Chapter 10: Blood Heat - Hunger & Harmony

Something rich and slow breaks the silence. Something aching.

My head hasn’t stopped spinning since the shoot ended. I’m still not sure when I got to the hotel, let alone this hallway. All the stylists’ hard work is gone; my mascara smudged, my hair deflated, and only sheer, black tights shielding my feet as I wander. At least Niko's jacket remains warm on my frame.

I peer around as another note floats through the air.

Guitar.

Rougher than any polished sound on stage, these strings sing a private tune. Raw.

It draws me in, tugging me forward by a thread from my heart. Around a corner, up a short flight of steps, and out into the last gasps of the night. I hold his jacket around me tightly. A stark breeze runs through my hair, the rooftop balcony open and dim.

There, bathed in the soft glow of a hanging light, is Niko. With his head bent over an acoustic guitar, and his fingers moving by memory. No mic and no fangs. No fame, either.

I pause at the entrance. Not just to let this image burn into my mind.

The wrong notes. They sing alongside his hands, not dull or grating. They soften, now in harmony with the guitar strings. Shifting around Niko, the wrong notes settle and are made anew.

It’s not that they disappear. It’s that they fit. For the first time, the wrongness sounds right.

One step closer. It’s all I need to not interrupt, but feel it fully. Even my heart beats in time with the steady tap of his shoe.

When his eyes finally lift, they meet mine across the dark. I expect the spell to shatter, and the illusion to fade, but it doesn’t. His soft gaze lingers for only a moment before he returns his attention to the cherry wood guitar.

“How . . .” I start, my whisper lost to the music.

He responds like he heard me clearly. Heard things I didn’t say.

“I don’t play like this when someone’s listening.”

A smile touches my lips. I turn my gaze to the horizon, and the sun that’s waking in the east.

“I’m not just someone.”

He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t have to, even if I want to hear it.

The music trails off, and the guitar is promptly placed to his side. I give him my full attention when he rises from the bench and steps towards me.

“I don’t know what it is,” I say, voice quiet and honest.

Each step he takes is deliberate. To the beat of a song only we can hear. He stops just short of touching me, and I will my hands not to react. An amber glow spills over the horizon, and warmth reaches for him, fatal as it caresses his features. My heart skips a beat as the dawn illuminates his pale skin in iridescent fractals.

“But that was different,” I continue. “Like what others describe when they hear you.”

“It isn’t the music,” he says, and my brows furrow in confusion.

His cool touch suddenly smooths over my eyebrows, a whisper of amusement on his illuminated face.

“You are different.”

Just like that, he’s gone. He brushes past me with no smirk or swagger, disappearing into the dark corridor without another word.

My hand flies up to my chest, pressing against my heart. He’s carved something in there, made from gravity and heat. The feeling is too visceral. I know I’m not dreaming.

I don’t move from where I stand, breathless as my eyes turn from his guitar to the brightening sky.

* * *

Sweat dries to the back of my neck. I’m pretty sure I’ve redone my ponytail over three times in the past hour. At least I got a solid seven hours of sleep before this show because it’s been brutal.

In the best way. The heaviness eased, even for only a few hours. Ezren’s drumsticks were flying, and I’ve never seen Selene so deep in the music. Even Ryel went all out, and promptly fell upon eager groupies after the show.

Everyone’s exhausted, but at least it feels earned. Like a victory. And wow, have we been needing one of those.

It’s also been a nice distraction. A reason to face Niko without having to process all that’s happened. Not that I’ve once stopped thinking about the wrong notes sounding right on his guitar. Or the way he looked in the morning light.

I take another swig of water before continuing my rounds. We’ll be heading back to the hotel soon, and tomorrow, we’re off to Velhollow. It’s further northeast, but the shortest drive of the entire tour. I’m looking forward to less anxiety and a quieter city.

All around me, backstage staff wrap up. There’s a hushed peace back here after a show. The echoes of groaning equipment, tired chatter, and footsteps create a different kind of music. It’s one I’ve come to appreciate. Without Arteria, or even Niko, I would choose this job again.

I move into the dressing areas, my hand turning the knob of the first door without thinking. Really, I should know better. It’s in the job description to be respectful and knock. But I didn’t, and I can’t say I regret it completely.

The post-concert buzz still hums in this dressing room, though quieter. Only one lamp glows golden near the leather couch. It acts as a personal spotlight, Niko shining even off-stage.

His makeup has been scrubbed away, and his dark hair falls in damp strands over his eyes. He lies half-sprawled across velvet cushions, black shirt half-unbuttoned and boots confidently planted miles apart on the vinyl floor. He looks wrecked, regal, and dangerous in a way I’m not used to.

I swallow hard when his half-lidded eyes find me—a king unmade.

Jitters rush through me. I’m ridiculously alert when shy, and that’s why I hate it. Why are nerves fluttering in my stomach? This isn’t anything I haven’t seen. If anything, we’ve been closer than this.

“Water?” I ask, raising the bottle in my hand.

“Hmm?”

Wow. His voice is an octave lower, even just humming. The distance between us becomes all the more prominent. Or maybe how easily we could close it.

“Oh, wait.”

Glancing at the water, I then awkwardly toss it onto the vanity. It bounces off the glass top, catapulting onto the floor to then roll to my shoes. I grimace and gently kick it to the side.

“Sorry, you don’t drink water,” I say with a stupid laugh tacked onto the end.

Ugh, why am I acting like this? And why won’t he say anything? He’s just staring at me. With a hazy smirk and an intensity that reminds me of the first day we met, no less. Instead of insulting me, he challenges me with charged silence.

“Anything I can get you? Blood?” I ask after clearing my throat.

“Mmm . . .”

When he shrugs, I find myself running out of options to stay.

“Mystery flavor juice box?” I try with an awkward grin.

That earns the tiniest smile. Barely there, and gone before I can believe it happened.

“Well, uh . . .”

Shit. Not even a joke will crack him. My eyes search and search until I spot a towel. I snatch the white cloth off the hook before hurrying across the room.

“Here, I can help you⁠—”

I’m standing right in front of him when I feel it. It freezes me in place. Goosebumps burst over my skin, and I stare down at Niko wordlessly, standing still between his long legs.

The precise sting doesn’t frighten me. Phantom fangs hover over my neck, but I don’t want the touch so faint anymore. I move closer.

His eyes burn into mine. Burgundy brightens into crimson, and I swear, I can see my wanting expression in his blown pupils. He’s warning me. I know he is. But I choose this; I want this.

Forgetting the towel entirely, I let it drop to the floor. What’s the point in pretending? My fingers reach for him on their own now, stopping just short of his chest to adjust his open collar.

“You shouldn’t.”

His hand catches my wrist. Not to stop me, despite his words. He says that, but he holds me like an anchor. Not pushing me away, but pulling in closer. Is he truly telling me to stop? Or himself?

“Why not?” I whisper.

“Cadence.”

Is that the first time my name has been on his tongue? It’s never sounded like that before. Like a lyric. A warning. A plea.

I’m getting greedier. So is the pressure between my hips.

Before my rational mind can catch up, my fingertips brush the edge of his collarbone, right where marble meets silk. His shirt is cool, but his skin is colder. And under my touch? A shiver visibly rolls through his lean form.

He lets out a low, broken sound. Not quite a laugh, and not quite a growl. I move my thumb across his collarbone, slow and deliberate. The heat spikes. I swear, steam hisses where our skin meets.

With a short curse under his breath, Niko’s grip on my wrist tightens before he swiftly flips our position. My eyes fly open when I realize he’s on top of me, my control dissolving as he leans in.

“This is why not.”

The air leaves my lungs. What replaces it is his intoxicating cologne. If he leans in an inch, maybe less, our foreheads would touch. A single tilt of my chin, and my lips would meet his.

He doesn’t. Neither do I.

Not before there’s a knock at the door.

“Your Majesty!” Lorelai hollers from behind the thin wood. “We’re loading up soon.”

As quickly as it happened, he’s releasing me like it never did. His irises dissolve back to their darker hue, and he shrugs on his mask again in one fluid movement. Niko makes way for King Niklaus.

“Noted,” he says back to her, and there’s only a couple of seconds before her shoes squeak into the distance.

I squirm where I sit, still aching for more as he turns from me. At this point, I’m not even too proud to beg.

But I swear I hear him. Just under his breath, or maybe only an echo between wrong notes, a whisper lingers long after he’s left the dressing room.

“You’ll be my undoing.”