by Tasha Black
But Johnny could barely hear the crowd or the song now.
There was something alive in his arm, scratching to break free. He watched as the skin writhed and stretched.
He looked away and caught Seth’s eyes. Seth nodded at the mic with a what the fuck? look on his face.
Johnny would have liked to know the answer too, but the chorus was coming and he was rooted to the spot.
Seth grabbed the mic and held it out to the crowd. They filled in eagerly.
“You can’t hide the…
Strength…
Of…
The…
Pack.”
Johnny’s arm seethed with electric pain.
What the hell is happening?
Inside he felt the flapping of wings.
He could deny it all he wanted, but he knew where this was going. And he needed to get away. The consequences of losing control were unthinkable.
He pictured the bodies of the crowd, burning to ash, or trampling each other in an attempt to escape.
He turned to run, oblivious to the shouts of his bandmates.
Seth stepped in front of him, arms out.
But Johnny dodged and slipped away.
If he could just get away from all of these people, maybe everything would be fine.
Two steps later, he was engulfed in red flames.
His first thought was that he was too late.
He’d let his control slip too far.
And now everyone was going to pay.
Then the flames turned to a rosy purple, and the truth hit him. The flames were not his own.
He’d blundered in front of the pyrotechnics. They switched again, in time with the song, and he was showered in green sparks.
He fell to his knees as a pair of hands lifted his smoldering form clear.
Someone threw a fire blanket over him.
Fear overwhelmed him and he fought to breathe.
He wasn’t afraid of the fire - never of the fire.
It was that out of control feeling.
He peered out.
The crowd shrieked as the clouds covered the moon again.
He looked down at his arm.
The pain was gone.
His bandmates gathered around him. He noticed almost absentmindedly that the music had stopped.
Paramedics pushed past. He would have to deal with them.
But not yet.
He flashed Seth a grin and stood, tossing the fire blanket aside. He pushed past the paramedics and grabbed the mic.
The crowd stood before him, silent.
He took a huge breath, then pulled the mic against his mouth.
“You can’t fake the…” he began.
The crowd went nuts, joining him as he sang.
“Strength…
Of…
The…
Pack.”
His bandmates scrambled back to their places as he belted out the final chorus, with 40,000 screaming fans losing their collective mind.
“You’ll never take the…
Strength…
Of…
The…
Pack.”
Seth leaned in as the roar washed over them.
Johnny waited for a question or accusation, but it never came.
“Now that’s fucking Rock and Roll,” Seth shouted with a conspiratorial grin.
***
THE END of Chapter One of Burn This!: A 300 Moons Book.
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Tasha Black lives in a big old Victorian in a tiny college town. She loves reading anything she can get her hands on, writing paranormal romance, and sipping pumpkin spice lattes.
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