Chapter 6
Tobias
My annoyance at the human’s presence grows the longer I’m stuck in a room with her. Who the hell needs a hundred pictures of us sitting around a TV watching our openers?
I keep quiet and ignore her to the best of my ability, which is difficult when the rest of the band is getting along with her so well.
The twins are making her laugh, and Emrys is asking her about trivial shit like office work that I couldn’t give less of a fuck about.
Sebastian doesn’t say much, but he isn’t wrapped up in tension the way I am, so I know he’s not bothered.
I grit my teeth, keeping my eyes locked on the screen to avoid looking at her, letting my mind wander.
How do none of them see how much of a danger she poses?
How all of this—the money, fortune, and fame—will disappear in a blink if she opens her mouth about our identities?
They obviously don’t care as much as I do, which only grates my nerves further, but it’s pointless to bring it up.
Sebastian’s made his stance clear, and everyone will just go along with what he says.
I’m obviously on my own in my resentment.
When we finally escape the dressing room and head toward the stage, relief washes over me.
All thoughts of the human—Jackie? Josephine?
—fade to nothing as the energy from the fans hits my system.
It’s palpable, even before we make it to the auditorium, throbbing through the hallways of the venue like lifeblood. Ripe for the taking.
I’m starving, the need to feed so intense it makes my bones ache, but I wait.
It’s always much sweeter when we take the stage and the audience’s excitement soars to unprecedented heights; that feeling never gets old.
When we finally emerge onto the darkened stage, shifting through the few purple lights illuminating our instruments, the fans roar, and I finally let go of my self restraint.
Delicious, rich energy slams into my system, filling me like a vessel as I take a seat at my drums. I adjust my earpiece through my mask and grab my drumsticks, twirling them ritualistically like I do before every show.
Then I wait, counting down the seconds to the first note, to that infernal growl of Sebastian’s that makes everyone’s hair stand on end and drives the crowd wild.
Everything about our set is perfectly coordinated, even though we haven’t practiced in weeks.
With Niki getting closer to her due date, Sebastian has hardly been reliable outside of actual performances, and the twins are stuck so far up their mate’s ass that we rarely see them anymore.
Emrys and I could practice, I guess, but to what end?
No, as long as everyone knows their shit and performs like they have the last fifty times, we should be fine.
The only change from our last set, which went off without a hitch, is the woman slinking around the stage taking pictures of us as we play our first song.
I try to ignore her, hitting every beat and tearing up my drums like it’s the last night I’ll ever be on stage, but my eyes jump to her every time she moves.
What if she trips? What if she falls off the stage? My thoughts wander.
She better get some damn good photos after all this.
The song changes, the tempo picking up, and I shove her out of my mind, focusing on the music.
I let it fill me, flowing through my veins like the energy pouring off the crowd.
The arena is bursting with vitality; it’s soaked into every crevice of the space, pounding against my skin, but I’m too full to absorb any more.
I’m swimming in the high that comes with being completely satiated, reveling in the adrenaline that being onstage gives me.
I’m floating. Living. Thriving.
As soon as even a little of my energy is expended by banging the hell out of the drums, it's replenished. I could go on like this forever.
A smirk lifts the corner of my mouth beneath the mask.
A handful of years ago, when I was slumming through the darkest depths of Hell, surviving on whispers of energy that souls dragged with them after they died, I never imagined being here.
Not on stage in front of a crowd, and definitely not surrounded by the utter tidal wave of energy crushing down on us.
We’ve come so far—I’ve come so far—from where we used to be, and now everything hangs in the balance. Like the foundation we’ve built this career on is cracking beneath our feet, and it’ll crumble at any second.
I can’t go back to Hell.
I don’t want to fight my way through the darkness looking for scraps of energy, being under the rule of a merciless demon who sees Ennubi like me as lesser beings.
I can’t, and I won’t.
I’ll remain on Earth and figure out a way to survive. Even without the band, without the fans. I’ll do whatever it takes.
But for the moment, I’ll absorb every drop of power I can. I’ll snap these fucking drumsticks in half from banging them with every bit of my damned soul, because tomorrow isn’t promised.
Halfway through our set, I see her again.
The human. She shifts through the darkness, getting closer to my drum set, and I try to ignore her.
I look at Sebastian, who’s stomping across the stage while singing the chorus.
At the twins, who are currently locked in a guitar battle.
At the crowd, which I can barely see because of the glare of the lights.
I do my best to keep my eyes averted from the human who doesn’t belong on my stage, until she’s crouched next to my instrument, her camera pointed right at me.
I stiffen at the closeness, wishing I could tell her to fuck off, but there’s no way she’d hear me.
The urge to look is strong, growing until I can’t ignore it anymore.
Finally, I shoot her a glare. At the same time, one of the lights overhead swings by, making my drum set glow for a beat. She lowers her camera, our eyes locking for a brief moment, before she slips away again.
As much as I don’t want to, I look for her, finding her next to Emrys. She moves around him to get different shots, spending more time than she should photographing him. More annoyance, and something else I can’t quite place, bubbles up, and I roll my eyes.
Why didn’t she spend more time on me? Does she hate me that much? So much that she’s going to prove a point by taking a few quick shots of me while lingering on everyone else, getting the perfect pictures?
Whatever.
This is stupid.
I shouldn’t care—I don’t.
If she doesn’t want to be near me, that’s fine, because the feeling is mutual. If she doesn’t want to post pictures of me, so be it. I can post my own. The fact that I’m giving thoughts of her any energy at all is beyond me. I shouldn’t be wasting my time.
By the end of the show, I’m fuming, itching to get away from the stage. There’s still a meet and greet to suffer through, even though all I want to do is go back to the tour bus and drown myself in a pint of whiskey. Or bourbon.
Hell, I’d take tequila at this point.
“You good?” Daire asks as we head backstage.
I shrug him off.
I’m fine. Everything is fine, or it will be, once I’m in bed for the night and I can sleep off all this pent-up frustration.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I try to summon any shred of a good mood. It isn’t the fans’ fault that this human woman is ruining my life, and I shouldn’t take it out on them. Not if I want to maintain appearances and not raise suspicions.
I take a deep breath, then another, trying to settle the rage compounding in my veins, threatening to make me combust. It’s just another hour or so.
I can do this.
Then, it’ll be me, a bottle of whatever liquor I find on the tour bus, and my cursed thoughts.
This backstage area is smaller than a lot of the others we’ve been in, but there’s enough room for a little crowd to gather. It’s always the same song and dance; we wait backstage, welcome the group, sign autographs and take pictures, then we leave.
We’ve barely gotten situated when a door opens, and my ears perk up.
That was fast.
Normally, the staff gives us a little more time to get settled and relax after the set, but the sooner we get this over with, the better. I’m ready to be done for the night.
My head snaps up, eyes searching for the VIP crowd, and a stone drops into my stomach. It isn’t the meet and greet crowd.
It’s the goddamned photographer.
“Had to grab another battery!” she squeaks as she hurries over, a smile curving her plush lips.
I stare, realization dawning on me. She’s going to take pictures of the meet and greet too.
Fuck.
Why can’t I just get away from her? The universe is clearly playing some cruel, sick joke on me. Something in my brain snaps, all the emotions I’ve been suppressing tonight exploding through me in a swift wave, and I turn to look at Daire.
“I’m actually not feeling well,” I say, keeping my voice down. “I think I’m going to skip out on the VIPs.”
His gray eyes snap up to mine, and I can see the concern in them.
“You sure, Kase?” he mutters.
“Positive.”
I turn without a backward glance and head for the door, certain I can already hear a bottle calling my name from the tour bus.