TROY

I can’t say I had a good night’s sleep, but the hours I got were fine. It’s weird how a king-sized bed doesn’t usually make me wish someone else was there with me. It did last night.

Troll calls the hotel phone when I don’t pick up my cell. I was in the shower for Christ’s sake. He should know by now: drummers don’t do “late” if we can avoid it, and he should stop obsessing. Last night’s concert being the exception. Okay, I get it.

“I’m up,” I say before he can talk.

“Good. We’re paparazzied out this morning, so the hotel’s serving band breakfast in a ballroom on the thirteenth floor.”

“Doesn’t sound very lucky,” I say, teasing his superstitious side.

“Room thirteen thirteen in thirteen minutes sharp,” he barks, “and no, I don’t want to hear it. Okay, take fifteen to get there if you must.”

He doesn’t see the humor in any of that. I chuckle as I return to the bathroom and get dressed.

Still on a high after Aishe’s kiss, I arrive to the ballroom in good spirits. I scan the room and find her in three seconds flat. She’s wearing one of her beautiful skirts, long, silky, flashy, billowy, in the same red color of her lipstick. Oh hell, she is breathtaking.

She usually wears peacock feathers in her hair with similar earrings, but when I look now, the ones scattered throughout are in red and gold, like her skirt and the bangles that almost reach her elbows.

She sways to her feet, not having seen me yet. Letting out a laugh at something Waris says, she nods and lifts two fingers. “A couple, then?”

“Yes, please.”

I give Emil my Pow! with an imaginary gun, which he returns in greeting. Hailey’s at the table behind him with Irene and Rob. There’s no doubt the daggers she’s staring are aimed at me.

I leave my iPhone at the empty place next to Aishe’s seat and amble up to her by the egg section. She’s adding two turkey patties onto a plate. My guess, the two fingers she held up for Waris must be involved.

“Two, huh? Goodness,” I murmur from behind, startling her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I put a hand on her shoulder, but she instantly slinks away.

“They’re for Waris,” she says, not meeting my eyes.

“I was just kidding.” She knows me well enough, so I didn’t need to say that. When she doesn’t respond, the lightness I’ve felt all morning sinks with the realization that what happened between us before bed is moot today.

“Gotta take this to Waris.” With that, she returns to her friend and sits down. Waris sends her a quizzical look, asking something I can’t hear. Aishe shakes her head and picks up her coffee.

I take a deep breath, trying to curb my disappointment. Once I’ve gathered my breakfast shit, tater tots, scrambled eggs and tons of so-so bacon, I snatch up a biscuit too and seat myself next to her. A waitress comes by instantly and pours coffee. Do I want cream with that? Yes, I do. And sugar? No, and please leave us, all of you.

Bo’s to my left. We do a half-assed handshake of the kindergarten type in my old neighborhood. It always makes for a grin. But to my right, Aishe isn’t facing me. She isn’t facing the table either. Her shoulder is high, curved in a buffer against me while she angles toward Waris in deep conversation. Elias sends a confused stare between them.

I have so much I want to say to her. So many words of encouragement, a stroke of her cheek, always, always a sorry, but she’s not leaving herself open. I’d like to make her laugh.

I power down my food. Drink my coffee and get another refill with offer of cream-no-sugar because by now the waitress knows. I accept. Do I want a to-go cup? I do—but how big do I want it? Fucking huge, and please mix something into it.

Aishe leaves while I’m waiting for my to-go cup. She sends an absent wave over her shoulder, with a murmured, “Later.”

I’m like this obsessed douche stalking to the bus with all my earthly remains as soon as I fucking can after that.

“She’ll never forgive me,” I tell Zoe out of nowhere while we climb on the bus.

“Aishe?”

I bob my head, shutting my eyes for having said anything at all.

“Dude, she was the one who came to the video shoot in the first place. Of course she’ll forgive you. She knows it wasn’t you who decided to do that, even if Isaias has the tongue of a lounge lizard and can talk you into anything. It wasn’t. You.”

I feel my jaw clench in horror; Zoe still has no idea. This little spat would’ve become a whole lot worse if Zoe knew about… The Hotel Room.

“You’re right,” I say and slap hands with the bus driver. “Just being ridic.”

“Do you want me to talk to her about it?” Zoe’s eyes are full of compassion.

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows at her, making her laugh.

“Is that a no?”

“We’re both grownups, I believe. I’ll let you know if I end up needing you to deliver a note, though.”

The two legitimate couples on this bus take turns in the back lounge. In no way could Waris and Elias impose on that sleeping arrangement, and even less could I, with… say, Aishe. I shake that hope off like the space debris it is.

Management has been discussing two star buses with Accounting, but we’re not that desperate. We’ve done well in one-man bunks for ages, and if the couples can sneak in bus nights here and there between hotel nights, people are content. More often than not, Emil and Zoe give up their nights to Nadia and Bo anyway due to Selena. That baby was all but born on the bus and sleeps like a rock as long as it moves, but it’s not ideal to have her crib in the narrow walkway of the main bunk area.

Tonight isn’t a peaceful night, though. You’d have thought that after a hotel night, Zoe and Emil would’ve kept it down, but they’re quietly grunting themselves into fulfillment in Emil’s bunk, while Selena’s calling out for her mommy in the back lounge.

The only missing disturbance is exactly what’s happening in this minute: Elias shout-whispering for Waris, and I quote, “to get her ass upstairs.” Yes, he has the top bunk across from Emil. Waris is at the bottom bunk across from us, and Aishe is below me. I sigh as painted toes carefully grasp on to the edge of my bed, moving Waris upward.

Obviously, there will be a lot of hushed snickering and so-called unassuming moans going on for the next hour. I want to stab myself knowing the girl of my dreams lies just a step down and she hasn’t as much as acknowledged my presence during this eight-hour drive so far. Not that I would do that to her. Bring her up to me. Embrace her. Feel her naked skin slide over my own. Make her feel amazing, loved, exquisite. Also, who am I kidding?

Three more hours, and we’re in Cleveland. Why the fuck is no one sleeping? Except Aishe. She’s sleeping, of course. I’d like to have a cup of tea with her—whatever. We’d just sit up front in the kitchen area. I’d steep some good brew for her and add sugar to her liking.

I’d watch the goddamn long-haul trucks roar by us while we chatted about nothing. It doesn’t even matter with her.

I’d comfort her. I’d laugh with her, and I’d make her soar with pleasure for nights on end if she wanted me to. Aishe. This freaking girl.

Above me, Elias starts on his whispered flirting with Waris. Soon, he’s cursing out an under-his-breath, happy surprise, then choking on whatever unmentionable awesomeness she’s performing on him.

It’s not intentional the way my arm droops over the side of my bunk. It’s reacting to gravity, though I admit to usually keeping my limbs within the frame of my mattress. But when the palm of a small hand centers against mine, fingers entwining with my own, I close my eyes and think that this night isn’t so bad after all.

AISHE

Settling into our hotel in Cleveland, my body is still buzzing. It’s the need of my ancestors, the passion, the desire I was supposed to have lost. There’s no such thing as “the love fire” I’d told myself a year ago. That was after what I felt for Emil Vinter turned out to be a hoax of the mind.

Today has been tough. So tough I almost wish I’d been on the crew bus, even subjected to Hailey. It started with Troy entering the breakfast area in Boston, eyes shining with memories of only a few hours ago.

Cold showers were for men, I thought. Men full of desire after a girl had left them high and dry. And yet here I am, leaving myself high and dry.

I’m burning again, Troy.

I turn on the faucet, letting the icy cold water splash the tiles. Undressing, I stare at myself in the mirror, find my feral self, seeing me like my family would, another woman lost to the woods.

I rake my fingers through my hair for some illusion of civilized. But then I’m not civilized anymore, and they snag halfway down. I’ll wash it. Massage in tons of conditioner. Once I’m done, nobody can see how wild my heart is.

As I prowl into bed naked like a cavewoman, I run my hands over my body. He’s there, in my mind, and he doesn’t want to leave me alone. He, of all people, should guess how I am.

He’s seen me at my worst.

He’s seen what it’s like when you let the wild cat out of her cage.

If I can’t stop, I’ll be sucking him in, devouring him like I did Emil, and despite the past Troy doesn’t deserve that.

I sigh my way through visions of him, of what I’d do to him, of what he’d do to me. I feel him deep inside of me like it was yesterday, but when I drop over the edge to ecstasy, it’s his eyes full of love and sadness I see.

I’ve shut my room down, two sets of curtains drawn and door double-locked. It’s early. Troll had arranged a common dinner for everyone, but I backed out with the excuse of a headache.

I pull a thick pillow between my legs. Embrace another pillow and burrow my face in its sterile cleanliness. For now, I’ve dulled the fire, but all I can think of are safari green eyes dimming with the realization I want nothing to do with him.

Don’t you see it’s for the best?

I blink tears of confusion into the fabric. I’m a screwed-up person, and normal people should stay away from me. The only one I can be safe with is my cousin, and Shandor is on the other side of the world with a different band. I haven’t even told him I’m back with Clown Irruption after what happened. When he finds out, he’ll throw a fit worthy of history books.

There’s a privacy-please sign hanging on my door. Troy knocks anyway.

“Can’t you read?” I try to sound mean through the door crack, but it’s moot when your voice breaks and your lip trembles.

“Can I come in?” His voice could melt stone. It melts me. I pull my nightie over my head.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say like we’re writing a Mexican soap. At the back of my dark mind, there’s still humor, because I half expect him to reply, Marianela, there is nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Where should I be, then?” he asks instead, and that’s good enough for me.

I don’t look at him as I plod back to my bed. “I’m a werewolf,” I say, serious.

I’m not surprised when he has to suppress his laughter behind me. He’s not doing a very good job of it either.

“Does it help at all to know you’re the most beautiful werewolf I’ve ever seen, and if you’re a shifter, maybe we could agree that you’re a werecat?”

“Where did that come from?” I thump back on my bed.

Again, like in some telenovela, Troy pulls up a chair and sits next to me with his hands folded.

“Also, you wouldn’t know the level of pretty in werewolves,” I mutter. “I’m about midrange, actually, among my tribe.”

He rolls his eyes, which is of course outrageously sexy on him. The man is heating me up under the covers without even touching me, and it’s frustrating as hell, so of course I start to cry.

“Aishe. Please, talk to me. What’s going on with you?” He leans forward and cups my cheek. His warmth floods me, skewering my body over the bonfire like some piglet.

“Don’t touch me!”

He reels back, the legs of his chair creaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” In my peripheral, his gaze widens with guilt. “Aishe, forgive me. I didn’t know.”

I curl up on my side, pressing my legs together against the heat spreading for him. Cinnamon and Artemisia attack me in beautiful tendrils, making me sob.

“Fuck. I so want to comfort you right now. What did I do?”

“It’s not you,” I gasp into my pillow. “Or no. It is you. You should have known better than to be around me all the time and be nice and sweet. I hate what you’re doing to me.”

“What am I doing to you?”

I breathe through pursed lips, trying to keep it together. “You make me forget who I am.”

“If you forget who you are, just ask me. Because I will never forget.”

“No, you don’t understand. You are forgetting, and that is worse than me forgetting. Remember what I did to Emil?” The question is a wrecking ball I shouldn’t have set in motion.

“Oh we’re back to that?” His compassion causes me to tremble. This pressure inside me, it’s so big, I can hardly hold it in anymore.

“Emil made his own stupid choices back then. Not to mention how that’s all long past. Look at Zoe and him now.”

“Yes, for them it is. I wish it was for me too—look at how I get when I’m obsessed with someone. You were there. You saw me. When I have it, when the love fire takes over, I’m just its weapon, and I can’t get away from it. I’ve been good for a year. A whole year!”

“And now you’re a werecat?” He angles his head sideways to take me in better, and I crave that kindness, every cell of his Troyness. I’ve only been on tour with them for days, and already I’m consumed with him. How did I not see him on the first tour? Thank God I didn’t see him on the first tour!

“You make it sound cute and funny, while in reality, I’m dangerous. I become something dark and bad, and all I want, all the time, is that person. That one person.”

“Dark,” he repeats, that small wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “Bad?” A glitter of playfulness floats through his gaze. “I’d like to be the recipient of your bad.”

I swallow my hiccough.

Troy cocks his head, a sharpened squint homing in on me. “Wait. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me, because you’re afraid I’m that?”

“Afraid you’re what?” I ask to gain time, hoping he won’t put me on the spot. My truth is too brittle today, too easy to retch up.

“That I’m the person who makes you burn.”