8
Zephyr
The stage lights hammered down on us with an unrelenting intensity, turning the world into a dazzling blur of flashing colors and pulsating energy.
Seattle was alive beneath us, a crowd of thousands throbbing with anticipation.
This was the essence of our existence—the thrill, the chaos, the raw, unrestrained power of a live show.
For those few hours, nothing else mattered.
I stood at the center of it all, my bass slung low and my fingers dancing over the strings with practiced ease.
The music surged through me like an electric current, lifting me above the mundane, above the persistent annoyance of having Phoenix trailing behind us like a shadow.
Out here, under the glare of the lights, I could almost forget she existed. Almost.
The crowd roared, their energy feeding into the frenzy we created on stage.
I took a moment to address them, my voice cutting through the cacophony.
“Seattle, how the hell are you tonight?”
I shouted.
The crowd’s response was immediate and deafening, a wave of sound that rolled over us and sent a jolt of exhilaration through my veins.
I glanced to my right, catching Parker’s wild, erratic movements on the drums.
He was a whirlwind of energy, his hands a blur as he pounded out the rhythm.
His eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, and he threw me a grin that was all teeth and mischief.
On the far left, Kage prowled the stage with a predatory grace, his movements smooth and calculated.
The intensity in his green eyes was almost feral, and the way he handled his guitar was just as aggressive, each riff delivered with a precision that drove the crowd wild.
I threw a glance over my shoulder, noting the crowd’s reaction to my vocals.
The lights pulsed in time with the beat, casting shadows that danced across the stage.
I let out a primal growl into the microphone, a sound that resonated through the venue and reverberated through every inch of my being.
Kage took center stage, his body arching in time with his powerful guitar riffs.
He held the crowd in the palm of his hand, his movements smooth and deliberate.
The thundering bass and scorching guitar riffs merged into a symphony of rebellion and freedom.
Still, even amid the high of performing, I couldn’t entirely escape the nagging presence of Phoenix.
I caught sight of her on the side of the stage, a tiny figure obscured by the towering equipment around her.
She was like a fly buzzing in my ear—persistent and irritating.
She watched the show while gripping her little clipboard tightly.
It was almost laughable how out of place she looked. Despite the annoyance, I had to admit that she was doing her job—annoyingly well. We hadn’t had any major PR scandals since she had joined the tour, which just made me hate her even more.
I gritted my teeth, forcing my mind back to the present.
The last thing I needed was to let my irritation disrupt the flow of the performance.
I shook my head, dismissing her from my thoughts as I pushed my fingers harder against the strings, extracting a deeper, more aggressive tone.
The music became my refuge, my sanctuary from the constant reminder of her presence.
Each chord we struck was a rebellion against the world’s demands, a middle finger to all the bullshit we had to deal with off stage.
I poured everything into the performance, channeling every bit of frustration, every ounce of energy into the music.
With each song, each riff, I allowed myself to drift further into the euphoria of the performance.
The irritation was still there, but it was a distant hum.
I lost myself in the music, in the connection with the crowd, in the pure, unfiltered joy of performing.
Phoenix could wait.
For now, it was just me, the band, and the electrifying thrill of the performance.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
◆◆◆
Blaring sunlight cut through the cracked blinds. I could already tell the day was going to be a mess. We were running late for a major interview, and my head felt like it had been stomped on by a herd of elephants. Last night’s escapades had left us all hungover, and despite the consequences, I had to give Phoenix credit. She was relentless—clever enough to see through our attempts to dodge her and hit the bar without her. It seemed like she had caught on and was out for blood.
The curtain to my bunk was yanked open, and Phoenix stood there, eyes flashing with frustration. Kage trailed behind her, looking as reluctant as a cat forced into water. She had that no-nonsense look in her gray eyes, the kind that told me she was ready to rip us all a new one. I couldn’t help but smirk a little. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing her so wound up.
“We’re running out of time, and you guys need to get your shit together. This interview is crucial, and you’re about to blow it.”
I stretched out on the bed, ignoring her. “Relax, Princess. We’ll get there. We always do.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she was mentally calculating how to get us moving without tearing her hair out. She tried to herd us, but I made a point of deliberately stepping in her path. If she wanted to play hardball, I was more than happy to oblige.
“You’re wasting your time,”
I said, my tone deliberately dismissive. “We don’t need you hovering over us every second. It’s just an interview. We’ll manage.”
Phoenix’s frustration boiled over. “You’re reckless, Zephyr. Do you have any idea how many messes I’ve had to clean up this morning? Parker vomiting in the street, and was it you who tried to flirt with the underage waitress? Honestly, it’s like dealing with children.”
Her words stung, but I could barely recall the specifics of last night. I got up from the bed. My memory was a hazy blur of shots and chaos. I had a vague recollection of a girl with a mischievous grin and Parker’s groan as he clung to the curb outside the club. What did it matter? The damage was done, and the morning-after mess was Phoenix’s problem to clean up, not mine.
“Maybe you should just lighten up,”
I retorted, stepping closer to her. “You think you’ve got everything under control, but all you’re doing is making yourself miserable.”
Phoenix stiffened as I closed the distance between us. The air crackled with tension, and I let a subtle hint of my Alpha pheromones seep into the room. It was a calculated move, an attempt to assert dominance and intimidate her into backing down. Her reaction was immediate. Her body tensed, but she didn’t back away.
She met my gaze head-on. There was an unspoken challenge between us. I could see the way she struggled to keep her composure, her professional facade cracking under the pressure.
“Are you trying to intimidate me, Zephyr?”
she asked. “Because it’s not going to work. I’m here to do my job, no matter what you think of me.”
Her words cut through the haze of my hangover, and I felt a flicker of something other than irritation. It was a mix of begrudging respect and something more primal, a reaction to the way she stood her ground against me. It was clear that neither of us was willing to back down.
The sound of Kage clearing his throat broke the silence, and Phoenix took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. “I’m not here to play games. Get ready or don’t, but either way, I’m done babysitting.”
With that, Phoenix turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving me and Kage in the wake of her departure. My packmate raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. I shot him a look, my frustration still simmering beneath the surface.
“She’s got guts,”
Kage said quietly. “I’ll give her that.”
I nodded, my thoughts still tangled in the aftermath of the confrontation. Phoenix was proving to be more than just a nuisance. She was a force to be reckoned with, and despite my irritation, I had to admit she had managed to get under my skin.