I didn’t have to go far to find Holly and Pierre—they were standing outside when I slipped through the doorway. Holly’s eyes were round as globes and puffy when she saw me, like she’d been crying for a while. The color had drained from Pierre’s face, leaving his complexion ashen.
Holly threw her arms around me and started sobbing into my shoulder. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you’re okay.”
I rubbed her back and squeezed my best friend tightly, assuring her I was fine, even though I didn’t know if that was true. Physically, I felt… good. My head didn’t hurt at all. In fact, nothing hurt. The tension knots that had existed since the day I took over the store had melted from between my shoulders. The slackened muscles felt like when Holly dated the manager at a very expensive day spa and we got free massages—I had never felt so relaxed in my life.
Or maybe I was just in shock. The entire night had been surreal, after all. It wasn’t every day Adrian Kane fed me his blood. A shudder ran through me at the memory, compounded by the tingle south of my belly button.
You do not have a blood-drinking kink, I told myself, more bothered by my body’s response than the actual act of it.
Pierre joined in the hug. “Fuck, Phi. I really thought—” he shook his head, unable to say the words. “I love you.”
I wrapped one arm around him. “I love you guys, too. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Holly looped her arm through mine as though scared to let me out of her sight. Against my better judgement, I glanced over my shoulder at Withering Heights’ tour bus as we walked away. The curtains parted, drawing my gaze. Adrian peered through the window, his gaze boring into with intensity that stole my next breath. Desire warred with irritation in his stare.
Sadly, I sort of felt the same way. I was incredibly turned on with a healthy dose of annoyance. What the fuck had just happened?
I turned away.
The shock finally wore off as we wound our way through the wristband area to an exit into General Admission. The mass exodus—caused by my collapse and the show’s abrupt ending—was bottlenecked as ten thousand people attempted to file calmly back past festival security.
I was safe, surrounded by crowds of people who effectively shielded me from everything else outside the festival grounds. My mind wandered while my body wouldn’t move—was Adrian Kane an actual vampire?
Supernatural creatures were a sort of open secret among certain Los Angeles locals. My family had owned the record store on the Sunset Strip for decades and, once upon a time, musicians had even dropped in to sign their albums. And they weren’t all human.
I had sensed an otherness growing up in the shop with pigtails in my hair, carrying vinyl records to the register. It was almost like the souls of true musicians vibrated at a different frequency than humans. When I’d tried to explain it to my parents, they wrote my observations off as an overactive imagination.
My grandfather had understood me, though. The sixth sense for supernatural creatures was something we’d shared—he’d never doubted me for a minute. In fact, he seemed keen to teach me the ways of some weird alternative world.
With his guidance, I’d felt sure I was attuned to the world of possibilities beyond humans.
Except Adrian Kane didn’t feel like the other vampires I’d encountered. He felt more… alive. If not for the fangs, I might’ve mistaken him for a mortal. I tried to recall whether I’d ever seen a paparazzi picture of him during the day, but couldn’t remember one.
Was he a skulking creature of death?
The brown eyes, I thought, the image of them staring down at me filled my head. Of course, those were likely contacts. Still, they were deep and soulful and haunted.
Was Adrian Kane actually a vampire? His blood had healed me, brought me back from the brink of death. If it walks like a fanged duck…
“Ophelia St. Clare?” an overly muscled man in a medium short-sleeved shirt called as he walked down the line.
Holly nudged me in the ribs. “Phi, he’s calling your name.”
“Do you know him?” Pierre asked.
I shook my head, a queasy feeling churning in my gut.
“Ophelia St. Clare!” This time he shouted to be heard over all the drunk conversations around me.
“Over here!” Holly yelled back.
I turned slowly to look at her, mouth hanging open. “Why’d you do that?” I hissed.
“He’s got an earpiece, and all those biceps definitely scream bodyguard,” she said.
The man came over to our spot in line and looked Holly up and down. “Ophelia St. Clare?” he asked.
Holly gestured to me. “That’s her.”
“What’s this about?” I asked the man.
His gaze swept from the crown of my head—a single glow stick still hanging on one side in a tangle of hair—to my dirty boots. “Your car is waiting. Come with me.”
I actually laughed. “You must be mistaken, I don’t have a driver. I’m exactly where I need to be.”
The bodyguard’s expression never changed. “Mr. Kane arranged for your transportation.”
Oh, he’s going to play the White Knight now? I fumed. After tossing me out?
I wanted nothing Adrian Kane had to offer.
People in line around us turned to eavesdrop on the conversation. It was the last thing I needed. Thousands of people had already witnessed Adrian leaping from the stage and rushing through the crowd to save me.
Fuck.
“I’m good with taking the bus back,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”
Holly jutted her elbow between my ribs again. “Come on, Phi. Please?” She nodded toward the people in front of us in line. “We probably have another hour wait for a shuttle back to Palm Springs, maybe longer. Then we’ll have to fight with everyone else to get a Ryde back to Pierre’s house.”
She had a good point. Last time I’d checked my phone, it was after one o’clock in the morning, and I had to drive back to L.A. by noon to make it in time for my closing shift. If we took the bus, the sun would likely rise before we collapsed in bed.
Both Holly and Pierre gave me puppy dog eyes. Against my better judgment, I relented. I told myself the decision was practical. People nearby were already whispering to each other, all asking the same question: “Is it her?” Some even had their phones up, shamelessly videoing me while I pondered how to get the most sleep before work. If I stayed, it would only get worse.
Everyone will lose interest if you just leave, I told myself.
“Fine. We’ll take the car, thank you,” I told the bodyguard.
“Follow me.”
Holly was a dozen levels above giddy as the three of us hurried after Adrian’s errand man. She started asking questions about the drummer and what he was like, insisting on a play-by-play of everything that had happened.
I really didn’t want to talk about him. The whole thing was just too weird.
After two full minutes of my pondering without replying to her, Holly took the hint and fell silent.
I had never ridden in a stretch SUV limo before—or any limo for that matter—not even for my senior prom. Granddad had scraped the money together for renting one, but I couldn’t let him spend it on something so frivolous when our finances were a constant stressor for him. Instead, I’d bought a dress at a second-hand store and driven my VW beetle to the event.
The gas to fill up my tank had cost more than my fanciest gown ever.
As I slid into the vehicle, everything about the interior screamed opulence. The champagne was Dom Perignon, with a dozen bottles just chilling on ice. Expensive imported spring water from Switzerland filled one inset cooler, while another held an ice block topped with three types of beluga caviar and Creme Fraiche. A basket beside the cooler held toast points and a bowl of minced onion with a tiny sterling shovel to serve it.
Holly broke into the bubbly booze immediately. Though she’d dumped two water bottles over her hands to wash away the macabre night, I noticed some of my blood still ringed her nail bed when she handed me a glass of champagne. Even as her smile shone bright with a hint of false joy, she tried to hide the tremble in her fingers.
“I’m really okay,” I told her.
She bit her bottom lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. It was just… scary for a minute.”
I squeezed her hand. “For you and me both.”
“But hey, you got to meet Adrian Kane. That’s pretty exciting,” she said.
Leave it to Holly to find the upside, I thought.
“And we get to ride home in style,” Pierre added.
“It really was nice of Adrian to do this.” Holly took back her hand and wiped her eyes. “It’s not like he hit you in the head with a bottle.”
A spark of jealousy ignited when she used only his first name, like they were friends. I shook my head to clear the toxic thought.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Holly had been my best friend since the first day of kindergarten. The teacher gave us coloring books with numbers on the pictures that corresponded to specific colors. I knew we were destined for a long friendship when Holly refused to follow the instructions and selected her own colors to give the paint-by-number a new scope. I’d done the same, because she inspired me to break the arbitrary rules.
Never in my life had I experienced jealousy over a guy. It wasn’t in my nature. Honestly, I didn’t even like Adrian Kane. The man was strange and too moody, even for me. And the attention on him? No freaking way could I stomach that life.
“You should thank him, Phi,” Holly said, eyes bright with excitement.
“It’s not like we exchanged phone numbers,” I replied, my voice laced with more edge than intended.
Holly blinked, my tone dampening her mood. “So what happened?” she asked.
I glanced between my two closest friends in the world, people who knew my darkest secrets and most deeply embarrassing moments. They had held my hands through every funeral in my family and always been there for the aftermath. Still, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what happened on Adrian’s tour bus.
Instead, I lied to them. “The head wound wasn’t bad. They always bleed a lot, you know?”
Pierre sipped his champagne and leaned back against the plush velvet cushion, studying me with his crystal blue gaze. He absolutely did not believe my story.
“There was so much”—he shivered—“blood.”
“It probably just looked that way because the Jägermeister spilled out,” I said too quickly.
Holly looked down at her hand like she could still see the crimson stain.
Pierre inhaled deeply, and I realized the flaw in my excuse: if the alcohol had soaked into my hair, I would still reek. Well, fuck.
“I’m sure that’s what happened,” he said, in a way that made me think he was certain that was not what occurred but didn’t want to upset Holly further. She’d already downed two glasses of champagne to erase the memory of my near-miss with death.
I settled in my corner of the stupidly expansive limousine and finally tried the champagne.
No wonder Holly is like a fish with this stuff, I thought. It really was a million percent better than the bottles of sparkling wine we bought for five bucks from the grocery store.
“It’s good, right?” Holly asked, relaxing as I sprawled out.
“It’s okay,” I said, taking another sip. “I’m sure I’ve had better.”
Pierre laughed so hard he snorted, and Holly joined in. I hated when the two of them ganged up on me.
I drank the rest of the glass. “Okay, fine. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Other than that chocolate torte from the bakery that lasted one week on Palm Canyon.”
Adrian’s blood was better, a traitorous voice whispered in my mind.
The moment of levity in our car ended abruptly with that thought. I set the champagne flute in a cup holder and wrapped my arms around myself to fight off a sudden chill. Holly and Pierre exchanged glances but didn’t comment. She crawled across the seat, toward the front of the SUV, one hand still clutching her drink.
The driver turned the music down immediately. A tingle zipped up my arms as I looked at our chauffeur for the first time. The man in the front seat was supernatural; I knew it in my gut.
Holly batted her fake lashes and gave the man her patented seductive smile while propping her chin on her free hand against the passenger seat back. It worked on everyone. A single glance while biting her lip, like she might feel uncertain, had gotten us out of more speeding tickets than I cared to admit. The same expression had also convinced uncountable bouncers to let two underage girls skip the line at clubs.
“Can you play Withering Heights?” she asked in a sweet voice.
“Of course, miss,” the driver replied, gaze never straying from the road. “Will there be anything else?”
Holly squealed. “Thank you! Can you make sure it’s their first album? Phi doesn’t like the other ones.”
“Yes, miss.”
The opening notes of my all-time favorite Withering Heights song filled the limo as exhaustion settled over me. With the car stuck in a long line of traffic on the two-lane road exiting the festival, I snuggled into the soft seat and focused on the music. It started with Adrian’s drumming. Normally, I would’ve tapped the beat on my leg before belting along with Holly when Jack Torren started singing. My body felt like lead weight, and I couldn’t muster the energy.
“Can you make it darker back here, please?” I called.
There was a faint, “Yes, miss” from the front of the vehicle, and then the twinkle lights that lined the ceiling dimmed considerably. I could still see my friends in the shadows, so I noticed the way Pierre looked at me—like I was a bone china teacup that might shatter with the slightest impact.
After belting three of the band’s lesser-known songs, my best friend finally passed out. Pierre sensed I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he leaned into the surreal ride to nowhere. He stretched out across the seat in the back and closed his eyes, though I doubted he was actually asleep.
I stared out the window and watched the desert mountains slide past, trying to erase the memory of Adrian’s bloody wrist pressed against my mouth. The more I tried to avoid the thought, the more vivid the recollections became. My body had tingled, some parts more than others. His blood had tasted like chocolate truffles, flowing like a river down my throat to fill a well I’d been unaware of. Adrian’s terror had turned to relief as he’d coaxed me to drink more.
An ache pulsed between my legs. I squirmed uncomfortably, heat creeping up my neck as I readjusted and pressed my forehead on the cool glass of the SUV.
No. Fuck no, I thought, urging my body to fall in line with mind.
To avoid the unwelcome ideas, I concentrated on all the shit that needed to be done around the store. I’d lied to my friends—the sales numbers were shit. They’d been that way for a while—who the fuck shopped at a record store instead of streaming what they wanted to hear?
If I didn’t turn things around, I’d lose my grandfather’s most precious gift to me. Failure wasn’t an option. I had to figure something out. Quickly.
Luckily, my unsexy real-life problems staunched my hormones like an arctic blast pummeling into a sauna.
The driver dropped us off at a rental house Pierre’s family owned, a few blocks from downtown Palm Springs. Compared to the sprawling celebrity estates nearby, the four-bedroom, mid-century modern structure was nothing special. I still loved it and aspired to own something exactly like it. What better place was there to escape LA?
Pierre cradled a snoring Holly against his chest and carried her inside.
“Right behind you,” I called, rounding the front of the vehicle to knock on the driver’s side window.
The driver lowered the glass. “Can I take you somewhere else?” he asked.
It was dark, and he wore a chauffeur’s hat that cast a shadow over the top half of his face. The air suddenly felt frigid as my nerve endings went into overdrive.
This man feels like a vampire, I thought.
“No. I just wanted to say thank you. Um, can I pay you? At least a tip?” My voice went up several octaves at the end.
My cash flow wasn’t exactly positive these days, but the guy had saved us a lot of time and hassle. I reached for my wallet, only to realize I didn’t have it.
“It’s my pleasure, Miss St. Clare.” The man tapped the brim of his hat up with a single finger, revealing crimson irises. “Mr. Kane was more than generous.”