl of tingling heat branded her a liar. Watching him indulge his sexual appetites while she ached with need became progressively more unbearable. She wanted Eric’s hands on her body. She needed to know the sweet flick of his tongue against her clit, and feel his thick cock stretch her pussy until she moaned. Her imagination was exhausted. She was ready for reality.
Flipping open her cell phone, she entered the number he’d given her.
“Hello?” He answered after the first ring. Had he been holding the phone?
The image of Faelon’s infuriated expression flashed through her mind. If he had any reason to believe Eric had taken advantage of her, no force on this earth would protect Eric from Faelon. Regardless of how the rest played out, Eric could not know who she was.
“Monsieur King?” She knew French was one of five languages Eric spoke fluently. “I’m sorry my offer offends you, but it is nonnegotiable.”
“Your lyrics are in English, as was your message. Why are you speaking in French?”
“Excusez-moi. I didn’t realize which language I was speaking.” She kept a French accent heavy in her tone, modulating the sound of her voice.
“I’m interested in seeing the rest of the song, but not enough to sleep with you or anyone for the privilege of doing so.” She could easily picture his mutinous expression. He would be pacing, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans.
“If we spend the night together, monsieur, you may have the song to do with as you please. I do not require any other form of compensation.”
“I don’t pay for anything with sex.”
“Think of it as a barter. You have something I want and I have something you want. We are going to make an exchange to the mutual satisfaction of each party, non? What could be simpler?”
“Cold hard cash. If the song is good, I’ll pay you for it and you can buy yourself a male harem.”
“I don’t want a male harem, Eric.” She let a hint of wistfulness bleed through in her tone. “I want you.”
“I’m not for sale.”
“Neither is my music.” A long pause followed. She didn’t want him to think she was a groupie out to fuck a rock star. Her motivation was far more complicated than he would ever understand. They had already shared so much and yet he didn’t know her. For just one night she wanted the connection to be tangible, real. “It’s not my intention to make you feel cheap. Comprenez-vous? My situation is… unusual.”
After another pause, he said, “I’m listening.”
Her mind rushed on ahead. She didn’t think Faelon spoke about her with anyone. Still she couldn’t take the risk. As much as she longed to stare into Eric’s eyes as he filled her aching body, it was the one pleasure she must be denied.
“Personal relationships are complicated for me,” she told him. “I am…”
“Unusual?”
“Oui. Even more so than you are unusual.”
He chuckled. “How am I unusual?”
“Let’s not play games, monsieur. You wrote the original Ode to Darkness one hundred forty-seven years ago, yet you have not aged a day since then. We both know why.”
“What does this have to do with your proposition?”
“As well as the challenges you face, I am burdened with an appearance many find disconcerting.” He made no comment, so she went on, “The shape of my body is ordinary, even pleasing, but I must insist on absolute darkness.”
“Have you ever been to Club Carousel? I doubt anyone there would --”
“I don’t want to date you.” She sighed. Why was he being so difficult? He let Julie go down on him behind the stage. Mercedes was offering him a way out of his predicament in exchange for a few hours of passion. Why would he hesitate? “I want to abandon myself completely to the pleasure we can find in each other’s arms. Is that so hard to understand?”
“I’m not sure I understand any of this, but I’m not willing to say more on the phone. If you send out a telepathic beacon, I’ll come to you.”
“You can accommodate my needs in a hotel room, but it would be easier for us to compose and record at the infamous band house. Your security system will detect any form of weapon. Why don’t I come to you?”
“Who said I’m at the band house?”
She chuckled. “You’ve been scanning me since the conversation began, as I’ve been scanning you. Surely you’re not afraid to be alone with me.”
“All I know about you is that you want to… barter with me. Only a fool accepts a stranger at their word.”
“And the only way to become more than strangers is to meet face to face.”
* * *
Eric snapped his phone closed with a frustrated hiss and transmitted a telepathic beacon. His tracking skills were mediocre at best. He’d never encountered an energy signal quite like E’s. Perhaps she was an Otherworldly being who had been transformed by a vampire or…
he couldn’t guess what combination of forces had resulted in this mystery woman.
You’ll have to lower the shields if you want me to join you.
He recognized her voice, but it sounded decidedly less French in his mind. Why would she disguise her voice? The security system didn’t detect any form of weapon. Only his instincts and training would protect him from magic. To his knowledge he had no enemies, no rival desperate enough to kill him. Still, this whole situation was strange. Reluctantly, he allowed her through the shields surrounding the house and waited for her to appear.
“Merci. I’m glad you agreed to continue our conversation.” The softly modulated female voice came from directly in front of him, but there was no one standing there. Eric stretched out his hand and air wafted against his palm as if she took a quick step backward. “Please don’t touch me until our negotiations are concluded.”
Most vampires could dematerialize. This was different. How was she speaking if she had no corporeal body? Why was she concerned that he would touch her? “Is this some sort of… glamour?”
“I’m not fey. At least I don’t think I am.”
“What do you know about yourself?” He set the phone on a nearby table and pushed his fingers through his hair. Conversing with a disembodied voice was rather unnerving.
“I know I’d rather play the rest of the song for you than bore you with my past. Would you please lead me to the practice room?”
The French inflection had all but faded from her voice. Was she distracted by keeping herself invisible or did she feel the ruse was no longer necessary? He motioned toward the hallway on his right, then realized she’d asked him to lead.
“If you won’t tell me anything about yourself, how do I know your proposal is even feasible?”
She laughed, the sound light and feminine. “I assure you, monsieur, we are sexually compatible.”
“How do you know? Have you ever been with a vampire?”
“Oui.”
Instinct guided his hand to her upper arm. His fingers closed around firm muscle and soft fabric. All he could see was empty space. “Who are you? I know you’re not French so drop the phony accent. It’s annoying.”
