by Gaja J. Kos
Here, all those sensations took the reins and revealed themselves in all their potent glory.
We ducked beneath some rising tracks illuminated by the silver glow of the waxing moon. Aric cast me a look over his shoulder, then led us to a cracked platform beside the roller coaster station. Following his invitation, I parked my butt on the weathered wood, not giving two fucks if my shorts ended up dirty.
Aric sat cross-legged opposite me, mischievous amusement reflecting in his eyes as bright as the godsdamned stars above us. “All right, Gina Brent, shoot your question for the night.”
My pulse sped up. Not just from the opportunity to learn more about him, but from the way his lips gently curved to the side in an inviting smile I wanted to steal straight from his lips.
Refusing to let my rational mind get in the way, I fired my question from the gut. “What was your human life like?”
Aric tensed—but only for a second.
“You know I was born in Germany, right?” he asked.
I nodded. That much I’d gleaned over the years.
“When World War II turned from a distinct possibility to a future we knew we couldn’t escape, my parents fled to the States. I was just five at that point.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember all that much, except that they knew we couldn’t stay in Germany. Not with them opposing Nazism.”
I’d lived through one war—much shorter, though nonetheless brutal—and had carried scars of it despite the shift to the better it had proven to bring to the supernatural community. Being alive during WWII, and human at that…
It sounded downright terrifying.
Aric, however, shot me a compassionate smile—the kind only someone who’s been through shit but found a way to release it and move on could carry. “After we arrived in America, my parents settled on the East Coast. They got what jobs they could, found us a small place to live, and—I didn’t know that at the time, but figured it out later—they shielded me as best as they could against the growing suspicion around Germans. As far as I was concerned, life was okay.”
A kernel of heaviness threaded through the air.
“What happened?” I half whispered.
“1942.” Aric picked up a tiny, hard-edged pebble from between us and flicked it aside. “They packed us up along with other German migrants, not giving a fuck about our reasons for coming to the States, and shipped us straight to an internment camp.”
Chapter 19
“Shit.” I blinked, my skin pebbling as a chill I suspected had nothing to do with the night whisked against me.
I’d learned of the Japanese internment camps, as I did about the U.S. government rounding up Nazi sympathizers, but I’d never realized others, innocent others, had been affected too.
I worried the inside of my lip.
Sure, my schooling had been focused on werewolf ways and, as such, tended to skim over human experiences—historic ones more so than any others, unless they were directly tied to our own past. I was more than grateful my parents had managed to get me enrolled in a, then hidden from the general public, all-supe school, but I most definitely was not a fan of my ignorance.
Especially the part I was responsible for.
Not questioning what we had been taught… What a fucking naïve approach to life.
Thankfully, Aric didn’t comment on my surprise or make me feel any crappier than I already did but simply said, “After spending two years in the internment camp, they let us go.”
The slight censure in his voice hinted those two years had seemed a fuckload longer than just twenty-four months.
“We jumped around for a couple of years. No plan or anything, just my parents going where the jobs were. I’m not even sure what it was that put an end to our nomadic life, but eventually, we settled in Memphis. I went to school there and gradually slipped into American life in earnest, but I…” An almost loving smile tugged on his lips. “I was a troublemaker. I had no real goal in life. All I knew was that I loved music, but that wasn’t the kind of profession my parents supported.”
“Because they were struggling to make ends meet?” I asked.
Aric nodded and rotated the plain silver ring on his middle finger. “They believed I needed to get a solid job, even if it paid barely enough to keep my damn chin above the starvation line. But my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t want to waste away doing something I hated. I’m not sure if it was my childhood that made me that way, but even the mess that I was, I knew that I had to do things that fired me up.”
Thinking back to my teenage years, the dark maw I’d fallen into after my parents’ death and the disbandment of my pack with so many of them dying during the War, I could definitely get behind not being able to devote yourself to something that didn’t light that fire within. Roth had certainly saved me back then, roping my—at first reluctant—ass into ICRA. Gave me purpose.
I wasn’t sure where I’d have ended up if it hadn’t been for the plant-loving half-Leshy.
I locked my gaze on Aric’s for a long moment, allowing this new thread of understanding to thicken between us, then asked, “Was there anything specific about music that hooked you or—”
“Elvis.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at his blatant, shameless joy. “I was at his first gig in 1954. July, I think it was. There was something about that experience that just…clicked, you know? But it wasn’t until after I turned and quite some time had passed that I found my way back to Elvis and music.”
It was blatantly obvious that he’d glossed over a lot, but that was okay.
“What about you?” he asked. “Where did all this blues love come from?”
I smiled and was grateful when I realized there was no sorrow or bitterness in my words, only love, when I said, “My mom.”
“Your mom?” Aric’s entire face lit up.
“Yeah, my mom was a fucking badass.” I laughed—one of those belly laughs I couldn’t recall the last time, if ever, I’d managed while reminiscing about my parents. “She wasn’t a professional musician, though she did play at bars sometimes. But it was at home that she really shone. She had this old Gretsch Rex she picked up in the evenings and just played and sang for us for hours at a time. It was…magical.”
“You never played?” He cocked a perfect eyebrow.
“I was just content listening to my mom…” I chewed on the inside of my lip. “Letting the music seep into my soul.”
Aric smiled at me, then leaned in to whisk his fingers down my cheeks. “And what a beautiful soul it is.”
Friday, and with it, the Whiskey Jet Preachers show, came a fuckload faster than I would have wanted it to.
After the last of the security guards confirmed they saw no one fitting Milton’s description—or anyone out of place, for that matter—lurking about, I circled back toward the stage. The guys were just wrapping up the sound check, so I leaned against a rudimental metal support beam and watched them absentmindedly as I ran through the list in my head one more time.
All exits secured.
All rooms scanned.
All personnel accounted for.
All guards on deck and ready to keep an eye out for a fuckass vampire wanting to stir shit.
I’d even brought in Mara on the sly to outfit the lot of them with a basic protection spell in case Shelby attempted to play dirty and meddle with their heads. After all that had been done, I’d spent extra time briefing the duo working the entrance until I was convinced that if Milton or Shelby tried to sneak in by blending into the crowd, they’d know. I checked the discreet comm unit in my ear—working. And so would I.
Of course, there was always a good chance Milton wouldn’t show up personally, merely unleash whatever vile trick he’d set up for Aric, which was why I was still a little pissed that—I glanced across the stage, catching a glimpse of a fine ass clad in black jeans—the fangabilly vampire hadn’t been on board with me roping more agents in.
Milton is too clever for that. He’ll kno
w something’s off. He’ll change his plans, and Milton’s always far more vicious when he diverts from a plan.
I huffed out a breath through my nose. I might not have liked it, but Aric did have better insight into his vampiric brother’s fucked-up mind.
Pascal and Leif walked past me with a smile, kicking me from my thoughts right before Ewart pulled me in a bear hug, lifting me straight off my feet. He spun us around, then deposited me back on the ground and followed the guys backstage. Smiling, I shook my head and walked up to Aric, who was looking handsome as fuck still dressed in his casual clothes. In the background, the crew started working on the finishing touches. I’d seen the pre-show works before, but the sight of it all never seemed any less magical to me.
“Everything good?” Aric asked, standing close enough that I got the distinct feeling we were broadcasting our growing intimacy loud and clear.
I glanced at the edge of the stage—at the unnerving lack of a security fence staring me in the face. “I’m still not thrilled the audience is able to touch the stage. Makes it way too easy for someone to climb up.”
“Yeah, but that’s the charm of this place.” Aric quirked up a corner of his lips and stepped toward me. “You get to see me up close.”
Heat rose through my body. “Mm-hmm, and someone can stake you up close too.”
“Not with you here.” His fingers skimmed down my forearm.
Dangerous. Fucking. Territory.
“Right.” I retreated a step. “I’ll head—”
In vamp-speed fashion, Aric wrapped his fingers around my wrist and yanked me to him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he drawled.
I shot him an incredulous look, though the sight of his fangs made my heart race. “Um, to do my job?”
Aric just kept gazing down at me, brows raised as if my answer was bullshit.
“You know, from over there”—I thrust a thumb over my shoulder—“where we agreed I’d be throughout the show so that I can intercept a particular asshole blood brother of yours?”
Aric clicked his tongue. “No, no, no.”
He raised me off the ground and, as if I weighed nothing, lowered me on the floor right in front of the stage.
“You’ll stay right here, Gina, my Gina,” he half-sang, and that fanged smile of his turned even more devious. “We have some catching up to do.”
For a long second, I just stared at him, then, as those frothing bubbles rose to the surface, I threw my hands in the air. “Are you fucking serious? I’m here to look out for you.”
“And you will.” Aric crouched on the stage before me.
He ran his knuckles along my cheek, that bad boy side of his coming to the forefront with the unrestrained force of a gale.
“The venue is locked up tight, as you made sure, and Milton will either try to strike from the floor or at the afterparty.” He cocked his head to the side, looking at me as if he wasn’t sure whether he should devour me or savor the thrill for a later time to make it even sweeter. “Smack in the middle of the crowd, right before me, is the best place for you to be.”
I crossed my arms, but Aric wasn’t deterred.
“If you monitor the audience from the side, the light show will fuck with your wolfish vision.” He angled an eyebrow, daring me to say he was wrong.
But truth was, I hadn’t taken that particular inconvenience into consideration. A vampire would know how to take advantage of the light to move. Werewolves, regardless of how excellent our sight was in various conditions, still needed time to adjust to abrupt changes like that. Aric was right.
A wicked, smug smile stretched his lips.
“See? This is the perfect spot for you, Gina. You can keep a close eye on things”—he winked—“and me.”
Chapter 20
Though misplaced excitement whisked through me and ignited my cheeks, there was no way in the whole fucking universe that I was about to go down without a fight.
I opened my mouth to argue, tell him the million reasons why seduction should be off the godsdamned table right now, but Aric had other ideas.
He looked past me toward the club’s entrance, all mischief and roguishness, and that edge of haughtiness that just plain fucking suited him, then said, “Whoops, time to go.”
In a flash, he vamp-blurred off the stage.
The doors to the venue behind me opened.
So much for that.
I shook my head but failed to keep down the amusement that rattled a throaty laugh from my lips. Damn Aric and his timing.
The first wave of scents and voices rolled across the open floor, then built up in layers as more people poured in. Half-leaning against the black, sturdy construction of the stage, I watched some of them run at full speed for the front row, while others strolled leisurely across the floor—with more than a few of them turning to one of the two drinks kiosks set on either side of the club.
Not wanting to come across like the damn security guard I was, I shifted seamlessly into my concert-going skin.
One perk of the many, many years of killing time to support my front-row ventures was that I’d come to master the highest level of curious, somewhat out of boredom observation to keep myself busy before the show started. Even with friends, the waiting could get tedious. Alone… Only a masochist wouldn’t develop a system to get their butt through the crawlingly slow passing of minutes.
The discreet comm unit in my ear remained silent as I eased, at least outwardly, into my standard mode, and the vibe I was getting from the people flowing into the club matched that pre-concert blend of easiness and elation to a T.
Everyone here just wanted to have a fun night out.
A group of young women I knew by sight took up the space on my left. I shot them one of those smiles befitting someone who wasn’t entirely a stranger but not an acquaintance either, then casually checked out how the rest of the front row was filling up. At least with these girls, I knew no one was getting to the stage. They were good at maintaining their wall of bodies crack-free like that.
A werewolf couple flanked me on the other side, followed by another group of women dressed to the nines in rockabilly style. Seeing them stirred a pang of regret at my choice of outfit—a simple black dress paired with chunky boots—but I couldn’t exactly afford to run around in petticoats and heels.
As more people piled up from behind, scanning the crowd became increasingly harder. Not a problem I’d have been facing if I could have gone with my original plan and monitored everything from the side of the stage. Though with the solid front row—and second, now that I got a better feel for the individuals filling it out—I also couldn’t neglect the fact that anyone trying to push through would make visible waves. And if they, by some miraculous stroke of luck, did get all the way to the stage, I’d be up there before they’d even have the chance to finish their climb.
Aric had been right to stick me in the front. Not that the vampire needed the ego boost.
Smiling at the thought of him, I gently withdrew my thoughts from all things Aric to actually doing my job.
The familiar pre-show buzz built in the atmosphere and the press of people from behind intensified. I kept my body twisted, alternating directions to keep an eye on the crowd, but after twenty minutes or so of scanning every single thing I could lay my eyes on, I realized just how redundant my actions were.
More than sight, it was the energy the people were throwing out that fed me information. And energy didn’t lie.
So, I faced forward, my own excitement growing as I took in the stage. I raked my gaze over the monitors to Pascal’s pedalboard and mic setup, looking forward to hearing his backing vocals complement Aric’s voice. Ewart’s cherry-red drums at the back drew the eye next, their glossy finish gleaming under the strategically positioned lights that flirted with just the right amount of dimness. Then Leif’s double bass, standing proudly to the right. And, finally, I allowed myself to look at mic, straight fucking ahead of me, where Aric would cl
aim us for his own.
My chest swelled. I didn’t think there would ever come a time when I didn’t feel like this.
In a world brimming with magic, music was still the only thing with the power to truly touch a person’s soul. My soul.
To have the privilege to hear it live…
There was no beauty quite like it.
I fell into that peculiar state where the minutes dragged yet seemed to speed by all at once, the expanding threads of unity knitting between the audience and binding us into something new, something whole. When the lights shut off at last and plunged us into total darkness, that sensation tied its final knot—
Then released us, as one, into the embrace of music.
The rumbling, filthy riffs of “Shivers/Chills” kicked off the show—a totally unexpected opening that had us roaring. Aric worked his White Falcon, sending out waves of raw, fantastic energy my hips and spine moved to instinctively. As he reached the peak of the riff, he zeroed in on me and beamed, then strutted to the microphone and let the pure sex that was his voice floor the fuck out of us.
Without a barrier separating me from the stage, the experience of watching Aric perform was even more intense than I could have imagined.
The front rows seemed helpless against the sheer force that was Aric Sutter, helpless against the magnetism of Leif, Ewart, and Pascal, coming together into something that was more than just the sum of their parts, more than the perfection of the song.
They were an uncut, unfiltered life force, blasting into us with every beat.
I didn’t intend for the vibe to suck me in so wholly, yet as I surrendered to its booming waves, it made me feel the crowd better too.
“It’s not a chill in your heart.”
