Page 50 of Poet & Protector

Ansel’s gaze was bouncing back and forth between us. When the younger wolf’s eyes narrowed, then suddenly widened, I knew I needed to get out of there.

“I should head back.” I took two steps away, swallowed a sigh, and looked over my shoulder. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome.” Ansel beamed at me.

Mason nodded, his expression still surly, but also baffled.

When I turned back toward the stage, I was smiling to myself. God, it was fun to rile him up.

I spent the rest of the break with my packmates, listening to their banter. All the while, I tried to sneak glances at Mason’s table to see if he was still there. He was. Even from a distance I could see he remained tense, but he and Ansel were talking.

With the threat of being turned over to Calla no longer a worry Ansel was smiling and chattering away. The younger Nightshade was either oblivious to Mason’s lingering unease or he was choosing to ignore it. Or maybe his stream of bubbling comments was his way of trying to support Mason. That seemed like something Ansel might do. I was glad Mason had a friend who’d stick by him in a tight situation.

Why was I even thinking about whether or not Mason had good friends?

Mason caught me looking at him once and I quickly pulled my gaze away, telling myself I wouldn’t look again.

I looked again. Several times.

I was lucky enough that Mason didn’t notice, but Sabine did. Every time she clocked me checking on the Nightshades, she either raised her eyebrows or smirked. She wasn’t going to let me leave tonight without grilling me. I couldn’t even try to sneak out before she cornered me. I was her ride home.

Soon enough Tom, Caleb, Sabine, and I returned to the stage to close out the night’s performance. Our first set had a mix of low key and upbeat songs. Set two went harder. Much harder. We organized the set lists that way so the later songs leaned into the bar regulars’ music preferences. While they mostly ignored us during the first set, our second round lured them in and by the time we finished the last song, a horde of burly bikers would amass around the stage, clapping and roaring their approval.

When I played I was locked in, nothing could pull me out of the zone. Not even Mason. He didn’t disrupt my performance in the slightest, but I was constantly, palpably aware of him. I repeatedly turned my gaze on him during the set. Anytime our eyes met, I challenged him to be the one to look away. He didn’t.

Inevitably, I had to pull my attention from him to check in with my band mates or sing to the rest of the audience, but I always did so with an easy smile, ensuring he knew I wasn’t bothered by his presence. If anything, having him there with me while I was doing what I loved most bolstered my confidence. I was playing at my very best. I watched him grow increasingly agitated as the night went on and took more than a little pleasure in his discomfiture.

You wanted this, Mason. You’re going to take it exactly the way I give it to you.

Once he bared his fangs at me and I almost laughed. He was inwardly battling whatever feelings kept his muscles taut as he watched me, never adjusting his defensive posture, sitting rigidly with his arms crossed over his chest.

But he didn’t leave. He barely moved a muscle. When Ansel went to the bar between songs and returned with drinks, Mason left his untouched.

As we started the final song of the night, my body hummed with anticipation. I wasn’t letting him get away without talking to me. I didn’t have any kind of plan for what I was going to say, but I needed to be near him in the afterglow of the performance. I wanted him to see me when I felt this powerful.

This was usually my favorite part of the night, building that connection with the audience, witnessing it reach a peak and soar as we all rode the high of the performance. Sharing a love of music, feeling all that energy surge through the Burnout tonight felt amazing, but I was distracted, unable to fully revel in the experience.

When the final song of our set ended, I returned my guitar to its stand, gave a quick nod to the other musicians, then jumped off the stage. That was a mistake. In my hurry to get to the back of the room, I didn’t anticipate how quickly I’d be swarmed by the audience. I pushed my way through the crowd, frustrated when I had to pause to receive compliments on the performance, make small talk, or politely refuse drinks that had been purchased for me. When I finally reached Mason’s table, it was empty. I tried to ignore the way my stomach dropped.

Probably for the best. What was I going to say to him?

Even so, my chest ached in a way that was deeply troubling and the high of the performance was wearing off more quickly than it ever had.

“Your new fan club didn’t stick around?” Sabine appeared at my side.

“Guess not,” I said. “They must have left right after the second set.”

“So you were paying attention to whether they were here,” she remarked. “Fascinating.”

“It’s not.”

She leaned her hip on the table and grinned at me.

“I need to pack up,” I said. “Then we should get going.”

“Nev.” Sabine’s grin had vanished. Her gaze searched my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I replied too quickly. “I thought both sets went well, didn’t you?”