Captivating Melody

by Katherine McIntyre

  “Speak of the devil.” Jett tilted his head to the left toward the parking lot in front of them. Kieran stalked their way with his hands in his pockets, tangled dark strands slicked back, and a scowl on his face.

  Liz couldn’t help how her insides twisted at the sight of him. Her body begged for the sinful way he’d stroked her to completion and the tenderness in his amber eyes. The intense desire there made her half-believe the girl who’d wandered her entire life could stick around forever.

  Jett waved him over, and Liz offered a small wave, trying to play cool despite the jagged way things had been left between them. He gave her a look that slammed her to the core, coldness she’d never seen from him in the past. Fine, if he was going to be an ass, two could play at his game.

  “Hey, hey, Ace,” Jett teased, doing his damndest to ease the approaching storm cloud. The childhood nickname from the brother he hated didn’t add anything good to the pot.

  “Trev safe?” he asked, jamming his hands into the pockets of his shredded leather as he focused on Jett, point blank ignoring her.

  “Yeah, he’s holed up inside.” Jett jerked a thumb toward the RV. “Not sure if he wants visitors, but you can always try.”

  Kieran let out a slow exhale, like he tried to rein in his temper. “Someone has to. Besides, I’d best change out of these duds.” He plucked his shredded wifebeater, covered in dried blood.

  Jett clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Glad you’re okay, brother.”

  “Yeah,” Kieran said, chewing on his lip before he glanced toward Liz and gave her a nod. His amber eyes flashed, but right now she couldn’t read anything from him apart from pissed the hell off. The angry words she’d reserved for him dried on her tongue in lieu of the cold shoulder she’d been given. Without another word to either of them, he strode up the steps into the RV.

  Jett glanced her way, brows raised. “I’d say that’s a bit more than the average fight. Don’t tell me you cut his dick off as a trophy afterward or something.”

  Liz let out a bitter snort, his acerbic humor fitting her mood. “Your guess is as good as mine. Might have had to do with calling it a bit of fun, but you know me. I’m down for a no-strings back alley tangle.”

  Jett winked. “You and I have always been on the same page.” He let out a slow exhale of smoke, and his gaze hardened a bit. “Though maybe I underestimated Kieran’s fixation with you. I thought the boy set his mind on you, and a quick fuck would sort you both out proper.”

  Liz shook her head, ashing on the ground. Deep in her gut, she knew Kieran played for keeps. In the vault she kept her heart, she understood the precipice she dove off once they’d locked lips. He might think he saw forever in her, but Liz had long given up on the concept with anyone.

  Broken homes made for a broken girl, and no matter how much she wanted to glue her pieces together, cracks reappeared, and she shattered anew. She tossed the butt of her cigarette to the pavement and ground it out under her heel. Tonight, sleep would be hard to come by.

  ****

  The knocks on the door of the RV splintered the silence at once, and Liz almost tumbled out of her bunk in surprise. After last night, everyone slept in. Even though she’d blinked awake with the morning light, once she got a taste of the oppressive silence weaving through the place, she pulled the blanket over her head and returned to sleep. Rustling came from the other bunks as the persistent knocking continued.

  Liz tugged her messy hair into a ponytail and straightened her navy-blue shorts and the long gray tee she’d worn to bed. Whoever the hell decided to disturb them right now would deal with her pre-coffee. After all, any bastard trying to threaten their lives wasn’t going to knock. She strode down the corridor, almost colliding with Kieran as he hopped off the bed. Neither of them said a word to each other, the awkwardness from last night continuing to her chagrin.

  She sure as hell wouldn’t volunteer emotions, and for the first time since she’d met him, he shut off. Which left them in the best standoff ever.

  Liz blinked hard, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes as she pounded down the RV’s steps to open the door.

  Danica stood on the other side of the glass with her long hair pulled back in an elegant chignon, and the matching green manicure and jewelry offsetting her cream blouse and tailored black flare skirt. Altogether the woman came off way too put together after the hellish time in the Lotus Garden the night before.

  “Hey, Obiwan.” Danica waved, a huge grin on her face as if they hadn’t been chased out of a casino the last time she saw her. Before Liz said anything, Danica hopped up the steps and slid past her to wander toward their makeshift kitchen.

  All four guys stumbled out from their beds in different shades of ragged. Jett, as usual, appeared the least unkempt of the crew, even though his button-down was rumpled and he fixed strands of his hair. Renn slumped into the nearest chair, clutching his forehead, shirtless of course. Trevor and Kieran competed for surliest as both of them formed a black hole on the booth no one else wanted to approach with a ten-foot pole.

  “You lot look miserable,” Danica said, crossing her legs in her seat. “What’s wrong? Last night we came, we saw, we kicked its ass. No one’s dead, so I don’t see reason for the funereal air percolating around here.” She paused for a second, eyeing the coffeemaker. “Speaking of percolating…”

  Liz shook her head, grateful for the woman’s hyper rambling, even if she didn’t reciprocate. “Like you need more coffee. How deep in are you, six cups?” She pulled out their metal can of coffee and prepped a batch.

  “Four cups barely scratches a dent in the morning anymore.” Danica flashed her a grin, her smile infectious.

  Jett crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Unless you got some new intel you’re bursting at the seams about, I can’t see last night as anything but an abysmal failure. Our one lead and we’re guaranteed banned from the place.”

  Danica slapped her suitcase on the table in front of her, the sharp sound causing Kieran and Trevor to snap out of their stupors. She unhooked the latches, flipping it open to a stack of papers. “Here’s all the information I managed to rummage up about the Rembrandt company. Or weren’t you paying attention last night?”

  Kieran leaned forward, his excitement at the lead trumping the funk he’d been clinging to. “They’d been paying off my brother’s debt. I do remember—we’d been right in the middle of questioning the dealer.”

  “Bingo.” She stabbed the papers. “So chances are if your brother hasn’t made it a habit to sending folks to kill you in the past, it’s tied up with something new, a debt he owes. And since he’s loaded with debt at the Lotus Garden, that means there’s a high chance someone at the Rembrandt Company wants you dead.”

  Liz gave a slow clap as the coffeemaker hissed behind her. “Fantastic detective work, partner.”

  “How are we supposed to get information from this though?” Renn asked. “I mean, unless they’re funding a ‘We Hate Kieran Blackmore’ campaign, I’m not seeing how we’ll be able to draw any connections to Larsen.”

  “Thankfully we’re not relying on your intellect to see us through,” Jett muttered as he scanned one of the top pages. “They’ve got a San Francisco branch to the company?”

  “The attacks didn’t start until we’d reached this area.” Liz leafed through a couple of pages on her own.

  “So the plan is to bust into their offices and start asking questions?” Trevor asked at last, his voice hoarse from disuse.

  Liz put her hands on her hips. “Not today you aren’t. You’ve got a gig to play tonight, and I worked hard to book this venue. The Karma Club is a big draw crowd, and the paycheck would be nice.”

  “Besides, it’s mid-afternoon.” Danica crooked a brow, leveling her judgment over them. “Most offices will be closing soon, and the lot of you look like you survived a hurricane. That might cut it for playing a rock show, but you’ll stand out like sore thumbs if you’re investigating an office.”

&nbs
p; “Who’ll go tomorrow?” Kieran asked, his gaze sharpening on Danica. Though Liz swore up and down the woman proved her loyalty, he made it clear he had his reservations.

  “You certainly aren’t.” Danica placed her hands on her hips. “Since you’re target numero uno, if Larsen’s dealing with someone behind the scenes there, they’ll recognize you on sight. Speaking of which…” She paused to rest her gaze on Trevor. “You should sit this one out too, since Rembrandt Company has ties with your boy Alberich.”

  Trevor’s lips pressed into a firm line, and the hush fell over the room again as the boys glanced to one another, everyone feeling the weight of how much the incursion last night messed with Trevor’s head. Except Danica, and for that, Liz was grateful.

  “Coffee done yet?” She poked behind her to where the full twelve cup had brewed.

  Liz handed over a mug, pulling one for herself. “Care to come to a show tonight?” Liz offered, glancing over to Kieran and the boys. If she’d expected protestations from a certain incubus, she ended up disappointed since he remained silent. The intensity in his amber eyes sent a flush through her as she remembered how they’d twined together last night. As much as she fought his overprotective nature, an emptiness ringed the air without his arguments for her safety.

  Even as she focused on Danica who began babbling again, his gaze heated her. They might’ve avoided the conversation last night, however, with Kieran it would come to a head, and they’d have to discuss what transpired between them at some point. For the good of the band, she should nip it in the bud, deal with his ire, and stay the hell away from Kieran Blackmore and his to-die-for voice.

  After all, she was the responsible one. The one who thought with her head, not her heart. Liz sipped at her coffee, the dark liquid scorching her mouth. The way the tension percolated through this place, she needed to go for a jog, now. And she had the exact place in mind.

  ****

  Liz spouted off some nonsense about a jog, and even though Kieran frowned like he prepared to launch a complaint, he remained silent instead. As she ran along the sidewalks of San Francisco, the salt-air swiping back the stray strands of her ponytail, she hadn’t decided whether or not his lack of fight bothered her. Sweat from her palm printed on the address she had crumpled in her hand.

  They’d parked at a fifteen-minute walk away, and if she was going to try and meet with one of her kind, she needed to go by her lonesome. The boys would be at risk.

  While no part of San Francisco scared her like run-down sections of New Orleans or some of the other cities she’d visited, this stretch held a few vacant lots and houses on top of more than a couple of nasty glares. It was clear the hunters weren’t camped out in Marriotts or Hiltons. She didn’t even need to glance at the paper crumpled in her fist—she’d memorized the address the moment Danica gave it to her.

  Despite the dose of adrenaline coursing her veins, her stomach soured with each step farther down the sidewalk as she counted the house numbers. This stretch of rowhomes looked well-maintained if not somewhat vacant. Her grip around the paper tightened. What if they considered her a traitor since she worked with the Discord’s Desire guys? What if they were included in the fae the hunters wanted to annihilate?

  A gray door with the black numbers 235 on it came into view, causing her to halt. This was it.

  Words gummed in her throat as she made her way up the steps. Most likely, the first sentence out of her mouth would be gibberish. These hunters had probably grown up together and worked like a family. They couldn’t understand her years as an outcast, but they might be able to clarify certain things for her—like the inconsistency of the buzzing in her brain around fae. Or what she was immune to.

  Maybe, just maybe, these hunters would’ve known her parents.

  She reached the landing and lifted her knuckles to the door. Liz sucked in a deep breath, unable to calm the nerves rampant inside her. Summoning every ounce of courage, she knocked.

  Silence. No creaks of the floorboards from inside, and no rustling. When the silence continued, she reached forward to test the doorknob.

  It squeaked but turned. She pushed the door open, her heart hammering in her chest. Liz teetered on the edge of a precipice, blinding, brilliant hope almost in reach—yet the plummet of another lost chance, the descent of another dead-end one misstep away.

  No lights were on in this place, and shadows stained every spare surface. The stale air and cobwebs gave off indicators this place hadn’t been used in awhile, as did the dust motes floating through the air, illuminated by the rays of light that spilled in from the windows. Liz wandered in, her breath sharpening as she stepped too hard on a floorboard and it emitted a creak.

  A porcelain mug sat out on the tabletop in the kitchen, and Liz headed right for the one sign of recent life she’d seen in this place so far. She peered into the mug, her nose wrinkling in disgust right as the tinny scent swept over her. Mold covered the surface of the half-consumed coffee, yet another indicator this place had been long abandoned.

  Liz sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the heat behind her eyes as the disappointment sliced into her. She made her way to the door and gripped tight to the doorframe as she surveyed the room one more time.

  Another dead end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nothing calmed Kieran like being onstage.

  The moment he sang the first notes and cast the melody over the captive audience, a serenity trickled through him. The conversation he and Liz needed to have loomed, but right now he put all those problems aside and sank into the music, feeding off the energy of a teeming crowd filled with folks who were beginning to get rowdy.

  He scanned over the masses past the people sucking face, the girls trying to climb onto the stage, and the headbangers near the front, while looking for a certain pissed off hunter. Even if she’d shut him out, that didn’t change the way he cared about her, and he sure as hell hadn’t stopped worrying over her safety. Maybe his emotions on the subject were too raw to voice at the moment, but he’d leap off the stage and tear into the first fae who looked at her the wrong way. He tapped his boot against the platform to the beat of the music, his voice rising and falling with the tempo.

  Most of the time when he gazed out into the audience, a faceless mass spanned in front of him. However, Liz stood out, despite the casual way she sprawled on the barstool with a baseball cap on her head, her ponytail threaded through it, and a jeans and flannel ensemble that worked for him. The girl could wear a burlap sack, and he’d find her devastating. Danica sat by her side, the woman decked in a neon green hip-hugging dress tonight, another flashy choice he’d come to expect from the leannan sidhe.

  Liz locked her gaze on him, and the electricity zipping through his veins added one more reason they needed to have a conversation. Soon.

  Behind him, Trevor played the guitar with the same pristine precision as ever, despite his brother’s shakeup the night before. Discord’s Desire started as a gig to sate their needs, but he loved the music. All of them did. The way singing let his troubles melt away. The way it helped him forget for a brief moment his own brother sent hitmen after him. Under the spotlight, up on stage, he wasn’t Kieran Blackmore, fuckup of the family. He was the lead singer of Discord’s Desire, and there he shone.

  All too fast, their set came to an end, the hours flying by in what felt like minutes. To his relief, Liz and Danica lingered in the audience by the bar. He lifted his arms, announcing their exit to dozens of cheers as his eyes narrowed. A couple of guys approached the girls, and the way one of them braced himself against the bar almost on top of Liz set his nerves on fire. With the way Discord’s Desire amped their crowds, those guys had one thing in mind.

  Once the spotlights shut off, the guys began a quick breakdown of their instruments. Kieran’s skin hummed with the need to get off stage and talk to Liz. Now that he wasn’t focusing on the music, the urge to rip those guys away short-circuited his brain. He popped the microphone in the holder a
nd brought the stand over, tapping his foot at a too fast beat.

  “Go check on Liz,” Jett called over to him as he unplugged the amp to his bass. “You’re annoying the rest of us.”

  Kieran gave a fast salute before jogging off the backstage and heading down the corridor to the door. He swung it open, maneuvering past couples making out with loud smacking noises while others engaged in humping the ever-loving crap out of each other. He’d spotted Liz and Danica as well as their obnoxious new friends back by the bar.

  Except now the barstools lay empty.

  His heart stepped to double time in his chest as he quickened his pace, darting past guys and girls mashed against each other in an overly familiar way. The way he’d left shit with Liz—he regretted it, and Kieran didn’t do regrets. He needed to catch up with her and talk, even if their explosion of words ended with her wanting to never speak with him again. That is, as long as she and Danica were safe.

  He slammed his palms on the countertop, drawing the attention of the bartender. “Hey, the two girls sitting here—you have any clue where they got to?”

  “Got your eye on one of them, yeah?” The big burly guy winked.

  “Yeah, sure. Just need to know where they went.” Sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d been able to keep his cool while he stood on stage watching over them, but with the couple day interim since the last attack, they were overdue. Not like Larsen would stop sending cronies after him.

  “Those guys came to talk, said they had some business.” The bartender squinted as he looked to the door on the far right. “They exited out that way.”

  He started running before the man finished, tearing in that direction. Sure, it might’ve been some douchebags looking for a good time, so Danica and Liz happened to follow, but he knew for a fact she didn’t indulge at their shows. Last night had been the break in a long dry spell for them both. His throat dried as he skidded to a halt before he smacked into the door, shoving his body against it to push the bar open.