by Renee Carr
“I need a night out,” Nathan admitted. “Before I light someone on fire around here.”
“Ah,” Devon said. “In which case, I know just the place. I regret I won’t be able to join you, but I can make sure you are treated like a VIP.”
“The perks of an Alpha,” Nathan said, with a smile.
“Please,” Devon said. “The perks of a platinum credit card. There are some things that money can’t buy. Knorpp really should look into these programs.”
“I’ll take it into consideration,” Nathan replied as he got up. “Do you need transport?”
“I have some,” Devon said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you tonight then,” Nathan said, as he got up. He shook hands with Devon, and let him leave the room first.
Devon had transferred the photos directly to his phone, and the Dragon King took a closer look at them.
There was no doubt that those were Dragon wounds on the body. But he thought it was incredibly sloppy of any Dragon to kill a wolf and just leave them out in the open. Whoever was doing this was clearly not a practiced assassin.
“Brother?” Joshua stuck his head in the room. Nathan bit his lip to silence a frustrated scream and glared at his brother.
“Yes, Joshua?” he said. “Which part of the palace is on fire at the moment?”
“None,” Joshua replied. “Unless Cory has set something on fire in the last three minutes. Our wonderful cousin, The Duke, is here to see you though.”
“Right,” Nathan was not the biggest fan of his cousin, the Duke. However, if his father had taught him anything, it was that keeping his nobles close was a good strategy to keep the throne. “I’ll see him now. But there are some things I need.”
“Such as a sword?” Joshua asked, with a grin. Nathan’s dislike of the Duke was well known. It wasn’t that the Duke was necessarily a bad person, or even that he was annoying to speak to. There was just something about the Duke that had always rubbed Nathan the wrong way. And when John had died, the Duke did not seem entirely happy that Nathan was next in line. They got along because they had to, but Nathan was glad that the Duke lived on Earth, far away from them.
“Tonight, we will be throwing a feast for the Werewolf Alpha,” Nathan said. “And I want it covered. Every reporter, every photographer who covers the supernatural news needs to see that we are united. And then tomorrow morning, you will cancel all my appointments for the day.”
Joshua’s face contorted in confusion.
“Tomorrow you have...”
“Did I ask you to question my choices?” Nathan said. “Or did I ask you to do as I say?”
“Tomorrow, you have...”
“Joshua,” Nathan begged, the air going out of him. “Cancel my appointments for tomorrow and not another word.” His tone made Joshua realize how important Nathan’s mission was.
“Can I at least ask if you’re somewhere where you’ll need a protection detail?” Joshua asked. “Since it’s my job to make sure you don’t die?”
“I don’t need protection,” Nathan replied. “And I’ll be back the following morning. Not a word to anyone, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Joshua replied and turned to let the Duke in. Nathan took a deep breath. He just had to get through today without strangling anyone and then he would free. Once on Earth, he had a wild night planned and no one was going to interrupt him.
Chapter 2
“You’re Ivy, right?”
Ivy jumped, turning around. She had been frantically digging in her bag for her music and she was pretty sure she had forgotten it.
“Yes,” she said. There was an older man standing practically on the strap of the bag she had put on the ground, with a grin on his face.
“I’m Sandy,” he said. “I own the place.”
“Oh,” she pushed her long red hair behind her ear. “Right. Nice to meet you.”
She held out her hand, but Sandy ignored it. Instead, he leaned in, his lips puckering. Ivy pulled back, immediately shocked.
“What are you doing?”
Sandy raised an eyebrow.
“Relax, baby girl,” he said. “I’m just giving you a South Bar welcome.”
“Handshakes are fine,” Ivy said, coldly. This wasn’t the first time she had to deal with some handsy man before the gig even started. “If you don’t mind.”
“That’s boring,” Sandy said. “Look, you know what kind of place this is, right? We make stars here.”
“I’m aware of what my performance has to be,” Ivy said, holding his gaze. “Don’t worry about that. I just don’t feel like getting started beforehand.”
“You are lucky that your voice is like gold, girl,” Sandy said and left her standing on the stage.
Ivy resisted the urge to throw her purse at him. She took a deep breath and bent back down to try and find her music in her bag.
South Bar was known for being the place that talent agents and record executives went undercover, looking for the next big star. Ivy knew that she had to look perfect, elegant and yet sexy, naughty and yet innocent, all at the same time. She had prepared for performing at South Bar since she first moved to the city, with a tiny singing resume and less than half of what she needed for rent in her pocket.
She had found success with her voice from her first audition. Ivy booked work regularly enough, in bars and lounges across the city. However, whenever she got a lucky break, it seemed that it was always ruined. Some man on site made a move, or they wanted her to change her style, or they wanted to rewrite her lyrics to make them soulless. She knew what she wanted and what she stood for, and she wasn’t willing to compromise.
She knew that people judged her because of the way she looked. With long red hair and piercing green eyes, Ivy was a force to be reckoned with. She had legs that went on for miles and an effortlessly toned body. She loved miniskirts, and high heels, looking for blouses that dipped practically down to her navel. People took one look at her and assumed that she didn’t have a brain in her head, or wasn’t capable of thinking for herself. She was quick to set them straight, and she didn’t care how sharp they said her tongue was.
“Ah-ha,” she found the USB key she was looking for and brought it over to the sound engineer. He plugged it in without a word, and Ivy was grateful that at least someone in this place seemed to know what their job was and what lines they shouldn’t cross.
Satisfied that her soundtrack was going to work, she grabbed her bag and went down to the small, cramped dressing room. She had changed in worse, but she resented that a place like South Bar didn’t have a better place for performers.
She was halfway through struggling into her dress when a knock came at the door.
“Ivy Wilde?”
“Just a minute,” she said, pulling up her shoulder strap. “What?”
“Sorry,” a young female bartender, with a name tag that said Shelley, stuck her head in the door. “Just wanted to tell you that the entire VIP section has been sold out, but it’s just one guy.”
“What?” Ivy answered, in confusion. “How does that make any sense?”
“Our VIP section is off to the side?” Shelley said. “With the red tables?”
“Yeah, I know where it is, but how does one guy sell out a section?”
“He bought all the tickets,” Shelley said. “He’s a regular of ours, but supposedly he bought them for a friend who likes to be alone.”
“Who’s his friend, a millionaire?” Ivy answered.
“Uh...I dunno what he does, actually,” Shelley said. “I don’t know much about either of them. But it’s just one guy, so we want to make sure you know to cross the ropes and play to that side of the crowd. It can be hard to see from the stage.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Ivy said. “I play to the whole audience.”
“No problem,” Shelley seemed friendly enough and Ivy regretted her tone.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that your boss was...”
�
�Yeah,” Shelley immediately knew what she was talking about. “I’m sorry about that. He’s always like that.”
“Why do you keep working here then?” Ivy asked.
“I just...I have nowhere else to go right now,” Shelley said, with a shrug.
“Yeah, I know how that feels,” Ivy replied.
She finished getting dressed, and then slunk into the dressing room chair, pulling out her phone. Every chance that she got, Ivy tried to apply to singing gigs. Her small-town agent didn’t seem to be doing his job, and Ivy was not about to let opportunity slip through her fingers. She sent out demos and links, and wrote and rewrote emails for what felt like millions of times a day.
There was a booking in her inbox, which made her happy until she saw that it only paid $50 for the night. She took all the gigs, big or small, because everything added up when it came to making a living. She was determined that she would never go back to waitressing, even if she was counting pennies at the end of the night.
After double-checking her schedule, she accepted the gig, trying not to roll her eyes at the paycheck.
It wasn’t that she didn’t value herself, because she did. But every time someone handed her money to sing, it felt like she was slapping those who told her she would never get paid for it in the face. She was proving them wrong, dollar by dollar.
It was exhausting, to constantly be running to auditions, working and applying for jobs all at once. Tonight was one of those days, and she hated that she hadn’t found more time to practice what she was singing tonight. She told herself when she booked it that she would work hard because South Bar was a make or break booking. But staying determined meant trying to do everything at once, and there were only so many hours in the day.
“You’re on in 10,” came a knock on the door. “Make sure you’re ready.”
“I’m ready!” she called, standing up. She wanted to do something different and looked around the dressing room.
There was a small box in the corner, and inside were fake flowers. The flowers were on every table of the bar, so it wasn’t the most creative addition. Still, she picked a few up, tucking them into thigh-high tights. She could use them as a giveaway for the crowd, drawing them in as she sang.
She headed out into the wings of the stage, humming softly to herself to warm up her voice. The bar was busy, and it was impossible to guess through a crack in the curtain who was a talent agent and who was a regular Saturday night drinker.
The last performer’s song ended and Ivy almost missed her own opening notes because she was fixing one of the fake flowers.
Putting on her game face, she stepped out onto the small stage.
She had dreamed about performing on this stage forever. She knew so many dreams had been made, as long as the performer gave the performance of their lifetime.
Ivy approached the microphone in the darkness, putting one hand on it. She was wearing a mini skirt that barely covered her upper thighs and a silky long sleeve top that had cutouts in strategic places. Her lean body was framed by her long red hair tumbling down her back, and her ruby red lips were encrusted with glitter. It was actually not the most comfortable look, but she knew from past experiences that she could catch every eye in the room.
The lights went up and the music began to play. Ivy felt like her body was filled with electricity as the opening notes streamed through the bar.
There was general conversation and the clinking of glasses, but the moment she started singing, there was dead silence in the bar.
Does her singing go well? What happens with Ivy and Nathan?
Check out the rest of Ivy’s story on the Kindle Store The Dragon and the Singer
