Slow Burn Page 3

  Why had they stopped? She blinked, remembered flooding him with emotional nonsense, the crap she’d picked up from the show. She also saw what looked like a younger version of him hunting in Africa for some powerful force. Unidentifiable, but his goal was clear. Make it out alive.

  She remembered feeling the terror when some realization hit, and even more pain when someone close to him almost died.

  Luckily, she’d remembered to pull back her own shit just so she could clear his mind and put him at ease. Unfortunately, the hot sex they were heading toward ended up not happening because once she used her power to steady his mind, exhaustion kicked in and the tears started.

  She had needed sleep. The only thing that would heal her would be a night to pass out and let the dreams take care of all the baggage she’d acquired while singing. That energy would sort itself out and give voice to the individuals who put it out while her mind categorized it. Then she could use magic to heal it, and herself.

  Rob insisted she sleep separate from the band last night, then he showed up with this stranger he claimed to have met in school years ago.

  Her brother was up to something, probably hiding something from her. But what? And why?

  Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head, spread them out at her sides, and closed her eyes. Magic flowed around her, inside her, and swirled into a ball of blue light. Slowly, the blue faded into healing warmth, a white light that spread throughout her body, cleansing all the emotional baggage she had picked up.

  The process took slightly less time than normal and left her feeling rejuvenated. Oddly, it usually left her sleepy.

  A rap at the door sounded, alerting her to her brother’s presence.

  Sonja threw on Derrick’s trench coat without a thought, lifted her head, and stood. “Come in.”

  The door opened with a long, slow creak.

  She slid off the couch, headed to the dresser, and pulled out fresh clothing.

  Rob pushed through the entrance and quickly looked away. “Sorry, I thought—”

  “No, it’s okay.” She dressed quickly, admiring the softness of the leather pants hugging her hips. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I was more afraid for Derrick than I was for what could happen to this bar.”

  She remembered the show well. The crowd had been so full of anger and pain, the previous band had riled them up and stirred the emotional aspect of humankind in them into such a disturbingly powerful force that it took all she had to control them and not pass out on stage. “We can’t play with them again if they’re going to continue behaving this way.”

  Rob nodded. “I know. I didn’t find any real talent there, but they have their audience. It’s just not this one.” He paused, looked at the door, then back at her. “Your boots are by the door. The rest of the band is having breakfast and wanted me to tell you that it’s okay for you to come out when you’re ready.”

  She sighed. “I’m so sorry.” The weight in her voice dropped. “I wish I could be—”

  Rob held up a hand. “You know what we are. They do, too. For ordinary mortals it’s one thing to deal in witchcraft, all they see are the weak effects of human power. But to those born of the moon or the sun, we must walk a different path. We have always been more than the parlor tricks and light magic others thought of the craft.”

  “I know.” She sighed again. It wasn’t an accident that she fell into the role of lead singer for one of the largest local death metal bands of all time. She unknowingly put herself at the right place at the right time, and everything went perfect until the night of their first show.

  Around small groups of people, Sonja had no problem controlling her power and what she picked up or let out. They practiced and wrote lyrics and music to hit hard and close to home. The crowd erupted into a mass mosh pit, and once the emotions were released, they hit Sonja dead on like a typhoon. The first time this happened, she almost fainted onstage.

  Raj, their bass player, was closest to her and had to pick her up off the floor.

  Then he immediately faked an equipment malfunction and pulled the band offstage.

  When they sat back in the room, tempers ran high but they weren’t angry. “We want to know if you’re on drugs,” Corey began. “Because if so, that’s fine, but—”

  Raj gestured with a hand. He towered over her by at least a good six inches. Jet-black hair parted on both sides of his face, piercing gunmetal gray eyes stared back at her. “Look at her. Does she look like we did when we were younger?” He took her chin in his hand and lifted her head to his.

  She sniffled.

  Then he gasped. “She’s…” He dropped his hand and took a step back. “Not like us.”

  “No.” She sobbed. “I’m not. But I’m harmless. I swear it!” Tears streaked down her face, smearing the corpse paint.

  “Ha!” Jacob, the drummer, leaned back against the leather couch. Red hair hung in rivulets down his shoulders and made him look even paler in comparison to Sonja. He stroked his long pointed goatee and narrowed his bright blue eyes at her. “Ye’re no’ harmless, lass, but ye doona’ mean us any harm.”

  Sonja remembered his expression. His concern had washed over her.

  He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the floor, then back to her. “We’re in this together, lass. Aye?”

  She nodded. “If you’re all good with this. I’m—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Rob held up two fingers. “I think we had better take the night off and regroup.”

  Dez shuddered. He picked up a nearby guitar and started strumming it. He had to move strands of thick blond hair from his face to see the chords. When he did, he looked up from his guitar and stared at her. Kindness emanated from the depths of his deep purple irises. “That’s it then. We’re just good with this, Sonja. Help us help you.”

  They had done that. Sonja remembered being driven home and deposited into bed. The next morning, Rob found her and sat her down to tell her the entire story about their past.

  She looked at Rob now, saw the love in his eyes, and hoped she could learn to better control her powers. “There’s so much going on in the world now, so much pain and misery.”

  Rob nodded. “I know, sis. It’s not all your burden to fix, okay? We’re gifted by the goddess and god to do as our destiny warrants. But your path is no longer clear.” He closed his eyes, and inhaled and exhaled slowly. “The puma—”

  She arched a brow. “Derrick?”

  “Yes.” His lips pursed together in a line. “…has now become intertwined in your destiny. I fear a bad moon rising soon.”

  The burning in her stomach told her he was right.

  She’d felt this way for some time. Groups such as the Anti-Shifter League wanted to control her in hopes of using her voice to eradicate the shifter menace. Terrorist groups from the Middle East and the Eastern Bloc wanted her for their own nefarious agendas.

  She’d have to deal with the curse of being a witch. The fact that not just humans sought her power made things worse. Shifters could be just as greedy.

  Rob's eyes averted hers.

  “You didn’t meet him in school, did you?”

  Rob stiffened visibly.

  “I thought not. What’s his game, brother mine?”

  Looking away, Rob shoved his hands into his pockets and paced back and forth. “He’s harmless to us. No, I didn’t meet him in school.”

  She took her brother’s hand and met his gaze. “Which side is Derrick on?”

  He opened his eyes, looking over her and away. “He’s a regular in here, but his local haunt is on the other side of town. I think you should go see for yourself.” Rob retrieved a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to his sister. “He’ll be at this location later in the afternoon. The band isn’t booked for another show until a few days from now and we can put you on a plane for that.”

  She took the card and her eyes went wide.
“He’s not quite the typical death metal fan is he?”

  Rob gave her a lopsided grin and dropped his hands into his pockets. “You have no idea, sis.”

  * * *

  Derrick picked up his sunglasses and slid them on. He reached for the trench coat hanging on the hook only to find it missing.

  “Shit.” Sonja’s dressing room. He’d been so mesmerized by her innocent pout and luscious body curled up against the couch side that he decided to stretch her out, carefully lay a blanket over her, then leave, forgetting that his trench coat was draped over the back of the couch.

  An hour later, Derrick sat with a cigar between his fingers, reclining in a plush leatherback chair while sipping port. Smoke drifted around his head and the aroma of sweet leather and cocoa filled the air. Paintings of old Spanish artwork hung on the red brick walls.

  Four other puma shifters sat in oversized leather chairs. Sometimes they provided backup for his jobs, but mostly he bounced ideas off them. Except Max.

  He kept secrets from Max.

  Rocky sat to Derrick’s left. Dressed in a silver suit, his gray hair matched the tones of his eyes. A huge cigar hung from his lips. He stared intently at Derrick. Clapping his big hands together, he leaned forward. “What are we going to do when this enemy strikes?”

  Derrick took a puff and exhaled, blowing a thick white cloud of smoke into the air. “I don’t know. I didn’t sense anything last night. Nothing came across the radio.” He paused, blinked. “I found her though.”

  A gray eyebrow rose. “You did?”

  Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, I met Sonja.”

  A sigh came from the puma sitting on Derrick’s right. Michael, former CIA operative, dressed in a black short-sleeved button-down shirt and khaki pants. His shoes matched the color of his eyes. With hair trimmed all around, his dark skin indicated a Latin heritage. “You went into a brave scene, my friend.”

  Michael didn’t care for death metal. “Oh, it’s not that bad. Someday you’ll realize the similarities between jazz and death metal. She’s a real beauty.”

  “A dangerous one.” Michael’s South American accent came out. He narrowed his grayish purple eyes and ran a hand through cropped dark hair that matched the color of his shirt.

  Derrick took a sip of port, enjoying the raisin taste that coated his throat and paired with the cigar. “Yeah. She’s a little unstable with her power.”

  Puffing on his cigar, Rocky slumped into the chair. “That’s not good. She could do a lot of damage with that voice if our enemies get a hold of her.”

  “I know. I experienced that power firsthand last night.” He kept an eye on Max, watching him intently. He wasn’t about to tell any of them how her voice lured him toward her or that she found him safe. They’d be upset at the first bit, the latter, they’d laugh about.

  Max shifted comfortably in his chair and took a puff on his cigar. Dressed in black jeans and boots, he eyed Derrick in a very male, all-knowing way.

  “I didn’t say I fucked her.” Derrick cleared his throat.

  Eyes all around widened.

  Erick, the eldest puma shifter, sat across from Derrick. Long gray hair parted, showing a clear, wrinkled face with a Van Dyke beard. He narrowed his eyes. “Be careful with this one, but let her into your world.”

  Derrick could only nod and take another puff on his cigar. The statement elicited a curiosity that Derrick couldn’t ignore. Erick had always been the most prophetic of the elder pumas in the area. Prophetic was the only way to explain Erick’s manner. Everything about him seemed eerie, especially the words he spoke.

  “You’ll keep an eye on her then.” Rocky waved a hand to clear the smoke he’d just blown into the air. One leg crossed over the other, twitched nervously. “You’ll watch her for us.”

  Derrick’s mind raced back to the scenario last night in her dressing room. Curvy, clad only in underwear, and hair spilling over pale skin. Yeah, he’d watch that.

  Of course, her crying upset him, too.

  “Derrick.” Michael tapped the ash off his cigar. “Earth to Derrick.”

  Derrick shook his head and stared at Michael. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I was just distracted.”

  An elbow nudged his knee and irritated Derrick. “Got a secret, eh?” The wry smile Rocky gave him confirmed that, as much as he feared the witch, his mind had taken up permanent residence in the gutter.

  Not that he could blame him, but seeing the real thing, live and up close, was much better than all the discussion they had here with speculation and photographs.

  “She’s a very beautiful woman.” Derrick shifted his weight in the chair so that he sat at an angle while one arm dangled over the edge. Smoke billowed upward, adding to the rich scents in the room. “A very gorgeous creature indeed.”

  Then he blinked.

  Sonja stood in the doorway wearing a sexy-as-hell grin. Shoulders back, hands on luscious hips, confidence rolled off her in waves. So did attitude. “You forgot this.” She ran a finger down the black leather coat before it fell open to reveal a low-scooped top that pushed her breasts up and showed plenty of mouthwatering cleavage.

  Hair spilled out behind her and against the black of the coat.

  Before he even finished looking at her, his mouth went dry.

  A low whistle sounded from behind him.

  Derrick turned an irritated glare at Michael.

  “Ahem.” Her lips curled up in a half smile, pulling his attention back to her. “I thought about keeping it.” Her sultry voice pulled at his groin.

  Over my dead body. Though to have her wear only it… He arched a brow. “But you showed up here instead.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, my brother said I should check out my biggest fan in his natural habitat.”

  Derrick took a puff of his cigar and blew the smoke toward the closed door. Her behavior certainly differed from last night. He nodded, took another puff, let his eyes roam over her body. Yup, tight leather pants hugged those beautiful hips. That top needed to be just a tad shorter and he’d get another glimpse of her flat tummy.

  Of course, she wore boots.

  Go figure, right?

  He stood, hands itching to let the cigar drop and carry her off somewhere just so he could undress her and put his hands all over her, remembering the feel of her soft flesh against his.

  Of course, he’d love to yank those pants down, too, and find out if she wore the same black bra and panty set, or if she didn’t bother wearing anything at all.

  Everything about her clothes screamed her personality. Even the blood-red color of her hair falling down her back in ringlets said she embraced the culture she was part of.

  “So, you two had a moment last night, eh?” Michael failed to hide the innuendo from his words.

  Derrick glared at him. He took a puff off his cigar, blew a thick cloud of smoke at Michael, then stared back at Sonja. She brushed her hair back, exposing the line of her neck and pale flesh. “Excuse my friends. We don’t usually get a lot of women in the shop and they forget themselves.”

  She nodded, shifted her weight from hip to hip, keeping her gaze locked with his. “I understand. Most of our fans are…well, I wouldn’t expect to find any of them here.” She waved a hand.

  He snorted. “Yeah, mahogany and money aren’t what usually sustains the human race’s materialistic side. Not when the fans are…” He blinked. “Angry.”

  Her voice dipped a notch. “I imagine you know about our fans?”

  He set the cigar carefully in the groove of the ashtray beside him, let the ash fall off with a gentle tap, then brought the cigar back to his mouth before dragging in a puff and blowing a large cloud of smoke overhead. “Not yours per se, but I’m very familiar with the scene. I’m as much a rarity in your world as you are in mine.” He waved his free hand at the empty seat between Erick and himself. “Have a seat, stay a few?”

  Her smile widened slightly. “How do you figure you’re a rarity?”

  He gave her a feral grin
that bared the faintest hint of fang. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Rocky twitch. Good. Fucker needed to be scared once in a while.

  She leaned back and the leather creaked beneath her. What he wouldn’t give to be that leather, cupping her perfectly round ass. “Right. Safest amongst the humans, eh?”

  “Indeed. This lounge is one of the more shifter-friendly places, and a larger part of the crowd is usually shifters, but there are a number of humans who are regulars.”

  She tilted her head slightly, puckered plump, ruby lips together, and leaned forward. “And even rarer, as I assume your friends here aren’t into our music.”

  “I’ve never taken a poll, but I highly doubt it. Michael tends to lean more toward jazz, and the rest of these fuckers are old white men in every aspect.”

  Max snorted.

  Derrick shot him a look, then returned his attention to Sonja. “As much as I like class and sophistication, I do also enjoy getting down and dirty with my metal brethren.”

  “And sisters.” She bared teeth in her grin.

  The way the light hit her eyes really emphasized the glint in her blue-silver irises. Their oval shape suited her face, he decided. “I’ve had my share of fun.”

  “Just like all the other males.” She rolled her eyes and took his cigar from him. Bringing it to her lips, she took a puff, blew out a ring of smoke, and handed it back to him.

  He became all too aware of the taste of her once he took another puff of his cigar. Her flavor melded well with the Nicaraguan earthiness of the stick. He’d die to have another, more personal taste of her. “Brazen. Different from last night.” He paused for effect. “I like that.”

  “Indeed you do. My onstage persona and who I am offstage are just different enough that the fans won’t think I’d really eat their heads when I scream. So…” She shrugged out of his coat and let it fall against the back of the leather chair. “I assume you want this back.”

  Derrick stretched his legs out. His body tightened, muscles primed with the urge to carry out the very sensual threat the big cat in him wanted to make: to lick and lap at her folds, kiss and caress her, learn her, possess her.