Perhaps a little too natural.
She draws back a little, enough to look me in the eye. ‘I missed you too.’
I want to kiss her, but I don’t want to miss a second of this set, and I know if I kiss her once I won’t be able to stop. So instead I spin her round, pulling her back to my chest. And then I hold her hips over the soft fabric of her skirt and do my best not to grind into her like a teenager as we watch the stage together.
Nothing tops the shows Elias puts on, but the Dawn is Dark lads do a great job. They’re from round here, regulars, too, and immensely talented for a bunch of nineteen-year-olds. Honestly, I think they’d be successful in their own right, but they’re all students, and the tribute thing is working for them at the moment. I can respect that.
I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket and slip it out to sneak a look at the message. Relief floods my chest as I seethe text from Elias himself, the single word lighting a spark of excitement deep in my gut.
Ready.
I look over at Quinn on the other side of the bar, and his eyes meet mine like he knows it. After working together as long as we have, sometimes we don’t need words. He lifts an eyebrow in question, and I nod once in return. The smile that breaks out on his face tells me he’s understood, and I watch as he scampers off to speak to the rest of the staff.
My excitement has built to the point that I can barely stand it, and so I turn my attention to the ultimate distraction– the beautiful woman resting against me. I slide one hand around her waist, and I’m delighted to find warmth where her top doesn’t quite meet the waistband of her skirt. My fingers inch underneath the soft fabric of the jumper she’s wearing, slowly, so she has time to stop me if I go too far.
But she doesn’t stop me.
If anything, she leans back into me, lifting her ribcage slightly to allow me easier access, and the sudden contact of my hand on her skin sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. I drop a kiss to her temple as my fingertips trace slow circles on the warmth of her belly, trying to contain myself, to remind myself that we are in a public place, and however much I want to rip all her clothes off where she stands, I’m a better man than that. And she’s not a woman who should be rushed.
Though the way she’s melting into my arms as I touch her, it feels like she’s right there with me. At one point my hand slips a little too high, my thumb just grazing the bottom band of her bra, and I swear to God I feel her hips buck back against me.
I’m rock hard in seconds.
‘Later,’ I hear her mutter, as her head lolls back against my collarbone. There’s a grate to her voice, the word spoken like a promise. I feel like I might spontaneously combust. I keep myhands on her for the entirety of the song, and though I try to keep it PG rated, on the inside my thoughts are anything but. I’m imagining the weight of her on top of me, the way her skin would dimple underneath my fingertips, the small sounds she’d make when I touched her.
And there’s something else, too, a steady beat that underscores the frenetic score of my lust-addled daydreams. It’s not just about getting her naked, though admittedly that is very high up on my list of short-term goals. It’s about the way she looks at me. The way she teases me. The way she understands exactly what I need without me having to tell her. It’s the way she’s made me laugh more times in the last three days than I have in the three years before that. It’s the way she sometimes makes it feel like we’re the only two people in the whole world.
Telepathy is not a skill I won in the supernatural lottery, but every so often I feel like I know what she’s thinking– like there’s some kind of deeper connection there that transcends all usual methods of communication.
I feel like I could trust her with my secret– like she would accept me as I am. I want to saywarts and all, but I thinkfangs and allis more appropriate in this situation. For the first time since my change, I can see it all. I can see it with her.
I could love this woman one day, my brain whispers to me, and for some strange reason, that doesn’t scare me in the slightest. It just adds an extra buzz to the way I’m feeling. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for months– ever since Elias and I hatched the plan over one too many whiskies on a Boxing Day zoom call– and having her here with me has elevated the whole night from one mad idea to perhaps the best night of my entire life.
Especially when Elias himself weaves his way through the crowd and hops effortlessly up onto the stage.
For a moment or two, there’s nothing but silence and the ringing in my ears. Nobody moves. Dougie, the ‘Elias’ of the tribute band, looks like he’s about to pass out.
Then I hear someone near the back of the crowd shout, ‘That’s Elias fucking Moreno!’
It’s so quiet that I hear Lucy’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Did he just say… that’s…’
‘Yeah,’ I say, with the kind of faux innocence you might expect from someone who ‘forgot’ to mention that his best friend is… well, he’s pretty famous. ‘Probably because thatisElias fucking Moreno,’ I add, right next to her ear.
I don’t hear her response, because it’s drowned out by two hundred people simultaneously coming to the same conclusion. The lead singer of one of the biggest bands in the world is standing on stage in my silly little vampire bar in coastal North Yorkshire.
‘All right?’ Elias says into Dougie’s mic, in that low drag of a Yorkshire accent that’s never quite left him no matter how much time he’s spent away from home. ‘In case you didn’t catch that, I’m Elias Moreno.’ The crowd cheers, and he grins broadly. ‘But my middle name,’ he says, aiming a wink towards the man who shouted, ‘is James.’
He pulls the cap off his head amid a ripple of laughter, ruffling his trademark dark curls into just the right amount of mess before he tosses the cap into the audience. Someone catches it and screams. Mobile phones shoot up in shaky hands as everyone tries to capture the moment, to livestream it far and wide.
‘I’m in a band,’ Elias continues. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard of us? We’re called Dawn Breaks Black, and we’re almost as good as these lads.’ He hooks a thumb towards Dougie, and another cheer bursts from the crowd. Dougie’s still speechless, hands frozen on his guitar as he blinks wide eyes at his idol.
Elias bends to grab an extra microphone from Quinn before he straightens, sliding Dougie’s back to him so seamlessly that it’s like a perfectly choreographed routine rather than an impromptu speech. I was always a little in awe of Elias’s stage presence, but it’s next level now. Even I’m entranced.
‘Anyway,’ Elias says, into his own mic now. ‘My good friend Bram and I’—Lucy cheers at the mention of my name and my chest swells with pride as I hug her back against me—‘were hoping that I could tag along with the next few songs.’ His lip curls into a grin. ‘I think I might know them.’
There’s more noise from the crowd as Elias leans to talk to Dougie, who seems to finally have come back into his body. They confer for a while before Dougie nods, and when the youngster plays the opening notes of ‘Endgame’,Dawn Breaks Black’s first international hit, the crowd erupts.
The roar is like nothing I’ve heard in my life. It’s like a shockwave through my whole body, noise so intense that I can feel it in my stomach. When Elias opens his mouth to sing, it’s barely audible for the first few bars before the din subsides enough for the magic of his vocals to shine through.