Page 36 of Vengeful Melodies

But I only see her.

Dreya.

Bathed in red light. Breathing heavy.

Eyes wide.

Like she’s seen a ghost… or become one.

And I know—we just gave her our souls in song.

Now the question is:

Will she keep them…

Or destroy us all?

My vision blurs as I lose sight of the woman who stole my very breath. The last glimpse of her is facing Alix with a smile that could melt steel—more goddess than woman.

She slides down from the throne and moves to sit beside him, her presence both grounding and incendiary. Together, they reign over my stage like royalty—commanding every inch with silent authority.

The next songs bleed into one another as I try—and fail—to catch another glimpse of her behind me.

Once the last drumbeat fades, I’m swept away backstage—where the air is thick with sweat and perfume, the sharp sting of alcohol, and the low hum of money and expectation waiting for its moment.

Chapter Fourteen

Alix

The final note dies, but the storm in me only gets louder. My skin buzzes like I’ve been wired to a live current, every nerve lit up, every heartbeat punching raw against my ribs. The roar of the crowd dulls to a muffled pulse, stage lights burning like interrogation lamps in my peripheral, but all I see is her.

Dreya.

Flushed, breathing ragged, eyes black with something dangerous. The heat rolling off her is a weapon, slicing through the space between us until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t fucking wait.

I grip her hips hard enough to bruise and drag her into me, swallowing the small gasp she makes as my mouth claims hers. Not a kiss—a collision. My teeth catch her bottom lip, biting until I taste her, copper and salt bleeding into the sweetness of herchapstick. The taste is filthy and perfect, and it floods my veins like poison I’d gladly take again and again.

She doesn’t give in—she bites back. Nails rake my scalp, a sting that makes me groan low and dark into her mouth. Her tongue tangles with mine, hot and slick, a fight for control I have no intention of losing. My hands shove beneath her shirt, greedy, taking, mapping the slick heat of her skin.

The rest of the world ceases to exist. No stage, no fans, no eyes watching—just the two of us locked in something too sharp to be safe. She tastes like sin, like fire, like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make twice.

She breaks just far enough to breathe, eyes catching mine with a feral light, and whispers, “I want you.”

That’s it. The threadsnaps.

I drag her off the stage and into the chaos behind the curtain—past startled crew, past cold glares—but nothing can touch us. We’re not walking. We’re burning. And God help anything that gets in our way.

The second the RV door thuds shut, it’s like the air gets sucked out of the space.

I’ve been holding back all night, and now there’s nothing between me and the only thing I want.

Dreya’s pressed against the couch before she can even breathe, my hands on her hips, dragging her skirt up over those thighs like I’m peeling back wrapping paper. The black fishnets bite into my palms, her skin already warm, her scent already dripping in the air between us. She’s wearing our band shirt—cut low, stretched just enough to show a perfect line of cleavage. It’s so fucking hot I could rip it in half.

I drop to my knees in front of her, pushing her legs open until the fishnets stretch and threaten to tear. The black thong’s already wet, slick to the touch, and I grin against it before biting the band and dragging it down slow.

“Look at you,” I murmur, eyes on hers as I toss the thong aside. “Wet for me before I even touched you.”

She shivers when I run my tongue up the inside of her thigh, stopping just shy of her center. Then I bury my face there—tongue flattening, lips sucking, teeth scraping—until her hips jerk and her fingers clutch at my hair like she’s drowning. I lap her up like she’s the first meal I’ve had in weeks, sucking her clit into my mouth and flicking it hard, dragging her higher with every pass.