Page 7 of The Demon’s Sinful Serenade (Silvermist Mates #6)

I caught Zane's eye and tilted my head toward the quieter back area he'd been leading me to before our collision. He nodded but stayed put, continuing his phone conversation as I slipped away to a corner near the stacked kegs.

My fingers drummed against my thigh as I ran through my set list mentally, trying to focus on my breathing and push down the familiar pre-performance anxiety.

But my thoughts kept circling back to the shadow-figure, to the electrical issues at the cottage, to the way my career had been systematically destroyed by incidents no one believed were real.

What if something goes wrong again? What if this keeps happening every time I try to perform? What if Zane stops believing me?

That last thought hit harder than it should have. I'd only known him for a day, but the idea of him looking at me with the same skeptical dismissal I'd gotten from venue owners and former bandmates made my chest tight with panic.

Why does his opinion matter so much?

But I knew why. Because for the first time in a year, someone was taking me seriously. He was the last line between me and complete insanity. If even a demon bodyguard thought I was making things up for attention, what hope did I have?

"Everything okay with Poppy?"

I jumped as Zane appeared suddenly at the edge of my hiding spot, my heart doing a weird stutter-skip in my chest. "Shit, don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry." He didn't sound particularly sorry. "You looked like you were a million miles away."

"Just thinking about the set." I fidgeted with my guitar pick, avoiding his gaze. "I like having a few minutes to myself before I perform. Helps with nerves."

Zane nodded, but made no move to leave. Instead, he stepped closer, further into my private space. The scent of smoke and steel enveloped me, and I found myself breathing deeper to capture more of it. "I can help with nerves too."

"By hovering six inches away from me at all times?" I shot back. "You don't have to shadow me every second."

"Actually, I do." A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. "That's literally the job description."

"The job ," I repeated, something twisting in my chest at the word. "Right."

"River—"

"No, you're absolutely right. You're being paid to keep me alive, not to be my friend or..." I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Not sure what I'd been hoping for.

"Or what?"

The question hung between us, loaded with possibility and danger in equal measure. I should have deflected with a joke. Should have changed the subject. Should have maintained the professional distance he was clearly trying to establish.

Instead, I stood up and closed the space between us.

"This," I said, and kissed him.

For a split second, he went completely still. Then, with a groan low in his throat, he reached for me. His mouth was hot, impossibly hot, and I melted into him, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

His fingers tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss, biting my lower lip hard enough to sting. His tongue pressed into my mouth, claiming. Demanding. Pleasure bloomed wherever he touched, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

My hands skimmed over his muscular chest and up along his collarbones. His skin was hot beneath my touch, even through his shirt. I wanted more. All. Every inch of him.

The sheer intensity frightened me. I broke away abruptly, gasping for air.

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered, stepping back. "That was unprofessional. You're working, and I'm your client, and there should be boundaries, and?—"

"River." His voice was rough, his eyes burning.

"No, really, I shouldn't have done that." I backed away further, nearly tripping over a box. "I need to use the bathroom. Alone. I'll be right back."

I didn't look back to see his reaction. I couldn't. My heart was pounding too hard, my thoughts racing too fast. What had I been thinking? I'd hired him to protect me, not to?—

Not to what? Make you feel alive again?

I pushed through the bathroom door and leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the spotted mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my lips slightly swollen from the kiss. I looked... different. Bright in a way I hadn't been in a long time.

It was just a kiss. A mistake born of stress and proximity. Nothing more.

But it hadn't felt like just a kiss. It had felt like... like something clicking into place. Like a key turning in a lock I hadn't known existed.

I turned on the cold water and splashed my face, trying to cool the heat that still lingered on my skin. As I reached for a paper towel, the overhead lights flickered once, twice.

A chill rolled down my spine.

No. Not here. Not now.

I stared at my reflection, watching as the lights continued to stutter. Behind me, at the far end of the bathroom, a shadow moved where no shadow should be.

I whirled around, heart in my throat, just as the lights went out completely. The emergency lights kicked on a second later, bathing everything in a sickly red glow.

And there he was.

Standing at the end of the row of stalls, watching me with the same manic focus he'd always had on stage. The same dark eyes, the same lean frame, the same messy hair that fell across his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back.

Julian.

A scream tore from my throat as he turned toward me, his face a blur in the red light.

The bathroom door burst open, and Zane charged in, crouching beside me in an instant. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I pointed a shaking finger toward the end of the bathroom. "There?—"

The lights flickered back on, harsh fluorescence flooding the room. Julian was gone, but the afterimage of him burned in my vision, as real as the sink beneath my white-knuckled grip.

"Tell me you saw it, too," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Tell me I'm not crazy."

Zane nodded slowly, his expression grim. "Who was that?"

I wasn't imagining things. I wasn't losing my mind.

"Julian Rathaway. The Rath to my River." I forced myself to meet Zane's eyes. "Only... he's been dead a year."