Back to You (Don't Forget Me Book 2)

by Sia Wales

  “No. And you know that. You should take me my word for it, sometimes.”

  I sigh and take my hand away from his steely grip.

  “Why did you come here, Donn?” I move my hair away from my face and on to my back with the hand that is now free from his. But Donn grabs the falling hair and takes a lock of it, twisting it into a ponytail. He traces the hollow of my collarbone with his finger, until he reaches the barely visible white half-moon under my chin.

  “The problem is that you and I interpret the same sign differently. From now on, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me,” he warns, detached and smug.

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling. At this point, I can concede him joke or two. But it is strange how Tyler was curious about the other scar on my finger and how I got it. The chasm widens. I withdraw my hand again from his grip.

  Donn smiles at my reaction, but he can see something is wrong.

  “Really, baby. You can’t go on for long without me.”

  “Are you kidding?” I frown and try to brush him off.

  “Please. Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Think you’ll have to?” I glance furtively at him and see that he’s smiling.

  “Can’t do any harm.”

  “But just what is going on?”

  Donn sneers, his expression hardens.

  “I have been in talks with the Council and I’ve managed to have a truce called. But I’ve given my word about you, Stella, and that means we’ll have to see more of each other.” His eyes fix mine so intensely that I tear my gaze away. “And Graham wants to see you, before agreeing to the deal.”

  I knew it. Save the bad news for last.

  “Who is Graham? You said you’ve been in talks with the Council. Defending whom? What do you mean?” I can’t finish my line of questioning before a quiet smile spreads across his lips and I realize that, at least for the moment, my interrogation will lead nowhere.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m just trying to understand. It’s not easy to read you.”

  I spot Bryan Austin, the guy that worked here before Tyler. He staggers out from behind the bar and weaves his way through the crowd toward me. He must have been saying hello to Tyler, Jeff, and Scott––all deep in conversation on their bar stools. A moment later Bryan is by my side.

  “Stella! he exclaims, happily. He hugs me warmly.

  “Bryan, thanks for coming!” I hug back.

  “I just wanted to spend some time with my pal,” he says enthusiastically, as I slip out of his embrace. “When Scott called and told me about tonight’s opening act, I couldn’t believe it.” His hand reaches out to rearrange my hair behind my back.

  I linger on his words, confused.

  “What act?” I ask impatiently.

  “Didn’t Vuk Wolf tell you?” he asks innocently.

  “What didn’t he tell me?” But I can already guess the answer. My voice is filled with emotion and my imagination runs wild. Vuk’s song is my anniversary present. The tune he has perfected in the past month that he gave me taste of when he was sitting on the tree in front of my bedroom window.

  Embarrassed, Bryan doesn’t reply. So I decide to ask Donn for a confirmation. I turn to look at him but he has disappeared into thin air. I turn back to Bryan

  “Where did Donn go?”

  “Who?”

  “Donn Brooks,” I clarify.

  Bryan gives me a strange look, and it is only now that I notice his appearance, especially his face and eyes.

  I’m sure he would just have continued talking about whatever he had in mind if he had not noticed me blush. I am taken aback because, until a short while ago, his eyes have been hazel in color. But now, looking into his topaz irises, it seems incredible that I didn’t notice something peculiar about his face before. Obviously, he won’t let me get away without explaining my sudden shift in attitude.

  “Tell me what’s up,” he says, his bright golden eyes the same shade as Tyler’s.

  “What’s happened to your eyes?”

  “Nothing,” he replies suspiciously, pulling his hair quickly over his forehead as if to offer them protection.

  “The color of your eyes today. Tell me what you’ve done.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks seriously. His voice is low and hoarse. His face hides something that his lips will not reveal.

  “Your eyes were a different color the last time I saw you. And now they’re topaz. Amber.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he confesses. He swallows and holds his breath. “You think we can change the color of our eyes?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.” I’m intrigued.

  “Well, a human being can’t change his eye color in a natural way, know what I mean?” Bryan moves closer as he speaks, and nails me with his intense golden eyes as if trying to tell me a secret that cannot be told.

  My mind goes blank. I can’t even remember how to breathe. My breath comes back only when I turn my gaze elsewhere. Bryan shakes his head as if nothing happened, and his movement catches my attention. “Maybe you don’t know, but now you can get your eye color changed.”

  “How?”

  “Iris tattoo.” His gold eyes blaze.

  “Getting your eyes tattooed? That’s crazy!” I exclaim.

  Just at that moment, the lights go down and Bryan settles into a seat at my table to watch the show. He smiles at me, and his eyes manage to glow despite the dark.

  I look out the window, consumed with guilt, as we wait for the act to take the stage. It doesn’t seem right to encourage Donn like that. It doesn’t matter that I’ve tried to make myself clear, and maybe I should have explained better where my head is. Maybe then he would realize he needs to forget about me.

  The sound of footsteps coming onstage attracts my attention; I am eager to see the show ahead.

  When Vuk moves toward the center of the stage, not far from our table, my heart begins to race. The spotlight shines on one person in the bar, the only one on the stage with a guitar nestled on his lap.

  He approaches the mic and strums a chord on the guitar.

  “This song’s called Another Alternative. The opening track of the album Redemption, dedicated to my little girl. Happy anniversary, Stella.”

  He strikes the first chords, slowly, thoughtfully, but already full with emotion. The music builds to a crescendo and the tension in my body rises at the same pace as the emotion Vuk’s voice. It is low and rough, and a storm rages within me. Like lightning striking, it fires my skin and penetrates my bones, catching me off guard. I raise my eyebrows and perk my ears. I am so taken aback that I can’t even open my mouth. Vuk catches sight of me and throws me a tender, reassuring smile.

  Applause ripples through the crowd with a few encouraging shouts here and there. My father and Scott don’t join in. They sit in silence, taking in the scene.

  I watch Vuk anxiously, trying to remember to breathe, which is no easy feat. I realize that he has not taken his eyes off of me, his face intense and thoughtful. Blushing and flushed, I don’t make a sound, not wanting to miss a beat.

  He strums his guitar, his hair soaking wet and unkempt as it falls into his eyes. He shrugs his shoulders at me innocently, recognizing my reaction. His movements are in perfect harmony with the sounds of the guitar. The crowd feels the song reaching its peak, and I can feel it too. Vuk doesn’t let us down. His playing becomes even more skillful as the desolate chords carry the crowd away. I instinctively cover my mouth with my hand, my eyes now half-closed, still fixed on him. His fingers stroke the strings with the tenderness he uses to caress my face. He never takes his eyes off me, reveling in my reaction.

  Tears brim in my eyes, but I manage to blink them back before they flood out. The liquid emerald of his eyes seems to melt under my gaze, and I become dizzy, the blood rushing to my head. My breathing falters along in time with my irregular heartbeat. Sweat pours out and the troubled, carefully chosen words flow softly from his lips. He is beautiful under the white s
potlight, as the words spill out and his vibe electrifies the crowd. The lyrics burn up my insides. My eyes are glued to him throughout his performance, tracing every contour of his face and the fluid movements of his fingers. Every time I feel my face flush, Vuk launches into another succession of notes, which blow me away on a rollercoaster ride of confusion and passion.

  His voice. His voice sings a husky melody that seems to float from the mouth of an angel. I listen, enchanted. Only when I see the droplets glistening on my fingertips do I realize that tears are streaming down my face.

  I close my eyes during the tormented, articulated closing bars. Pitch black surrounds me, his guitar caresses my every sense. I know that he is just a few feet away from me, watching me with his piercing eyes and his crooked smile.

  The intense, drawn-out final note fills the air, echoing throughout the bar with overwhelming power, and the song ends. The lights come back up and wild applause rings out.

  Vuk stares at me intensely, his gaze transmitting all the sincere, unconditional love he feels for me. Then he breaks into a coarse laugh. I beam at him.

  Our eyes dive into each other and a charge runs through both our bodies, bonding us. His lip curls up, and I immediately realize how things are going to end.

  I take a deep breath to compose myself, then turn to Bryan, who is marveling at Vuk’s talent.

  “Now I get why you raved about his music,” Bryan says.

  My eyes fall onto the program, with the opening act written as Another Alternative from the album Redemption by Vuk Wolf. I can’t stop smiling. Distracted, I suddenly realize that I didn’t even know Vuk had cut an album. I slice my finger open on the program.

  “Shoot! What an idiot!” I examine my finger for the damage done. A minute droplet of blood flows from the invisible cut.

  My eyes travel beyond my finger into the sea of people, and I see the last face I was expecting to see there. I recognize him, despite his back being turned to me, covered head to foot in motorcycle leathers. My jaw drops. His hands are moving animatedly as he talks to an unseen companion.

  From what I can see, it has to be J.. He’s young, with brown hair sticking out of his helmet, and is the most beautiful creature alive, even from behind. I cannot imagine that anyone, including gods and goddesses, could remain unmoved before him. I can make out a corner of his perfect jawline, his skin is smooth and pale. Even from afar, it seems to have the consistency of ice. Just the thought of him sends shivers through my body. He takes a few steps in my direction, revealing the person he was talking to. It’s Donn, now lit up by the dim bar lights. Frowning, seemingly furious, dark circles surround Donn’s eyes. He grabs J. by the collar and barks something into his face at close range. His lips form a hard line, and deep creases line his forehead, crowned by golden brown hair. He tries to back out of Donn’s grip. I can’t understand if he’s yelling at him or just snarling into thin air by his face. But Donn keeps him locked in his steely grasp effortlessly. But it’s obviously harder than he’d like to let on.

  Complications

  J. struggles and seems to have lost his mind. Or at least that’s what it looks like from the jerky movements his head makes. He seems to have launched himself into Donn and, through the noise of the party and Iris blasting out the speakers, I hear the clash of the impact. Two rocks crashing in a landslide.

  “Oh, no!”

  I cry, burying my head in my hands. But I keep my eye on the scene through the cracks of my fingers.

  Donn’s chest heaves, and he’s breathing heavily. I leap down from my seat and work my way through the crowd to get to them as fast as I can. As I pass, some people smile at me, others wave. But I ignore them and head toward Donn, wanting to hear what is being said while hiding in the crowd.

  “I see you’ve changed your mind,” says Donn, his voice as calm as ever.

  J. nods, visibly upset.

  “How can you bear it?” he roars. Then he takes a deep breath and looks around.

  “I can’t help myself,” he growls. “I want her now!”

  Donn’s stare is fixed on J’s. He’s immobile, focused.

  “I know that,” he replies smiling before his face turns somber again. He raises an eyebrow, but instead of his usual impenetrable glare, he seems in a good mood. I wonder why, and Donn answers my question. His onyx eyes focus on J., but then travel past him to settle on me, his fingers almost piercing J.’s leathers to keep the vampire in his grasp.

  Then he looks back at J..

  “You have to deal with it,” Donn suggests, his voice cold and hard again. “You have to learn to keep control, especially when Stella’s around.” A shiver runs through J.

  “You can do it,” continues Donn. “And it’s your only way out. Because if you hurt her, if you even try to lay a finger on her in an dishonorable, uncivilized way…” Donn’s lip curls, revealing his teeth, but his face remains dark. His voice leaves no room for doubt.

  “Wait,” interrupts J. His voice becomes a shrill. He chokes and gets his breath back. He grasps his head between his hands, sweaty and soiled from the handlebars of his bike.

  “I didn’t know what I was doing.” His voice sounds dull and raspy.

  Donn’s head shakes almost imperceptibly, then his composure returns.

  “Sure. I hope so,” he says, not unkindly. “You seem open to learn, and Aaron could explain the rules to you.”

  “Aaron taught me everything.” J.’s fists clench.

  “Then try to keep your cool,” Donn stresses sternly. “I gave you a chance. He vouched for your actions once. But we don’t give second chances.” I notice that he says “we” as if speaking for “the family.”

  Donn’s stares at J. with a hard, threatening expression on his face. My heart suddenly begins to race.

  J. takes a step back, perhaps terrified that his vague answer could trigger something horrific.

  “Donn,” I call out cautiously, trying to make my way through the wall of people separating us.

  When he hears my voice, he looks my way, a tormented look on his face, his lips locked in a deep furrow.

  “Just listen to me, Donn Brooks.”

  “Maybe we should get out of here?” Donn barks, gripping J.’s arm. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

  I weave through the crowd near the bar, almost reaching Donn, when he turns toward me again. His eyes widen in surprise and I’m just a couple of steps away. Those empty, terror-filled eyes fix on me. J. darts off into the darkness of the storeroom before I can reach them, with Donn close at his heels. He grabs J. by the arm and drags him away by his leather jacket.

  I’m about to dash into the storeroom, but Donn comes around the corner out of nowhere, alone. He quickly runs to my side, and appears as pale as a ghost. He bumps into me as he comes to a quick stop and curses. I lose my balance and almost fall to the ground, my legs twisted around. He breaks my fall with one arm, then quickly untangles my legs, one at a time.

  I make an effort to get up, as he throws worried glances toward the storeroom doorway. He seems paralyzed. At the entrance of the short corridor is a dark figure, immobile.

  He stretches out his arms to embrace me. But once in his arms, he turns me toward the light in the bar, as if he is using his body as a shield to protect me.

  He gazes into me for an instant. He has managed to wipe away all the panic and tension that has built up in my body, thanks to his bizarre talent of controlling the emotions of people around him. He then nudges me into a quiet corner. I try to slip out of his embrace but he grips my wrist to keep me away from the crowd.

  I no longer feel alone. Donn Brooks, the one and only vampire that manages to keep me under his spell, is by my side. His hand pulls my face and buries it deep into his chest. He nods to someone by the bar, telling them not to interfere. I try to look, but can only see and he doesn’t seem to be looking at us. Still with an arm around me, Donn seems calm, even if his teeth are showing and his nose flared up as if in warning.

 
The music drowns out my breathing. Around me, partygoers are eating, laughing, dancing, and totally unaware that they could soon be faced with a terrifying scene of danger, maybe even death.

  Donn is studying something intently over my shoulder.

  “I remember that kid,” he says in a low voice when he sees Bryan weaving through the tables. “He used to work here.”

  “That’s right,” I confirm. “He just started working at The Rise in Boston.”

  “The one who thought you were his girlfriend,” he jokes. “Is he still delusional?”

  I watch Bryan heading toward me out of the corner of my eyes. “Some people don’t know how to take no for an answer,” I say, my eyes glancing at Donn briefly. I would almost have preferred it if Bryan had gone home, although I’d rather not be on my own with Donn.

  “Persistence pays off,” Donn says.

  “It’s usually pointless, though,” I add.

  “It’s worked so far.”

  “Some you win, some you lose.”

  “Try to be a good girl, baby,” he warns, pronouncing each word carefully.

  “I give up trying, I can’t compete.”

  “You win, then,” he whispers, his voice tender, velvety. “I have no plans to corrupt your sweet innocence.”

  I search for a retort, but Bryan comes around the table beside us.

  “There you are,” he says, brushing off Donn with a glance. Donn eyes are like thunder, but he maintains control.

  He looks totally out of place in Medford––too pale, too sharply dressed. Bryan’s head barely reaches his shoulders. I don’t want to think of how small I look next to him and the difference in years that show on his face. Both look at me and I anxiously wave a hand at Donn.

  “Bryan, do you remember Mr. Brooks?”

  “Sure, his face looks familiar,” he admits sharply, his eyes narrowing. There is a trace of irony in his tone, but he shakes Donn’s hand. “I’m a friend of Stella’s.”

  “I’ve got a good memory,” replies Donn, sarcastically. They grip each other’s hands tighter than seems necessary.

  When they let go, Bryan stretches his fingers and glances at me in a sullen way. Hardly the life and soul of the party, and with good reason. It bothers him to see me so close to Donn, even if we’re just chatting.