A sudden strike of guitar. The curtains flew up. Howl’s cloak had vanished, and behind him, the band appeared, and I was stunned that every member was strikingly beautiful and dressed showing off their electric personas.

Howl slung an electric guitar over his shoulder, stepped to the mic, and launched into the song with raw, magnetic energy.

The crowd surged forward, screaming with delight. So did I.

I couldn’t help it. I was spellbound.

I watched each member of the band, taking them all in. Then I recalled Iah’s description from earlier that night:

“The keyboardist, Raven—she’s very hot in a woe-is-me-gothic way. Midnight, the drummer, has all these tattoos and piercings. And Shade, the bassist with the really long hair…”

My eyes first caught the keyboardist—ah, this must be Raven. Her long white hair fell over one shoulder, while tight braids hugged the other side of her head. Pale feathers were woven into small braids that dangled over her loose hair. The ends of her hair were dipped in black, which, along with the feathers, made me think of an old-style ink pot.

Piercing teal eyes flickered beneath smoky black shadow that stretched across her face like a mask, as her long fingers danced in a flourish over the keyboard. Her outfit—a billowing white shirt tucked into tight black leather trousers, thigh-high patent boots, and a black beaded waistcoat—gave her the air of a pirate captain commanding the keys of a ghost ship.

Next, I turned to the drummer, Midnight, I had presumed. He had tousled blond hair and ocean-blue eyes, sharp beneath a tilted hat. His style was a perfect blend of gothic beatnik and 1920s cabaret, with a tailored vest, skinny trousers, suspenders, and plenty of navy-style tattoos on his arms, chest and neck. A silver chain ran from his nose to his right ear, with a small cross dangling from the other ear.

Suddenly, the bassist, Shade, appeared right in front of us. I was standing to the left of the stage and watched as he moved like gentle waves with his bass guitar, making me blush. He was dark-skinned, devilishly handsome, with close-cropped curls that framed the sharp angles of his face. His golden eyes gleamed behind round red glasses, unreadable and magnetic.

His outfit was insane—mysterious-looking Victorian coat tails that flared as he moved, paired with tight striped trousers that clung to long, powerful legs. His bare chest was inked with intricate designs, the tattoos almost alive beneath the stage lights. A top hat, tipped just so, added a dramatic edge, while his meticulously groomed moustache and goatee gave him the air of a charming villain.

Iah’s descriptions didn’t do them justice — you had to see them to believe just how attractive they really were. I watched them all in awe, Howl included. In fact, it took every fibre of my being not to stare at him.

The song ended and the crowd went wild.

Howl flipped his hair back, toying with his guitar, before stepping intimately close to the microphone. The crowd quietened instantly. I heard his sultry voice purr:

“Good evening, my adorable sinners.”

The response was electric. Screams erupted, along with whistles and cries of “oww!” from all genders. I caught the smirk curling on his lips beneath that dark gaze, and then his eyes found mine. My breath hitched. Bright violet eyes, just like Valda’s. Our gaze locked for a split second before he turned smoothly back to the crowd and grinned.

“Look at you beautiful bastards,” he said, placing a hand to his heart and sighing theatrically. “You never fail to take our breath away. It’s almost like you’ve bewitched us — heart and soul — to the point we would just want to fuck you all.”

Laughter broke from both the band and the crowd. More screams followed.

He chuckled softly, almost shyly, and somehow made even that seductive. Gripping the mic again, he murmured:

“Just so fuckable, all of you.”

He flashed a grin over his shoulder at the band, teasing his guitar with a small, playful tune — like he was flirting with us through music. Raven answered on the keys, and the crowd bellowed in recognition. They knew what was coming.

This time, Howl grabbed the mic and half-sang, half-screamed:

“Do you want more?!”

The roar of the crowd answered for him. He turned back to the band, gave a nod, and the music kicked in. The lights washed the stage in a sultry red.

I kept my eyes on Howl as he sang, his voice thick with yearning:

“She sits so fine, like him in kind,

Holding on tight, fallen tricks behind.

To be beside her love, joyfully we plan,

Consequence unfolds; cordial warmth began.”

He gripped the mic stand as though seducing a lover, and crooned the chorus while the band surged behind him:

“His soft white hand, in the moonlit night,

Felt beaten, pleasure — oh, what a sight!

The seven vices on his mind,

Her smile saying, she will be mine.”

He began moving across the stage, brushing hands with eager fans. I surprised myself by not reaching out. Instead, I watched as his outstretched hand passed by me and then pointed skyward — and the crowd followed his gesture.

A figure descended from above.

Golden-skinned, with rich brown wavy hair and deep golden-brown eyes, her makeup was a smoky brown shadow paired with burgundy lips. She wore a flowing white dress, descending gracefully, her arms, waist, and ankles bound in sheer white scarves. The image was hauntingly sensual, like a living work of art.

With a single, fluid motion, she began to unwind herself, completely on her own. Her movements were poised and commanding. Then, in one final flourish, she dropped seamlessly into Howl’s waiting arms, his electric guitar gone. The scarves draped around them, veiling the stage in a cocoon of intimacy.

She danced around him, the scarves like extensions of her body. She climbed, swung, and circled him, teasing him with each step. Howl caught one of the scarves and slowly, achingly, drew her in. He kept singing, and the band played on as though this unfolding seduction wasn’t happening before their eyes.

“Consequence and warmth intertwine

In the dance of love, their souls entwine.

Moonlit night, a symphony of desire

Passion ignites, setting hearts on fire.”

Their bodies moved together in a sensual rhythm. Hands explored. Fingers traced. Every motion blurred the line between performance and something more intimate.

Then the world around me began to shift. The people, the lights, even the sounds of the music started to slowly fade. I looked around, heart racing. The crowd was vanishing like smoke. Fear gripped me as I backed away from the stage, my back hitting the cold stone wall of the old theatre. All around me were carved trees, tall and twisted, as if I had stumbled into a forest carved from shadow.

But I could still see them, Howl and the dancer, lost in each other. The dance had become something else now, not just art, but raw foreplay, hidden behind fluid movements.

I shut my eyes, burning with embarrassment at what I was witnessing.

But then, gentle hands caressed my face.

I opened my eyes. I wasn’t watching anymore.

I was in the place of the dancer.

Howl’s hands cupped my face so tender, deliberate, as if I were something fragile and sacred. His fingertips traced my jawline, featherlight, like he was memorising me by touch alone. He looked at me like he already knew me.

His hands slipped lower, brushing the side of my neck, then over my shoulders—his palms dragging slowly, reverently, savouring every inch. When he reached my waist, he paused.

Then pulled me into him. One sharp motion.

My breath caught.

The wall of his body against mine drowned out the world. We were sealed in shadow, encased in a tempestuous dance that belonged only to us.

His thumb stroked the curve of my hip while his other hand slid up the centre of my abdomen. He never touched anything too intimate—but the space between us burned. The nearness was its own kind of sin.

His fingers hovered just below my collarbone, tracing the place a pendant might rest. A touch so innocent—and yet it carried the ache of a thousand promises.

His mouth was close now, his breath brushing my throat. My whole body tensed with need, but he didn’t lean in. He lingered. A whisper away. A phantom kiss.

I stared into his eyes, begging him not to stop.

He smiled. That slow, wicked smile that knew exactly what he was doing.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, anchoring me. The other pressed into the small of my back, drawing me in so slowly I thought I might scream.

We never kissed.

We never spoke.

But the silence said everything.

His hands moved with a sculptor’s precision—controlled and smooth, as if he were shaping me with every touch of his palm. There was restraint in him. Dangerous, deliberate restraint.

And god, I wanted him to break it.

I reached for him—but held back. Afraid.

Afraid that if I touched him, the moment would shatter.

Afraid that if I gave in, I’d never come back whole.

And just when I thought I might break apart…

He sang.

Low. Soft. Lyrics heavy with longing, mourning… and promise.

“Without understanding, his Huntsman's call

Young and strong, breaking down the wall.

No barrier lay between their lips

In the back, they lay in rapture, pure bliss.”

The sound wrapped around me, gripped my chest, and set fire to my bones.

I didn’t know this man.

But I had never been given more than what he just gave me.

I had never felt more wanted.

I had never felt more.

Then when I thought I couldn’t hold back anymore I urged my hand to touch him, his hair, his face, anything—

The music came roaring back, full throttle. Loud. Pulsing.

I blinked. Disoriented.

And just like that, I was back in Club Dusk.

The crowd was still there, screaming and cheering like nothing had happened. Howl and the dancer were onstage, their bodies mimicking everything I had just experienced. My skin tingled. My pulse was erratic.

What the hell just happened to me?

This wasn’t like me. I wasn’t the kind of person to fall into lust. Not like that. Not while I was with someone.

Carter. Fuck.

The song ended. The crowd erupted. I stood frozen, rubbing my forehead, trying to catch my breath. I felt dazed—like I’d just woken from a dream I didn’t want to admit I’d enjoyed.

Pushing off from the wall, I slipped through the swarm of partygoers, still cheering as the next song pulsed to life.

I finally made it to the edge of the crowd and spotted the bar—my one shot at a reprieve. I needed to clear my head.