Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
VANCOUVER, brITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
The Canadian leg of the tour is usually more chill than the rest. The residents are calmer, the concerts are less high energy and more intimate, but that’s not the case for tonight.
The arena is packed, and we can hear the audience chanting from our dressing rooms, the new unique sound echoing around us.
“Vi-cious Ro-gues! Vi-cious Ro-gues!”
Cleo can’t stand it, but it makes me smile. Our fans united to make both headliners feel special despite the qualms between us. It’s kind of brilliant.
The guys are about to go on, so I’m on the edge of my seat.
I’ve spent more and more time watching the guys perform these past few weeks.
I think the girls have noticed my brief absence every show, but they haven’t said anything, probably assuming that I want some alone time before being in front of a screaming crowd.
Granted, that’s something the old Josie would have done. The new Josie likes to ogle her mates in their natural habitat in peace. It’s a new concert ritual I’ve taken up, and it works wonders for my nerves.
I stand to head out, my finger fidgeting with the hem of my shirt as I wonder if this will be the time one of them finally calls me out on my shit, but they don’t. I make it through the door unscathed and make my way to the side of the stage.
My scent matches are already there, waiting to enter the tunnel for their entrance choreo. Someone is adjusting Malaki’s guitar strap, and Lennon is twirling his drumsticks. When they all see me, their faces light up.
“What’s up, Rosewood?” Malaki asks.
I feign innocence, shrugging my shoulders. “Nothing much. Just heard this really great band was about to play and thought, ‘what’s the hype?’ Thought I’d come see it for myself.”
“Brat,” Remi mutters, his lip curved with amusement. His hair looks sexy as ever as it lies upon his shoulders.
Cyrus laughs, obviously in a good mood. He lets his eyes trail over me, fire coursing under my skin from his gaze. “Maybe later we can—”
His words are cut off by a commotion near us, a feminine squeal punctuating the air.
“Hey! Put me down! Do you not know who I am?!” she screams, and Cyrus’s eyes go wide.
The whole band moves and I follow after them, curious about their fast reactions. When we get to a nearby exit, a security guard is there with a woman hanging over his shoulder. She hits him on the back, grunting with frustration, and Cyrus emits a growl from his chest.
“Put her down,” he barks at the security guard. The command grips him so quickly that he nearly throws the girl onto the floor. Cyrus steps forward to help her up and hisses at the man.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Darlington! I didn’t know she was—”
“Get. Lost.”
He does, turning into a blur as he trails past us and out of our line of sight. When I turn back to the situation, the brunette is on her feet and wiping the dirt off of her bare knees.
“What are you doing here?” Cyrus says, dumbstruck by this woman’s appearance.
I look at her, not placing her identity at all.
She looks young, fresh out of high school.
She has this excited energy that can only come from blissful ignorance, and her outfit reflects that sunshine through and through.
Her aesthetic is a mix of formal and playful; a brown skirt pretty against her tan skin and a lilac corset wrapping around a white button-up shirt.
Who is this girl? Is she an ex of theirs? I don’t think so, she looks too young…
Then her scent hits me, something creamy and fruity, silky and sour. Like the most decadent homemade grape ice cream.
She’s an omega.
“I wanted to come see you play,” she replies to him, the damsel in distress now gone as she looks at Cyrus with stubborn eyes.
“You’ve seen me perform a million times. How did you get here?”
She crosses her arms. “By plane, you knob.”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, my hands going up to combat my confusion. “I’m lost.”
Cyrus deadpans, scoffing at the woman in front of him. “This is my sister, Florence. Apparently, now that she’s an adult, she feels like she can do whatever she wants.”
“Isn’t that what being an adult is all about? Who put a rod up your ass today, Cy?”
Someone snickers behind me, but I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Malaki. My brain finally catches up to the situation as I look back over the woman’s features. Her dark hair, the same color eyes as Cyrus, the same English dialect.
Fuck, I should have known. But in my defense, I didn’t even know he had a sister.
I probably should have googled my mates considering they’re public figures, but it feels wrong.
Like I’ll be taking information that might not even be real.
The girls and I know how quick the internet can morph the truth.
“Why are you here, Flo?” Cyrus asks his sister, his concern bleeding through my internal crisis.
“Because I deplore Paris,” she sneers between her teeth.
His eyes widen with surprise. “Paris? Why weren’t you in Bristol?”
Florence kicks the dirt from the floor, not meeting his eyes. “Because Mum sent me there to make things right with Julian.”
Cyrus’s face explodes with both surprise and anger. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
My brow arches at the irritation on his face, like something more serious is happening and he has no control over it.
“Please just let me watch the set, Cy. I don’t want to go back to Paris.”
“You just turned eighteen and our concerts can get crazy. You can’t handle the mosh pit, Flo, and I don’t think you should sit in our green room by yourself.”
That’s a bit presumptuous. Even with my sensitivity issues, there were ways to handle the pit when I’d go to concerts. They were some of the best memories of my life.
“Please, Cy. Just let me watch tonight.”
He shakes his head, undeterred. I see the sadness in her eyes, like she can’t stand to see his disappointment in her. It tugs at something in my body.
“She can stay with us,” I suggest.
Cyrus’s eyes zap to mine. “What?”
“During your set, she can stay with me and the girls,” I repeat. “So she’ll be safe and she can watch your set.”
The entire group is silent as my offer lingers in the air. Maybe I just stepped my toe into uncharted waters, but I felt the need to do something. I couldn’t stand to see the sadness on Florence’s face, or the frustration on Cyrus’s.
I sink into myself, suddenly unsure, but then Cyrus sighs. “Okay. You’re going to stay with Josie and the other members of Vicious Velvet.”
Florence’s squeal echoes down the corridor, her happiness exploding from her body. She jumps onto her brother, hugging him despite his protests. He struggles, trying to push her off, but I see the tiny smile he tries to hide as she finally succeeds.
Florence skips past me, greeting the guys but not hugging them. Maybe she’s being cautious because I’m another omega in the room, or maybe she is used to being at a distance with her brother’s bond mates, but the gesture is nice nonetheless.
“You okay, Alpha?” I let slip to Cyrus when the others head down the corridor, and his eyes blaze with heat.
Without a warning, he pulls me into his body. I let out a gasp before his lips smother it, the kiss chaste but heated as fire spreads through my limbs. When he pulls back, his eyes are dilated, his chest is rising and falling in uneven breaths.
“What was that?” I ask with a pant.
He smirks. “Your kindness gets me hard.”
And then he lets me go, heading down the corridor and leaving me gobsmacked.