Bloodbound Nocturne (The Sophia Kelly Chronicles Book 1)

by Amy J. Wenglar

  His introduction seems to go on forever, but he finally steps out onto the stage to a round of loud applause. Actually, no. He doesn't step. He struts confidently, as if in slow motion, the tails of his tuxedo trailing behind him. He has a commanding presence that demands the audience's attention whether he wants it or not. I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me. He's wearing the same high-collared Victorian tuxedo as in the picture, complete with a blood-red cravat knotted perfectly at his throat. It makes for a very strange but very sexy trademark.

  "Wow," Greg whispers, shifting in his seat. "Good heavens, Mr. Darcy."

  We laugh at ourselves. Greg and I always know how to amuse each other, even though most other people don't find us at all amusing.

  Christoph offers a tight smile as he politely shakes the conductor's hand. They exchange a couple of words. I am close enough to the stage that I can see the flicker in the pianist's eyes as he scans the crowd, as if looking for someone. When his gaze falls on me, it stops for a moment, and there is a hint of recognition in his eyes. My heart leaps into my throat.

  He gives nothing away, his expression impenetrable as he turns on one heel and makes his way to the piano at the opposite end of the stage from where Greg and I sit. He stares down at the instrument for a moment as if sizing it up before taking his seat on the bench. Knowing what I know of this man, the piano likely isn't good enough for him.

  Arrogant bastard.

  The orchestra swells with the drama of the music. I feel strangely mesmerized by his playing. I've seen some fantastic musicians perform, but nothing has captivated me like this before. A strange, weightless sensation seems to envelop my entire body. I forget everything and everyone around me, and there is a brief moment when it feels like it is only him and me in this vast concert hall. His eyes flick upward and seem to lock with mine from across the stage. I sink back into my seat as if he's just kicked me in the chest.

  There's no way he can see me.

  Except that he's looking right at me.

  By the time intermission rolls around, I am out of breath and feel as if I've just stumbled my way through a marathon. His playing has worn me out.

  "You okay, Sophe?" Greg asks, catching my elbow as I practically fall out of the aisle.

  "Air," I sputter. "I need air." I wave my hands over my face in an attempt to fan myself. "It's stuffy in here. It's so stuffy."

  What in the world is happening to me?

  "Is it?" Greg arches an eyebrow. "I'll ask again, Sophe. What happened on that flight?" I nervously lick my lips. "I've never seen you like this before."

  "Nothing happened, G. I don't know," I say, my voice shaking. "God, I think I'm having some kind of panic attack."

  I clench and unclench my jaw as we walk out into the lobby, praying I don't trip and fall. I'm already acting dramatic enough. Greg's fingers dig into my arm as he holds me upright.

  "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want to get something to eat?"

  "Just some water," I mutter.

  The thought of food right now makes me feel sick to my stomach.

  I feel surprisingly better after moving around a little and drinking a bottle of water. Whatever spell that pianist has over me seems to have faded slightly, and by the time the lights dim, signaling that it's time to go back inside, I feel ready to attempt the second half of the concert.

  "Sophie!" a voice from the stage calls out as Greg and I reach the end of the aisle. The concert is over, and I'm relieved that I made it through the rest of it without further panic or anxiety attacks.

  It's Colin, waving us over to the edge of the stage. His blond hair is slightly messed up in the front, and the faux pompadour that was so perfect earlier now droops a little. I fight the urge to put it back in place for him.

  "I'm so happy you made it." He takes my hands and squeezes them. "And I'm so sorry I couldn't get you guys tickets. I should've texted you to let you know, but—"

  "What?" I ask, stopping dead in my tracks. "We got tickets from you yesterday."

  "No," he says, drawing out the word as if he is questioning whether he sent us tickets or not.

  "Regardless, we made it, and it was a fantastic concert!" I gush, without actually meaning to gush. "The pianist was phenomenal."

  Just when I thought I'd regained my composure, my face reddens again. I can feel Greg's eyes boring into the side of my head.

  Colin's eyebrow quirks upward, and he exchanges a quick glance with Greg. "That he is," he says suspiciously. "And quite unusual, too. This whole thing is a little unusual, if you ask me."

  "Well, everyone was phenomenal," I say, trying to correct myself just a little too late. "Not just the pianist. But God, he was amazing. Does he have a clue how talented he is?"

  I can't help it. I'm riding a high, and I just can't come down from it.

  Colin gives me a mischievous grin. "Why don't you come backstage and tell him yourself? You've met him, I'm assuming?"

  I'm not sure what led Colin to believe that Christoph von Drauchenberg and I were anything other than complete strangers. "No. I mean, he was on my flight yesterday, but… that's it. I haven't officially met him. Like, shaken his hand and been introduced or anything. He just had to sit next to me, and I think I annoyed him."

  I redden again when I remember how he busted me sneaking a glance at his music. How I fell asleep on his shoulder. It may have been nothing to Christoph, but it meant a lot to me.

  "You, annoying?" Colin chuckles as he exchanges another look with Greg. "Never. Now, come on. He's asking for you."

  It takes a second for that to sink in, and for a moment I can only stand there in stunned silence. My friends stare at me as if I'm hiding something juicy, and for a second I do feel guilty, like maybe I am hiding a scandalous secret, but I have no idea what it is.

  "He what?" I practically shout with surprise. "How does he… I never even… So he could see me, then… I thought… but… Oh, God. I can't possibly go back there."

  I wonder if the sound of my heart hammering in my ears is audible to anyone else.

  Colin looks over his shoulder at the stage, which the last remaining orchestra members are leaving after chatting with friends and family in the audience. He pokes his thumb in the direction of the piano.

  "Sophia, do you have something going with this guy?" His tone may be light, but I sense a bit of jealousy there as well.

  Greg snickers beside me. "I think she wishes she did."

  I elbow him hard in the ribs. "Shut up, Greg."

  My lips have gone numb, and my throat is dry at the thought of something going on with Christoph.

  "No. I just met him on the plane. I-I… he was…" I trail off, frustrated with my inability to dig myself out of a hole. "I cannot possibly go back there. He… he's intense and intimidating. He's not very nice. I can't go."

  "You are right about that," says Colin. "The entire time Christoph has been here, he's showed little interest in anything except for the music. Wouldn't talk to anyone, despite multiple attempts to engage him in polite conversation. He wasn't having it." Colin claps me on the shoulder. "You must've made quite an impression."

  "That surprises me," I say.

  "Maybe he's stalking you, Sophe," Greg says, half joking, but I hardly hear him over the ringing in my ears. "Let's go meet him. I want to meet this guy that has you so flustered."

  After a few awkward seconds, I give up the fight and hesitantly follow Colin backstage, clutching Greg's arm for both mental and physical support. My legs are shaking so badly I can hardly walk. There's something strange going on. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it, and the weight of it is suffocating.

  Once we're backstage, I casually scan the room, as if none of this is a big deal. No sign of him. I let out a sigh of relief. Christoph von Drauchenberg doesn't seem like the type to hang around backstage or in a green room after a concert anyway. He's too good for that. Maybe he got tired of waiting and left.

  I watch as a caterer walks by with a
tray of hors d'oeuvres. My stomach rumbles loudly. Whatever had made me feel sick earlier seems to have passed, and I realize now that I'm completely famished. I shoot Greg a hungry, I-need-snacks look and make a beeline for the hors d'oeuvres table, momentarily forgetting about Christoph. I can forget about any man when a tray of snacks passes me.

  Bruschetta! Jackpot.

  I do my best to not stare too longingly at the food as I casually scoop a couple of pieces onto a small plate, but I am starving. I waste no time in popping an entire piece of bruschetta into my mouth, but realize pretty quickly that this wasn't one of my better decisions. Carefully maneuvering the colossal nosh around in my mouth, I try not to choke on the melted cheese that has begun to slide down my throat, independent of its brethren ingredients.

  "Hello again," a deep voice says from behind me. I freeze, completely handicapped by the oversized bite of bruschetta in my mouth.

  Oh hell no. This is not happening right now.

  I debate whether or not to make a break for it and run as quickly as I can out of the room, bruschetta crumbs flying out of my mouth, or turn around and face him. Either way, I'm going to look like a complete idiot. With a mouthful of bruschetta. My shoulders slump with defeat and, feeling flushed from head to foot, I turn around and grin at him as best I can, pointing to my mouth as if it's not already obvious that it's crammed full of snacks.

  Whatever you do, don't laugh. This is not funny. At all. Do not let yourself laugh.

  Christoph's eyebrows rise, and the corners of his lips twitch as if he's trying to fight back a smile, but I can't tell for sure. He clasps his hands behind his back and waits for me to chew the enormous bite and swallow it, but that's easier said than done. He moves his gaze from my beet-red face and glances around the room. If it was awkward before between us, it's even more so now. Germans aren't exactly known for their patience. I know that much. I try to swish the bite to one side of my mouth where I can give it a good chew, but I accidentally end up swallowing it instead. It goes down hard since I practically swallowed it whole. My eyes water and my nose starts to run, and I try to hide the pain as the lump forces its way down my throat.

  "Hi," I finally choke. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I think my mouth is a lot bigger than it really is. You wouldn't believe the size of some of the things I try to cram into—"

  Mortified, I stop talking immediately and clamp my mouth shut. Oh God, what I am SAYING?

  I realize my poor but extremely suggestive choice of words, and unfortunately so does Christoph. He lowers his head slightly so that he is looking up at me through the kind of thick, full eyelashes any woman would kill to have. I'm no longer sure what to do with my arms, so I let them hang awkwardly at my waist and stand there, staring at him, praying that I don't have remnants of cheese and tomato on my face.

  A wicked gleam lights up his cold blue eyes.

  "I think I've seen a pretty good sample of what you can put in your mouth."

  "Oh!" I let out an obnoxious high-pitched laugh that I've never heard come out of me before.

  His voice is rich, and it seems to rumble from deep in his chest. If his voice had a color, it would be the color of dark chocolate. Nothing I'd ever be able to afford, of course, but I can imagine it anyway.

  "I'm Christoph," he murmurs, extending his hand. He seems almost as nervous as I am.

  "Sophia." I take his outstretched hand, and to my surprise, he holds it for a moment, his slender fingers wrapped firmly around mine. He doesn't let it go right away. "It's nice to meet you," I say shyly.

  He runs his thumb along my knuckles. I can barely think straight. I'm almost afraid to move too quickly for fear he will disappear. I am worried that I will wake up. And I don't want either of those to happen. My heart races in my chest, and it's as if I can hear every cell in my body come alive just from being near him. He opens his mouth to speak, but we are sadly interrupted.

  "Dr. von Drauchenberg." Colin approaches but then stops abruptly in front of Christoph and me as if he's just crashed into a wall of infatuation. His cheerful expression falls as his eyes dart from me to Christoph and then back to me again.

  He can feel it too. I know he can. It's not just me. The pull between us is unmistakable.

  "Uh, I'm sorry to interrupt." He speaks slowly, as he meets my gaze and then Christoph's. "Dr. von Drauchenberg, they are ready for you in the green room."

  "Tell them to wait," growls Christoph so fiercely that it makes me take a step back.

  Colin straightens up, squaring his shoulders off with Christoph's, and for a moment the two stand there, glaring at each other as if in some epic showdown where the first person who bats an eye is a goner. With an angry huff, Colin wrenches his gaze from Christoph's and storms away, leaving me alone once again with the pianist and Greg, who has moved awkwardly off to the side of the room and is mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

  "Is… everything okay?" I ask in a small voice, looking after Colin as he stomps down the hall.

  "For now," he says curtly, before his expression softens slightly. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "I guess you want to know why I called you back here." He gives me a smoldering look that almost knocks me off my feet. "About the flight yesterday, I wanted to apologize for my rude behavior." I stare at him, shocked at what I'm hearing, only to notice that he looks equally shocked at what he's saying. His eyes flick down to my hands, which I have clasped tightly in front of me, before meeting my eyes again. "I normally fly first class. I find coach to be so… Anyway, I don't usually come across… I wasn't expecting to… But I'm glad you got the tickets, and I hope…" he trails off, chewing his lower lip as if carefully choosing his words.

  I feel the blood draining from my face.

  "You sent those tickets?"

  "Yes. I had them sent over to make sure you received them." He is obviously having a hard time with this, though I'm not sure why. "I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't, but I had to speak with you," he says urgently, as if his words are causing him physical pain.

  "Dr. von Drauchenberg?" I see Colin approaching over Christoph's shoulder, a look of serious determination on his handsome face. "It's time. You have people waiting."

  Damn you, Colin.

  I give Christoph a pleading look, begging him with my eyes to continue with whatever he was about to ask.

  "I have another concert tomorrow night," he says, his voice a low, velvety purr. "Come."

  My breath hitches in my throat.

  "I-I… I would love—"

  "She can't." Greg's voice chimes in from out of nowhere. What is with these people? I love and adore my best friend, but I would like nothing more than to punch him in the face right now. And then do the same to Colin. I turn and glare at him. "Remember, we were going to check out that club?"

  "Can't that wait?" I hiss.

  I move nothing but my eyes, pointing them toward Christoph, silently explaining to Greg that something is about to happen here, and he's ruining it.

  "No," he says, gripping me firmly by the arm. "I'm sorry, Christoph. She has plans with me tomorrow night. Fantastic performance, by the way."

  I will kill him for this.

  Greg gives the pianist an apologetic but very phony smile. Christoph's lips press together in frustration as he glances between Greg and me. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who accepts no for an answer very often.

  "Very well," he says, his voice tight with frustration.

  He turns gracefully on one heel and leaves me standing there, my mouth hanging to the floor. I jerk my arm out of Greg's grasp as I watch Christoph walk away with that confident strut, the tails of his tuxedo moving gently against his perfect backside. Forcing me to look. Teasing me. Rage boils up inside of me, threatening to erupt at any moment. I turn to my soon-to-be-ex-best friend.

  "What in the ever-loving hell do you think you're doing? He was asking me out. I think."

  I am shaking now, but Greg only smiles as if utterly oblivious to what he's done.

&
nbsp; "You'll thank me later," he says, casually disregarding my anger. "Ready to go?"

  "I will kill you later," I correct him. "And no, I'm not ready to go. This world-renowned pianist—"

  "Is a dog, Baby-Girl," he interrupts. "Don't let that sophisticated exterior fool you."

  Before I can open my mouth to protest again, Greg holds up his phone and pushes it toward me so it's a few inches from my face.

  "This is his girlfriend," he says in a low voice. Feeling my stomach drop, I take the phone from him. "She's some French model. Not to be rude, Baby-Doll, but I'm not sure either of us can compete with that."

  "What, were you just waiting there, ready to stalk him online so you could ruin this for me?"

  "Yes. And you should be thanking me, Sophe."

  I give the phone another look. "They don't look like they're together. In fact, she looks bored. Disinterested."

  I am trying my hardest to find something wrong with the picture, but truthfully they make a stunning couple. Greg rolls his eyes and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

  "I don't like the way he was looking at you," he growls. "I may be a gay man, but that guy was looking at you like he was ready to devour you. Not cool, Sophe." He shakes his head. "I don't trust him."

  "You're jumping to some pretty hefty conclusions," I say, scowling at him.

  He lets out an exasperated sigh.