Chapter 9
My drink was all but forgotten as I moved closer to the stage, taking in the sheer size of the drummer as he settled behind
his kit. That was Noah, for absolute sure. The bassist I didn’t know, but I would bet good money on it being Tobias. I couldn’t
tell much about his facial features with the magic paint, but while he wasn’t quite as tall as Logan or Noah, he was equally
ripped and tattooed.
It was no surprise, after seeing them up there, that they were popular.
All three oozed power and sex appeal.
“Good evening, New York City,” Logan growled into the mic, and the crowd lost their shit, screaming and jumping, strobe lights
flashing around the space, lighting us all in blues and purples. “This is a last-minute gig for us,” he continued, locking
the crowd into his green-eyed gaze. That part of him wasn’t concealed, and as he turned our way, Sara and Haley started to
scream.
“Babe! It’s fucking Logan!” Sara clutched my arm.
My laughter was lost as the crowd joined her in screaming. The band started to play, the beat heavy as it filled the venue.
Haley moved to shout near my ear. “Did you know?”
I shook my head, eyes still locked on Logan as he began to sing.
Fuck. My knees weakened at his low, perfect rasp, lyrics wrapping around me as he sang about broken hearts and unrequited love.
The song wasn’t familiar, but it felt as if it should be—I had no idea how I’d never heard of this band before.
After staring totally entranced for a few songs, my need for answers drew me to do a quick Google search, which brought up
a ton of articles. Casters started in the European scene a couple of years ago, stirring up a ton of interest over the mystery
of their concealed identities—along with the fact that their appearances were random, and they gave no more than forty-eight
hours’ notice of a concert, leaving the music scene in an absolute fucking tizzy over them.
They’d started with American appearances about ten months ago.
No need to guess the whys of that timing.
No doubt a few of those occasions Logan disappeared from the school—especially when Noah was gone as well—were due to them
having a gig.
It didn’t surprise me that Logan chose to conceal his identity. His dad had grand plans for him to take over the family business,
and would no doubt lose his shit if he knew his son was a famous rock star. Not that Logan needed fame or money, but from
what he’d told me, this was his outlet in a world filled with responsibilities and darkness.
“I’ll be thinking about his voice and how he strokes that guitar when I use my vibrator tonight,” Sara shouted near my face,
and I wrinkled my nose at her.
“We’re sleeping in the same room, you weirdo,” I shouted back and tried not to consider hexing my bestie because she was fantasizing about Logan. Between that and fighting the urge to climb the stage and stake my claim on the spellcaster, I was in real trouble.
Haley pushed us forward in the crowd, until we were close to the row of security around the stage. Protecting the band. I almost cackled like a cartoon witch at the thought of Logan needing anyone to protect him from humans.
He could level this fucking building without moving from where he stood.
Sara and Haley danced as the song switched to a faster-paced one, but I couldn’t move. I was once more just staring up in
awe, wondering if it was time to change my phone contact to stalker too.
As if he could feel my stare, Logan’s gaze snapped down to me, our magic dancing between us. His lips quirked, but he never
missed a beat. When the faster song came to an end, Logan’s fingers slowed on the guitar, a softer melody emerging.
The crowd went wild, setting off a low pulse thrumming in my center. Logan was already edging me with his guitar skills and
orgasmic voice; add in that intense stare resting on my face, and I was a puddle. He released me with the next number, his
gaze returning to the crowd, and I was able to breathe a touch easier. Casters moved from heavy beats to slower and intense
rock ballads without a pause between songs. The crowd’s response told me which were their biggest hits, though at times it
was hard to tell because they were all adored.
Finally, after about an hour, Logan stopped singing and addressed the crowd. He didn’t halt strumming his guitar, though,
long fingers moving deftly across the strings. “You all know that we occasionally bring one lucky audience member up onto
the stage for a personal song.” The rasp in his tone was more pronounced after an hour of singing, which momentarily distracted
me from what he’d just said.
Wait. Bring someone up onstage?
He’d better fucking not be talking about me or he’d find that gorgeous black guitar of his smashed over his head.
“Tonight, we’re bringing up three.”
Haley and Sara gripped my hands, and I was trying to back away, but they wouldn’t let me move. Traitors. All of them were
traitors.
Logan nodded toward someone offstage who we couldn’t see, and two roadies hurried out onstage holding three low stools between
them. They deposited the chairs in the center of the band. A second later, the crowd parted, and two burly security guards
stopped before us. “Casters want you ladies up there with them,” the first one said, his eyes flat as annoyance seeped out
of him. “Please don’t touch the band. They’re not animals for you to pet, no matter how much you want to.”
Haley snorted so loudly that she had to cough and cover the sound with her hands.
“I think we’ll manage,” I shot back dryly. “But what if we don’t want to go up?”
Logan, who stood near the middle of the stage, couldn’t have possibly heard me over the crowd, but he wore an amused expression
as I continued to display my reluctance. My protest died off at how incredibly delicious he looked, sweat dripping across
the bare skin of his chest revealed by the torn-up shirt.
“Come on, Precious. Live a little.”
The crowd lost their fucking brains, chanting “Precious” in time to his guitar riff, and I knew that refusing was only going
to make this worse. Sara tightened her hold on me and Haley, and all but dragged us after the security, who directed us toward
a set of side stairs.
“Fuck,” Sara whispered, when we reached the stage, staring out into the thousands of faces packing the warehouse venue. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Haley was the one now to drag us along and deposit us on the stools.
“Ladies,” Logan said, towering over us as he moved closer. “Welcome to the stage.”
I nailed him with a glare, anger soothing my nerves. He just chuckled, completely unintimidated by me, even though he should
be at least a little worried. I could get very creative in my revenge plans.
“We always serenade with one song during a show,” he explained, before he looked over his shoulder and winked at the crowd.
Yeah, they lost their minds again—at this rate, no one in the audience would have voices by tomorrow. “We usually sing ‘Heart
Chords,’ but tonight . . . tonight it’s going to be ‘Pact.’”
That song clearly meant something to the fans, but the title alone sent shivers through my gut. I squirmed on my stool as
Tobias moved toward his microphone. “I know this is a fan favorite, the unicorn song we only perform once a year, so hold on to your fucking knickers, ladies. Dudes, you too, if you’re wearing any. Because
we’re about to rock them the fuck off.”
Tobias had a British accent, smooth and deep without Logan’s rasp. He stood right before me, and this close I could see the
slight glow of the magic around their painted faces.
Logan got very close, leaning down to stroke a single finger across my cheek. “This one’s for you, Precious,” he murmured,
his mic broadcasting those words to the crowd.
His speed picked up on his guitar, the black pick in his fingers gliding across the strings. It was an intricate melody he
wove in what was clearly a rock ballad.
Noah’s drums started a beat later, and the layers added by Tobias’s bass had tingles tracing down my spine to leave goose bumps across my skin. The feeling swooped through my gut and settled low in my body, until I swore my clit throbbed at the sensation.
Logan wasn’t touching me, but with each chord, it felt as if he did.
Especially when he started to sing.
The three of us were captured in the essence of their magical music, mesmerized as Logan wove a tale of a pact between soulmates.
They died together in the end, wrapped in each other’s arms, only to be reborn to love again.
It was just a song. But it destroyed me.
Logan’s eyes were on me the entire time, and as hard as I fought the tears, there was no holding them back. The stage lights
blinded me from being able to really see if the rest of the crowd were bawling too, but the choked silence after the final
chord told me there were more than a few tears.
Noise exploded around us as the bubble burst, and I turned to find Sara’s and Haley’s tear-streaked faces staring at me. “I’m
dead,” Sara sniffled. “That bastard.”
Logan brushed away one of my tears, giving me another second of his full attention before he returned it to his audience.
“I know, I know. It’s our emotional ballad, and that’s why we rarely play it. But with such beautiful ladies, we couldn’t
resist.”
He strummed his guitar again, moving on to a faster beat. He didn’t look our way as the security guards returned to escort
us off. When we reached the side of the stage, we were told to wait. “The boys will greet you after the show.”
Sara and Haley pushed in on me as soon as the guards were gone.
“What. The. Fuck. Paisley Hallistar?” Sara’s grip was just short of painful.
“What’s going on with you and Logan? That song was for a motherfucking soulmate.
A soulmate. He was dead serious when he called you mate the other night? Like . . . no sarcasm?”
“He sang to all three of us,” I shot back weakly.
My ex-besties blinked at me before they laughed their asses off, and I narrowed my eyes in an attempt to murder them with my gaze.