by Gaja J. Kos
Aric’s gaze roamed with delectable slowness along the front row, lingering on me just a moment longer than the others.
“But a blaze of red-hot desire,
And I’ll fucking hold you tight.”
His voice turned the dial into shouting territory. The hairs on my arms stood on end, the sound of him ramping up my pulse.
“Kiss you on the infernal pyre.”
Though I sang along, I wasn’t even sure if my words carried beyond the perimeter of my mouth. Aric’s singing was too fucking savory in its roughness to be marred by something as mundane as the sound of my own voice.
Fuck, he was incredible.
Every riff, every verse, served a new detonation of power that shook me to my very core. I fucking loved it. Aric’s lips quirked up whenever our gazes met—a subtle but definitely there gesture I knew I would have probably replayed a thousand times if I had it on video.
The song speared toward its peak, then cracked open into the final chorus before ending on a mean, heavily drum-backed lick. Applause saturated every atom of air.
Aric winked at me, then grinned at the crowd. “It’s so nice seeing all of you tonight! You doin’ all right?”
As cheers rose and the energy of the crowd hit me in a fresh burst, I quickly sifted through the signatures. Nothing amiss. No hidden agenda. Nothing sinister at all lurked in the vibes.
“We’ve got some songs all set up for you,” Aric said and flashed his fangs in a smile. “Wanna listen?”
The deafening roar of the people surrounding me coaxed a chuckle from my lips. Yeah, I definitely understood the sentiment. On a fucking cellular level. If it weren’t for the whole Milton-watch going on, I would have dove into the concert just as completely as the rest of the crowd.
When the next song punched from the speakers and drew out the attendees’ energy like the moon working its magic on the tides, those same, decidedly not sinister, vibes flooded my senses.
Maybe I was wrong and Milton wouldn’t strike tonight. It was a far leap from a blood offering.
Maybe he’d bid his time, taunt Aric all up until the winter tour to eat away at his nerves.
But maybes were a dangerous game to play. So, I sunk back into the feel of the crowd and remained there as the guys blasted more of their hits—though the longer the concert went on, the harder it was to not let Aric’s playfulness affect me.
It was as if all our previous interactions had somehow met in a single place in space and time, folding together in layers of shared moments that flashed through me and flicked open that box of downright giddy emotions I kept locked under a “grown-ass woman” seal.
But, shit, the way he made me feel…
It was worth howling to the damn moon and not giving a fuck about what anyone else thought.
How I managed to retain any of my composure as the knowledge that I was dating Aric fucking Sutter whammed full force into my mind would forever be a mystery.
This vampire, with his brilliant mind, ridiculous talent, a face so fucking handsome you knew he was trouble, and the kind of voice that came straight out of a dream was dating me. Shit.
My heart leaped when I saw him take the stage with a vintage parlor Gretsch. Not just any vintage, but the kind my mother used to play when she’d sung the blues. I’d nearly been rendered asunder by the tenderness in his gaze when he’d listened to me talk about my mom, but even in my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have thought that he’d actually bring the guitar on stage.
None of the fans seemed to mind the total blues number Aric threw into the set. Sure, the Whiskey Jet Preachers were known for veering toward the genre from time to time, especially in their early years. “Lyin’ Won’t Save You From The Truth” was an excellent example of a blues song the crowd ate up with burning enthusiasm. But this…
This cover—it was pure, raw delta blues.
Tears threatened to sting my eyes. The sound of that Gretsch, so familiar yet different, plucked at my damn heartstrings. Aric’s voice carried that soul-crushing weight of “The Jinx Blues” as he sailed through the lyrics. He met my gaze, and I knew, I fucking knew that this was for me.
No, not just for me.
It was his way of telling me that he saw me. All of me.
As I saw him.
The number rolled to an end, and, after a guitar switch, the band plunged into “Come In The Night.” Relieved by the wild rockabilly rhythm that filled the not exactly unpleasant wounds the previous song had opened within me, I tapped at the corners of my misty eyes and let the velvet melancholy transmute into daredevilish excitement—something Aric embodied to a T.
Those smiles, glances, and occasional winks persisted throughout the setlist, his energy through the fucking roof. He brimmed with the type of vitality that had the power to shake an entire building, and I’d have been lying if I said my gaze wasn’t glued to him as if it were physically impossible for me to look anywhere else.
When “The Moon’s in Your Blood” came on and Aric shamelessly sang to me, my cheeks were on fire.
Damn the vamp, I was supposed to be his bodyguard, not the girl he was serenading.
And yet that smile on my face didn’t give a shit about any of that.
This was the most fun I’d had in a long while, and reading the signals from the crowd didn’t really require any effort. Not when they were all broadcasting so clearly, a single wrong spike would catch my attention, Aric’s bedroom eyes on me or not.
“Storm In Leather,” another oldie—and the first song of the Whiskey Jet Preachers I’d ever heard—surprised us next. It pulsed through us until our vibration was so fucking aligned with the song, I found myself grinning so broadly my cheeks ached. The bridge began to build up in the WJP’s signature groan-worthy climax, and Aric, guitar-free, got to his knees on the stage.
Right in front of me.
My fellow front-row fans screamed and reached for him. Aric shot them a fanged, panty-melting smile, but when he fixed his attention on me, his gaze burned like a brand.
I was still catching up with what was even happening when he leaned over and, taking my face in his hands, kissed me on the mouth.
Chapter 21
Gasps, mutters of surprise, and a couple of whistles melded with the music that crashed against my ears as Aric’s lips moved against mine.
The kiss was almost chaste, yet charged with so much power, I had to physically brace myself against the stage just to stay on my godsdamned feet. Aric’s desire poured into me, the cage of his palms against my cheeks firm and assertive, conveying the depths of all the things he wanted to do.
I wasn’t sure if that was a groan or a moan or some weak, pathetic whimper that slipped from my lips, but Aric heard. He kissed me harder, then, with a nip of his teeth, pulled away.
I actually fucking swayed.
Half-dazed, I watched him wrap up the song with molten, explosive fire in his voice that charmed me all over again.
The lights cut out on the final note, and his gaze pierced me through the darkness.
Superconscious that I was still staring, my mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened while my body remained immobile like some godsdamned rod planted into hard, compact ground. Even when the show moved forward into the two final songs of the setlist, the disconnect remained—as did the conflicting emotion.
Was I pissed at Aric for the stunt he’d pulled? Or swept off my damn feet?
Should I be pissed? Because he’d compromised my position for the night? Or was all of that coming from the chickenshit, play-it-safe voice in my head that was downright terrified of the fact that Aric and I had just leaped up several levels and, with our jump, thrown ourselves into yet another unknown realm?
When the main lights flicked on, I shouldered my way straight to the security guard blocking the backstage entrance. More and more tendrils of the audience’s vibe severed the farther I walked from the stage, then eventually faded entirely, only to be replaced by the buzz of the crew who’
d already sprung into action. Mindful not to get in their way, I slipped down the hallway toward the dressing room.
Pascal, Ewart, and Leif all hung out in front of the closed door, squeezing their lips in a—deliberately, I suspected—failed attempt to hold back their grins. Upon seeing the guys, that feeling of being on cloud nine intensified, but I refused to give myself over to it just yet.
“He’s inside,” Ewart said, tipping his sweaty head toward the closed door, and snickered. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he? Told him he was playing with fire.”
“More like claws,” Pascal quipped.
Leif chuckled with his beer bottle so close to his lips, the sound distorted.
I narrowed my eyes at the lot of them.
“So”—Ewart waggled his eyebrows—“are you two finally official?”
“Took you damn long enough,” Leif pitched in before I could as much as open my mouth. “Thought I’d be gray with saggy balls before it happened.”
I threw my hands in the air. “You know what, let me see a particular vampire about a particular kiss, and you can have all the fun you want after I smack his ass for pulling that shit.”
“As if it didn’t make your day.” Ewart slung a sticky arm around my shoulders.
I rolled my eyes but laughed. “Got to keep some of my badass agent façade up, damn.”
“Melting in the front row or not”—he hugged me tight enough for my dress to get damp, then released me with an elegant sweep of his arm—“your badassness is uncontested.”
Before they could tease me any more and possibly change my mind about confronting Aric, which I still wasn’t entirely sure was in earnest or part of the yearslong game we’d been playing, I slipped past the guys and into the dressing room. I quickly closed the door behind me, then faced the small rectangular space.
My breath caught.
Aric stood in the middle of the room, dressed in nothing but black jeans with the top button undone and looking at me as if I were about to be devoured.
Fuck.
If there ever was a man who embodied entire universes of desire, it was Aric fucking Sutter.
After a moment when the whole world seemed to still, Aric obliterated the space between us.
He grabbed my face between his hands, relieving me of the last of the oxygen in my lungs, then shoved me up against the door and brought his mouth down on mine.
I moaned into his demanding lips, my nails exploring his skin, the contours of his body I still couldn’t quite believe I was touching. Fire seemed to ignite at every point of contact between us, and if my panties had been wet before, I was fucking soaked now.
As if picking up on just what he was doing to me, Aric kicked apart my legs, then ground against my center. Fuck. I tipped my head back, burning up from within, and Aric dipped down to kiss my neck in a wicked, tantalizing promise, before working his way back to my mouth.
All those arguments and doubts and pointless reservations I’d carried dispelled into oblivion as if they’d never existed.
I lost myself in him, gave myself to him. Embraced the pull between us for the reality that it was. And with every stroke of his tongue, I dove deeper. Surrendered even more fully to the fervor and blazing voracity my very soul seemed made of—the embers stoked by the vampire ensnaring me with every grind of his body against mine.
My flesh seemed to transmute into molten flames.
With a groan, Aric grabbed my thigh and yanked up against him—
A loud crash of glass shattering punched through the wall.
Aric and I snapped apart, but the next second, rowdy laughs from the WJP guys ribboned through the air.
Trying to catch my breath, I inhaled deeply, then looked at Aric. His fangs were out, the hunger etched into the handsome planes of his face so arresting, I knew all I had to say was yes and he’d fuck me right against this door.
And, shit, I wanted it. Wanted him.
But—I fixed my purse’s strap before it could slide off my shoulder entirely—I was also here for a reason.
“I’m still working,” I said in a voice so weak it was a wonder Aric even took me seriously. “I need to go do my rounds and monitor the afterparty.”
He ran his tongue along one fang—not a deliberate gesture, which only made it that much hotter.
“What if I didn’t go?” he asked.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What if”—he approached me and skimmed a finger along my collarbone—“we stayed right here. I don’t need the afterparty, Gina.”
But I do need you, was what his body said.
I swallowed and, I wasn’t even sure how, slipped away from him. “I still have to do my job. Even if we stay here, the venue isn’t safe, and—”
“This might be our chance to catch Milton.” The understanding in his tone and gaze did little to mask that he wished it were otherwise.
“Besides,” I added to lighten the tone, “I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be too pleased about not being able to as much as change if we ended up claiming the dressing room for ourselves.”
A salacious, dark smile curved up Aric’s lips. “But it would be so. Much. Fun.”
My treacherous mind instantly bombarded me with images that tried their damned hardest to convince me the irresponsible path would be more than worth it.
“I’ll see you at the afterparty,” I said quickly, then, after a heartbeat of hesitation, wound my arms around Aric’s neck.
The promise of all Aric would do to me once the night was over flavored the kiss.
I might have sworn to myself to take it slow, to savor every step of carving those fantasies I’d lived with for years into reality, but as his tongue stroked mine, as the tips of his fangs grazed my lips with breathtaking affection and lust, I wasn’t so convinced on the whole waiting part anymore.
Our lips separated, and Aric took me in, as if committing the sight to memory.
“I’ll see you soon,” he rasped.
I gave a curt dip of my chin, then squeezed out the door and past the knowing looks of the band, bolting for the first checkpoint. Mercifully, my hot and bothered ass managed to cool down somewhat by the time I reached the guard manning the back door. He didn’t have anything to report, and after a round of additional questions just to be sure something hadn’t slipped his notice, I made my way around the club. I zipped from post to post, but all I got was the same news over and over.
No sign of Milton or anyone out of place. No snags. No shady energies. No rogue magic.
With the crowd now dispersed and the club empty, save for those of us who had the clearance to be here, I finished my rounds by the front entrance. The werewolf stationed there confirmed all was good on his end. I thanked him, then waited in the vicinity while he locked the door. Once that was done, I pulled the comm unit from my ear, stuffed it in my purse, then walked past the stage where the crew was still clearing the equipment and took the regular route to the afterparty.
I kept my senses open for anything amiss, but all that did was confirm there truly was no one left in the venue except for those of us who had every right to be.
“The guest list checks out?” I asked the statuesque demon lingering by the door.
She nodded. “I vetted everyone. Just one person didn’t show up, but that’s not uncommon.”
“If they show up late, come get me?” Though chances of that were slim since the audience had already left, I’d rather be prepared for every scenario than caught off guard.
When the demon confirmed she’d contact me first thing, I entered the afterparty.
Several heads swerved in my direction. I beelined it for the bar, not entirely at ease with the extra attention. Damn Aric. Instead of me monitoring everyone as I blended in, that kiss had put me in the spotlight.
I grabbed a gin and tonic—my favorite brand of gin, I noticed, which was probably Aric’s doing—then headed for the few familiar faces in the room. The small talk helped, but the gazes drilling in
to the back of my skull didn’t lessen. Not that they were malicious or anything of the sort, just…there. As I cruised through the space toward a particular demon I hadn’t seen in what felt like ages, I overheard a woman saying she remembered seeing my picture with Aric from that music event we’d attended in spring. I blocked out more of the conversation before I’d fall into snooping territory and marched on toward Nicklas.
Truth was, as odd as the afterparty had turned out to be thanks to Aric’s antics, none of these people were out here to do anyone harm. I could ease back a bit.
Nicklas greeted me with a broad smile that I couldn’t help but reciprocate. My old trainer looked every inch as buff and sharp as the day, almost a decade ago now, I’d taken him up on the invitation to come around his martial arts center.
“Where the fuck were you?” I said with a laugh and hugged him tightly.
He squeezed back, then cocked his head to the side. “I could ask the same about you.”
The drawl in his voice made me snort.
“As if I could even come train with you gallivanting across the States,” I pointed out. “You know I only spar with the best.”
Without fault, my comment made him stand a bit taller. Nicklas knew no shame when it came to pride and vanity pertaining to his legit superior skills.
He swiped his glass of frothed beer off the tall table. “I know, I know. I had a business opportunity come up, so I extended my trip a bit.”
“Mm-hmm, by a whole year?” I drawled, not buying what he was selling for a second.
The only reason Nicklas would leave his center alone for so long was if he fell head over heels for someone.
“Let’s say this business was of a more…appealing kind.” A single corner of his lips twisted up, and he glanced past me to the other end of the room.
Following his line of sight, I spotted a drop-dead gorgeous Hispanic woman chatting with Karolin.
“Laia runs one of the best mixed martial arts gyms on the West Coast,” Nicklas said with a dreamy quality to his voice, “and has a small contingent of fighters under her wing.”
I glanced at him, unable to keep the smile from my face. “Sounds like a dream match.”
