Sweat dripped from my brow as I exited the stage with my bandmates. They hooted and groaned—some removing instruments, others fanning themselves from the blistering heat of the stage lights and the crowd. Ah, the crowd was wild tonight, and I thrived on bringing their desires to life. The passion in their eyes, the way their bodies writhed and ground against each other—it was intoxicating. Oh yes, I still had it.

I grabbed the towel I’d left backstage and scrunched it through my damp curls, now clinging to my face. I was pretty sure the grease paint I’d used for my jester-like makeup had melted and smeared, giving me an even wilder, more deranged look. Perfect.

I glanced at my bandmates. Each one was trying to sort themselves out in their own way—cool down, rehydrate, recover.

Raven shook out her wild white hair, then bunched it into a messy ponytail. Her teal eyes caught mine, and she flashed a grin.

“Excellent night, don’t you think, Howl?” she said, checking the rest of her outfit to make sure nothing was out of place.

I nodded and gestured toward the rest of the band. “You were all excellent. Raven—harmonies were on point. Midnight, did you add extra beats to your solo in Into the Dusk?”

Midnight looked sheepish, still twirling his drumsticks.

“Sorry, mate. Got carried away—again.”

I shook my head. “No, no, I actually liked it. It added a sense of chaos that I think the song needed. Do you think you could replicate it?”

He shifted his jaw, tugging his lips downward in thought. I could see him replaying the solo in his head. I waited, letting him process. Then he gave a small nod, and his pale blue eyes lit up.

Yeah. I knew he had this. He was one of the best drummers I’d ever played with.

I smirked and gave him a thumbs-up.

Then I turned to Shade and sighed. He avoided my eyes, still plucking away at his unplugged bass with a deliberately funky riff.

“Shade...”

“Did you see that one in the front row?” he smirked, a flash of white fang against his dark skin. “Nearly climbed on stage, that one.”

Raven groaned. Midnight just shook his head.

Of course I’d seen her. One of our regulars since we started playing months ago—black hair with a pink streak, decked out in the most gothic fashion Goth R Us could provide.

Fans were fine. Fans on stage? Trouble.

“And the fact that you decided to thrust directly in her face had nothing to do with that?” I shot back. “That was practically an invitation.” Shade stopped playing and then looked at me, his golden eyes flashing above his round red spectacles. 

“Don’t you think she would be willing to help the band out, every few days” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. He was of course referring to a feed-friend. Humans were none the wiser of us feeding off of them, in fact, they would see it as a normal relationship. A little bit of flirting, schmoozing and of course sex, if need be, but to a vampire it was more of a sustenance transaction and it never lasted long. It couldn’t, too much risk of exposure. Not to mention  the low iron levels that would eventually raise suspicion. 

“Shade, take my advice. Don’t shit where you eat. No fans become feed-friends. Not on my watch.”

Shade chuckled, then stuck his tongue out like a brat. That’s when I realised—he was just trying to get a rise out of me.

“Fuck you, man!” I laughed, whipping my damp towel straight at his face.

He caught it mid-air, grinning like a demon, and let out that electric laugh of his—the kind that buzzed in your chest and dragged the rest of us into it.

Soon we were all laughing, spirits elated from the performance and our bond through the music. Honestly, this band had pulled me through the worst of it.

“Hey, Darien!”

A soft voice called my name.

Selene emerged from the hallway, moving toward me with that effortless grace she always seemed to carry. She’d changed out of her stage outfit and now wore a simple brown velvet dress. The lace detail around the sweetheart neckline immediately caught my eye—and I had to force myself to look away. It clung to her body like something stolen from a bedroom drawer.

Black thigh-high tights and ankle boots completed the look. Her brown curls bounced with every step as she approached, stopping just a foot away from me.

She folded her hands behind her back and smiled up at me.

I smiled back, keeping it friendly. Selene was sweet—almost too sweet for a band like ours. But damn if she didn’t have stage presence.

“Hey, Selene. Awesome job out there tonight.”

She curled a finger around one of her dark ringlets, eyes flicking up at me nervously.

“So… do you think this could be a regular thing?”

That actually caught me off guard. I hadn’t pegged her as someone looking for a steady gig—especially not with a band like ours. Then again, tonight had been a success. No denying that.

If she was happy to be part of the crew, and the band were on board, I didn’t see a reason to say no.

Then I looked at her—really looked.

Like Bastian, she was veilbound – turned sometime in the ‘90s, if I remembered right. Explained the sepia-toned outfits, the soft vintage makeup. She had style, and talent—but not the kind most veilborne circles welcomed with open arms.

I didn’t blame her for wanting to fit in.

I glanced at the rest of the band. I was the only veilborne among them. A fact I hated more than most things about myself.

I rubbed my chin in mock contemplation, then grinned. 

“I’ve got to run everything by the band, of course. But I don’t think they’ll have a problem with it. That scarf dance was exquisite.” I leaned in and winked. 

 “Leave it with me, and I’ll talk to them. But for now, come to the afterparty. Relax a little.”

Her chocolate-brown eyes widened with excitement, and I found myself enjoying the fact that—for once—I could give someone a bit of hope.

“Thank you so much!”

Selene bounced off toward Raven, and the two of them hugged like old friends. I’d noticed she was bonding with the band easily. Yeah, I could see this working.

Just then, Bastian appeared in the doorway—and if a look could sour the whole night, it was his. Arms folded, eyes an intense stormy blue, lips curled into a bitter scowl.

Had he overheard the conversation between Selene and me?

“Hey, Bast. C’mon—she was good, man,” I said, nodding toward Selene.

He sniffed and looked away.

“Yeah, and now I’ll have to deal with the stench of hormones and sex for weeks. And this is going to be a regular thing?” He shot me a glare. “You’re going to get me shut down, Daz. It was nearly a mass orgy out there.”

I snorted. Okay, sure—the crowd had been intoxicated by my siren song. There was some bumping and grinding, and I’m pretty sure a few erogenous zones made very deliberate contact. But a mass orgy? Bit dramatic. I’d only pushed my power to second base at most. Any further, and yeah, he might’ve had a point.

“Bast, when are you going to learn to trust me?” I asked, giving him my best big-eyed innocence. “Why would I jeopardise the one sanctuary that gave our music a home?”

He raised his eyebrows as he rolled his eyes and walked towards me. 

“So long as there are bodies out there paying for drinks, I’m happy. So keep doing what you’re doing.”

Then, with sudden panic, he added, “Just—please keep it under rated X, yeah? This place might’ve been hardcore back in the day, but humans are obsessed with regulations now. Health and safety, liability forms—I swear, I drain myself using compulsion... every damn time.”

I smirked and clapped his shoulder. “I’ll do my best, man. But seriously—what’s really bothering you? This isn’t your usual level of grumpy bastard.”

At that, Bastian glowered at me. His eyes darkened to near-black.

“Valda is summoning you,” he muttered. “She’s ready with your feed for the night.”

My face dropped.

Of course she was. Only Valda would use Bastian as a bloody messenger. It was normal, sure—but the weight in his tone said otherwise. Something else was getting under poor old Bast’s skin.

I gave a short nod and turned to the band. “Time to move, people!”

They dropped their instruments without hesitation, following Bastian and me out of the room. Laughter and banter bounced down the hallway behind us, but Bastian walked in silence, his boots heavy against the floor.

I sidled up beside him. “What’s eating you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared straight ahead, then sighed hard, as if it might ease his frustration.

Afterparties like this weren’t unusual. A few lucky crowd members were always chosen—brought backstage, fed a little booze and attention, then quietly drained in a corner. No trauma, no memories, just a bit of grogginess and a story they’d probably embellish into legend.

“It’s who she picked,” he finally said. “Three idiot lassies managed to sneak in through the back tonight.”

I blinked, then grinned. “Wait—seriously? That’s how Valda made her choice tonight? A bunch of uninvited tagalongs?”

The image clicked instantly.

The redhead.

The one who’d looked right at me while in my opening costume. 

Like she’d seen a ghost.

I remembered her in the crowd afterwards—I'd spotted her more than once. Even in all black, she stood out. That fiery red hair was practically a beacon.

Figures. Valda knew I was a sucker for redheads. Of course she’d pick that one for me. And of course that irritated me.

“Wait, I think I saw them earlier—blonde, brunette, and redhead, right?” I said. “How the hell did they get past the wards?”

Bastian growled under his breath. “No idea. Some arsehole must’ve left the door ajar after a delivery.”

I doubted that was the case. Bastian had hired the best Warden in the city—someone whose wards were strong enough to stop both humans and vampires from slipping in through the back or side entrances. Warding was an old and specialised craft, the kind that allowed some of us to live in hidden communities across the world without fear of being found out. Anyone who tried to touch the door would be hit with a deep sense of dread and instinctively turn away.

I’d even hired the same Warden to ward my own place, so local punks wouldn’t break into what they thought was just a derelict church.

A door left ajar shouldn’t have weakened the wards—not unless something more was at play.

Still, something else bothered me…

“How did Valda know they were there?” 

“She drained a girl to the point of unconsciousness. She claimed someone else had already fed on the girl before she got to her and followed me to complain about it – as if it was somehow my fault.”

“Fuck.” Was all I said. I knew that would have been a major headache for Bastian to deal with. No human is supposed to go unconscious, that is dangerous on all accounts. Bastian would have had to give her some of his blood to wake to her up and then compel her to think she had too much to drink or heat exhaustion. Something simple to not draw attention to the club. I also didn’t believe Valda for a second on her lame ass story.