They’re pretending this public flogging serves the ‘everyone should know,’ but it’s a vendetta fueled by jealous assholes.
Before I can lose my shit, Revelin’s hand finds the small of my back, a silent signal that he’s had enough. “That’s all for now,” he announces, his voice a resonant calm that somehow slices through the chaos. “We’ve got a show to put on.”
The press conference dissolves into chaos, reporters shouting for more, but we’re a fortress, impenetrable. Revelin leads us away, his hold unyielding, and my heart pounds a rhythm of gratitude.
Saved by the rock star.
We retreat, the backstage area offering shelter from the probing eyes and insidious comments. Sassy’s cheeks are still burning, but the familiar faces of the band members act as a balm to the sting of the crowd’s words.
“Those vultures, eh?” Jasper, the bassist, quips with a wry grin. He launches into a story about an interview gone sideways in a city far less welcoming than this one. The laughter that follows is a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters.
“Remember that time in Prague?” Maeve adds, her eyes twinkling with mischief. The absurdity of that escapade draws a genuine laugh from our girl, the sound mingling with the others’ until the tension unravels.
Thank fuck for that. She was doing so well until the vultures picked at her.
“Hey, lass,” Revelin says, pulling her aside with a gentle tug on the elbow. His eyes search hers, concern etched into his brow. “Are you okay?”
I snort, arching a brow at the Prince. “Obviously not, dumbass. Your goddamn manager and her slavering idiots spent the whole time attacking her instead of talking about you lot.”
Fiadh sighs, leaning into him with a defeated expression. “Yeah, just... ready to be done with this place.”
“I second that,” Dezi mutters. “And renew my desire to find out exactly what the Fae bargain your father made with this womanis. If we have that information, we can nip this shit in the bud, princeling.”
“Only a few more hours left here,” he reassures our mate, pressing a quick, tender kiss to her forehead. He looks at the vampire, his bodyguard, and me, our angry expressions making him rake his hand through his hair. “I’ll see if my mother knows when we’re on the road. I have to tread carefully, though, or she’ll meddle, and this will get so much worse.”
A stagehand pops their head in, giving him the count for entry, and his entire demeanor changes again. The shift is so startling that I can’t wait to see him on stage, despite all the nonsense that comes with it. He’ll transform into the enigmatic frontman who captivates crowds and holds them in the palm of his hand we all see on social media, and it’s fucking fascinating.
Plus, I have a feeling it’ll get our girl hot and that’s way better than being down on herself.
The hum of the crowd swells into a fevered pitch as the opening act takes their final bow and the stage falls dark. Backstage, the air crackles with anticipation. I watch Revelin shrug off his leather jacket, rolling his shoulders back like he’s shedding an invisible weight.
“Showtime,” he murmurs, voice low and laced with that thrill of imminent conquest.
There’s a spark in his eyes, igniting the air in the small green room. Gone is the man who brooded through the press conference, replaced by this powerhouse ready to claim the stage. It’s mesmerizing how effortlessly he slips into the skin of a rock god—and I’m not the only one who notices. Our girl is biting her lip and even the vampire is studying him with avid interest.
I fucking love this damn family thing and it’s weird as hell because I never considered this for a second before it happened.
Revelin leans down, his lips finding Sassy’s with a passion that belies the rushed atmosphere. When he pulls away, his smile is a silent promise, eyes blazing with that intoxicating blend of love and fervor as he looks at her, then at the rest of us. Once he’s satisfied, he turns, strides toward the stage.
From our shadowed perch in the wings, I marvel at the way he commands the arena, a puppeteer pulling on the heartstrings of every slobbering groupie and fan. The lights flare, casting him in silhouettes and color as he belts out the first note, strong and raw. The crowd roars its approval, and the energy zips through the air, palpable and electric.
I share a look with Fiadh, her flushing grin mirroring my own. Revelin is in his element, and despite the earlier turmoil, the excitement is hard to deny. As much as she wants to deny it, our mate wants to eat this brash, hip swaggering rock star up with a spoon.
“It’s okay to be turned on by someone with this much charis—” Dezi doesn’t have time to finish before the sound of the Prince’s voice gets our attention again.
“Fiadh, my closest friend, get out here!” Revelin’s voice cuts through the thunderous applause, and my heart stutters. On stage, under the spotlight’s glare, he’s extending a hand out to her, beckoning.
The moment Revelin’s voice slices through the roar of the crowd, calling Fiadh’s name, my heart skips a beat. I can’t believe he’s doing this. Not here, not now. As I watch her, frozen in place like a deer caught in the brightest headlights, I’m convinced Revelin has completely lost his mind.
What the fuck is this dipshit doing?
“Come on up here,” he coaxes, the crowd chanting my name in a frenzy.
She looks like her feet are cemented to the floor, face drained of color as she gapes at the Fae out in the spotlight.
“Go on,” Dezi mutters beside me, nudging Fiadh with a firm push. She stumbles forward, her movements mechanical as if she’s walking through a dream—or a nightmare. Jasper and Maeve flash her encouraging smiles, but they might as well be grinning at a ghost. Fiadh is barely there, her eyes wide, her skin paler than the spotlight washing over us.
“Easy, lass,” Revelin coaxes as she reaches him, his voice low enough that only those on stage can hear. The warmth in his tone doesn’t reach her, though; nothing does. He guides her to the grand piano perched center stage, an ebony beast under the dimming lights that seem to swallow them whole.
