Page 33 of Vengeful Melodies

Crimson floods the stage, thick smoke curling like ghostly fingers around towering gothic spires—blackened angel wings, shattered stained glass, rattling chains like whispered curses.

Four silhouettes emerge from the haze.

Alix, behind his throne of drums, eyes locking onto mine—green and glittering with secrets I can’t name.

Sebastian, guitar slung low, a wicked smile playing on his lips, full of danger and promise.

The bassist Kaiser, tall and brooding, tattoos crawling up his neck like thorned vines.

And then Takoa. The lead singer. His presence so sharp it scrapes the air itself.

Shirtless, inked, his long black hair falling over his face until he steps into the red light.

Veins pulse on his hands as he lifts the mic.

“Tonight,” he says, voice velvet-wrapped steel, “we were told someone special was in the crowd.”

His eyes find me.

He says my name.

The crowd gasps, heads whipping my way, buzzing with jealous hunger.

My soul stutters.

Wren squeezes my hand once before placing it in Takoa’s.

I’m led onto the black-glass stage—part lamb to slaughter, part queen ascending her throne.

Takoa pulls me close, lips brushing my ear as the lights cut to black.

“Let’s begin.”

Chapter Thirteen

Takoa

The woman before me isn’t real.

She’s something conjured—summoned straight from the dark dreams that haunt me between tour stops and sleepless nights. A divine torment sent by gods I’ve long since spat on, now laughing in my face as she stands here… on my stage.

Our stage.

How the fuck are we supposed to perform with her here—when even the air around her hums like a war drum, thick with tension and the sharp tang of sweat and burnt guitar strings?

Her hand in mine is warm, grounding, and cruel all at once. I grip it tighter than I should before releasing it, like a secret I’m not ready to share.

Kaiser steps forward, masked in shadow, his grin dark and dangerous—like the Devil courting a sinner. The spotlight follows them as he spins her across the stage. She laughs—God,she laughs—and it’s a raw, wild sound that slices through the electric haze.

The crowd loses their minds.

But I lose something deeper.

Her laugh strikes me sharper than any drug I’ve ever pushed into my veins. It twists something raw and aching inside me—something ancient and forbidden.

She’s not just a muse.

She’s a curse.