Page 27 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

27

ERICA

“ P lease, welcome Ms. Erica Connors!”

The announcer’s voice used to send nerves crawling under my skin and twist my stomach into knots. Tonight, it fuels me. Confidence surges through my soul, electrifying every inch of me. I’m ready to let go, to pound the keys, and pour my heart into every note.

Maybe it’s this fresh start, the promise of something bigger. Maybe it’s Alfred Jenkins, sitting in the audience like a silent promise, a door swinging open to a future I’ve only dreamed about until now. Whatever the reason, the usual tension isn’t there.

I lift my gaze as the spotlight warms my skin, scanning the crowd before bowing. I spot Jenkins, lanky and sharp-eyed, right where he promised he’d be. A dozen feet away, watching. Evaluating.

I scan the rest of the room until… a few tables back, beer bottle in hand, shoulders tense beneath a tight fitting gray shirt, Sam. My pulse stumbles. I never expected to see him in Michelle’s again. After our last encounter I thought he’d never set foot here, or near me, again. Yet, there he is.

His eyes are dark, unreadable, but locked on me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. Sam isn’t one to lurk in shadows. He’s a blunt force of nature, refusing to be ignored. Why is he here? Why tonight? Why stay in the back? Does he miss me? Maybe he misses the music?

The questions linger, coiling around my thoughts as I sit at the piano and let my fingers find their rhythm. Song after song, I lose myself in the music, pouring every ounce of feeling into each note, every lyric.

When the final chords fade into the air, my knuckles ache, my throat is raw, and my legs scream for movement. But my heart? My heart is still singing, still soaring.

I rise, breathless, as the crowd erupts into a standing ovation. Their energy crashes over, lifting and filling me. A grin stretches across my face, unstoppable. And then, a voice in my head whispers?—

Imagine this on a grander scale. Madison Square Garden. The Rose Bowl, maybe?

For the first time, it doesn’t feel impossible.

Oh my God…

Those were my childhood dreams. So big they felt more like fairytales. All the years I spent gripping a hairbrush like a microphone, pretending I was singing to tens of thousands, feeling the rush of an imaginary crowd. Tonight, it doesn’t feel at all imaginary.

A voice in my head warns, You’re getting ahead of yourself. Maybe I am. I’ve skipped over one crucial step. The part where one of my songs blows the world away, but the belief sits deep in my bones, unshakable. I feel it. Success isn’t a distant mirage anymore. It’s close. So close I can taste it.

I wave ‘goodnight’, my heart still soaring as I step away from the piano, basking in the afterglow of the captivated audience. My heels click against the worn floorboards as I head toward the hallway outside my dressing room, my thoughts filled with the vision of packed stadiums.

Someone shoves my shoulder, sharp and painful, making me stumble. My breath catches as an enormous figure barrels past me. Heat prickles up my spine, burning the rising fear. I don’t need to see his face. I know that build. That stride. That presence.

Sam.

He doesn’t stop or glance back. Twenty feet ahead his long strides slow, shifting into purposeful steps. His broad shoulders rise and fall with controlled breaths, his index finger taps the side of his nose.

“Shhh…,” he hisses with a finger to his lips.

Both a warning and a quiet command. He grabs the dressing room door handle and time slows to a crawl. A click. A shove. The door swings open hard enough it smacks against the wall. A sharp hiss cuts through the air, but it’s not from Sam.

Someone is in there. My pulse slams against my ribs as I quicken my pace, heart hammering, breath shallow.

What the hell is going on in my dressing room?

I hesitate, hearing the sounds of fighting. I should turn, run, get help. Call what passes for security, which isn’t much, but I don’t. I’m drawn inexorably forward. Stepping inside, I see Sam. He’s locked in a violent struggle with the intruder.

They hit the floor hard, rolling, limbs tangling. Sam slams his fist into the stranger’s ribs and he grunts in pain. In a fluid, ruthless motion, Sam pins the man beneath him, his arm hooked around the strangers throat.

I take a step forward, pulse pounding. Then four fangs flash in the dim light.

A vampire.

Ice floods my veins as my stomach lurches. Sam doesn’t hesitate. He yanks the vampire’s head up then slams it against the hardwood floor. The force of the impact reverberates through the room. Once. Twice. Again. Each sickening thud drowns out the monster’s guttural snarls.

Sam lets go of the vampire’s throat and drives his fist straight into his jaw. The creature’s head rolls sideways with the force of the brutal punch.

“Alcohol, Erica!” Sam barks, his voice a beastly growl. His knuckles flex, readying another blow as he leans in, lips curling back from his teeth. “Who sent you, you fucking prick? Tell me, and I’ll make this quick.”

A twisted smirk splits the vampire’s battered face. His legs thrash, boots kicking against the wall.

“Nobody,” he sneers, fangs glistening with his own blood. “She’s finer than French wine, don’t you think? I couldn’t help myself.”

A sickening wave of revulsion hits hard and fast. I wretch as I yank open the cabinet next to my dressing mirror. Hands shaking, I grab a pink bottle of makeup cleaner. The alcohol fumes fill the air as I unscrew the cap. Behind me, Sam’s fists rain down like sledgehammers, pounding on the vampire’s skull. The sickening cracks don’t sound like a fistfight, they’re the sound of someone demolishing a wall with brute force. I throw the alcohol straight onto the vampire’s face.

He doesn’t have the strength to spit it out. His body jerks, a strangled hiss escaping his lips, or what’s left of them. Sam’s final punch rips his upper lip clean off.

My heart races so hard it hurts, but I can’t look away. Sam is breathing hard, knuckles bloodied, shoulders heaving. And the vampire? He’s barely moving.

Sam growls, a low rumble. His eyes are burning red as he rises from the floor. He moves with a sharp, precise intensity, reaching into his pocket. Without a word he snatches the empty bottle from my fingers.

My breath catches as he circles the barely conscious vampire before dropping to his knees beside him. Then, without hesitation, he shoves the bottle between the bastard’s fangs and flicks open a silver lighter. The flame leaps to life.

The vampire doesn’t have time to scream before the fire engulfs him. It races over his face and arms. Devouring fabric and flesh alike. The acrid stench of burning meat clogs my throat, but before I can react, something even more unnatural happens.

He doesn’t burn like a man. No melted skin and exposed bones. Instead, his entire body suddenly collapses into black ash, leaving a powdery outline where he was. It happens in less than a minute. I stare at the scorched floor, horror and awe warring.

“H-how…?” My voice barely escapes my lips. I turn to Sam, reeling. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t at first,” he says, clenching his jaw and shaking his head. “I was leaving when I smelled him.”

His words knock some sense back into me, but my pulse is erratic, my body trembling with the aftermath of shock, adrenaline, and fear.

“Then why were you here?” The wobble in my voice betrays me. “After…I thought I’d never see you… not here… not again.”

His gaze flickers and he frowns. Something unreadable is behind his eyes.

“Wasn’t my idea,” he says in a clipped, almost reluctant tone. I stare, waiting for him to explain. “Helena had a bad feeling.”

Helena. I swallow hard, trying in vain to force the lump out of my throat. He didn’t come for me. Not of his own accord, but he did come. The weight of everything fractures the walls I’ve been building.

“Sam…” His name leaves my lips on a whisper, a plea tangled in it. My sweet Sam. “After everything, after the hell I dragged you through, after the way I—” my throat tightens, my breath shuddering. “You came to protect me?”

His expression hardens. His eyes narrow as his jaw tightens.

“Get out of my way,” he demands, his arm pushing me aside. The warmth of his skin sears against mine for the briefest second. “I did what I came here for. You’re safe now.”

“No,” I blurt, moving without thinking. I reach for him but stop with my fingers hovering over his chest. “Forgive me,” I beg, raw and unfiltered. “I was weak. I let my past get inside my head. I never should’ve left you?—”

“I said?—”

I don’t let him finish. Something shifts inside me, something powerful, something I can’t contain. A force surges outward, crackling like an electric current through my veins.

The moment my hands move, Sam jerks back as if struck by an invisible wave. He flies across the room and slams against the closet door with his arms splayed out to the sides. He’s pinned by a force I don’t understand except, deep down, I do.

I did this. This is my magic.

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“There’s the witch,” he grunts, face twitching. “I was wondering when she’d finally show up. Guess I have my answer now.”

I look at my hands, trembling from the force that surged through me. I didn’t mean to push him or to hold him like that. Magic? If that’s what this is, it feels raw. It’s tangled, wound up with my emotions, with him .

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling scared and uncertain. I lower my hands and whatever hold I had on him is released “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Sam exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off invisible chains. The hurt and betrayal on his face is a knife to my heart.

“Yeah, well, it did.”

“I need… a minute. Please, Sam. Will you give me that?”

“Go ahead,” he huffs.

I close my eyes and take two deep breaths, holding, then exhaling. Then I force myself to meet his gaze. My heart pounds like a war drum and I want to run, get away, but I’m going to do this.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything for me. Say it and I’ll open that door myself,” I say, pointing at the door behind me. My throat burns, but I keep going. “But if there’s anything left, anything , please… give me a second chance.”

“Erica—”

“I know I don’t deserve it. I know I hurt you. I know I—” a sob rips through before I can stop it. I bow my head, shoulders shaking, and breath coming in sharp gasps.

I expect his retreat, the sound of his boots on the floor, each step carving another wound in my heart. I brace for it. I deserve it. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, there is the warmth of his touch as his fingers brush beneath my chin and tilt my face up. His eyes, stormy and conflicted, search mine.

“Every instinct I have is screaming to get out of here,” he murmurs. “But, damn it Erica, my heart… my heart tells me to stay.”

I reach up, fingers curling around his wrist, guiding his hand to my chest.

“Then listen. Please,” I whisper. “Feel it.”

His palm settles over my racing heart, and he shudders.

“You Siren…” his voice is barely more than a breath, rough and aching. “You’re killing me.”