Page 25 of The Demon's Sinful Serenade
"Decent?" Zane's voice carried through the thin fabric separating us.
"Never," I answered, unable to help the smile that curved my lips. "But you can come in, anyway."
The partition rustled as Zane pushed through with a white bakery box balanced in one hand. My breath caught at the sight of him. In dark jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to show off those forearms, he looked good enough to eat. His horns gleamed under the string lights, freshly polished.
"Poppy's good luck cookies," he said, setting the box beside my makeup. "She made me swear on my tail I'd deliver them before you went on." His eyes traced over me, and heat built in his gaze. "You look incredible."
"You clean up pretty nice yourself." I rose from my seat, crossing the small space to stand before him. "Very bodyguard chic."
His tail curled around my ankle in a possessive gesture that sent a thrill up my spine. "All the look, none of the responsibility."
"Hmm." I smoothed my hands up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through the fabric. "Just here to watch the show then?"
"Something like that." His large hands settled on my waist, thumbs stroking over the silky material of my dress. The contact sparked along my skin like the opening notes of a favorite song. "Although I did notice the security setup is shit. Three drunk shifters and a dryad who keeps checking her phone? Shameful."
I laughed at the disgust in his tone, leaning into him. "Such a professional critique."
"I take my work seriously." His expression sobered slightly. "Your safety especially."
The tenderness in his voice wrapped around me, warm and unexpected. We hadn't talked about where this was going or what it all meant—whatwemeant. Hell, I wasn't even sure what I wanted it to mean.
Liar. You know exactly what you want.
I tore open the bakery box, needing an excuse to hide the sudden flush rising in my cheeks. We'd been too busy recovering from the exorcism, preparing for tonight, stealing moments to touch and taste and discover each other's bodies. But I'd caught myself thinking about after. About what came next, when the festival was over and my career started moving again.
About whether he'd be part of that future.
"So." I kept my tone casual, testing the waters. "Hypothetically, if tonight goes well, there's a folk festival in Portland next month. The booker swung by about filling in for someone who had to drop out."
His expression remained neutral, but his tail tightened fractionally around my ankle. "Portland's nice this time of year."
"You've been?"
"Been there once or twice on jobs." He shrugged. "Can't imagine their security's better than this place, but I could make some calls. Set up something stronger."
I bit my lip to hide my smile. We were both dancing around this thing, planning around each other without admitting we're planning around each other.
"That would be helpful." I traced the collar of his shirt. "And there's a showcase in Seattle the week after. If you're not busy with… whatever ifrit mercenaries do when they're not babysitting musicians."
A slow grin spread across his face. "I could probably clear my schedule."
The stagehand tapped the canvas. "Five minutes, Ms. Rathbone."
A loud cheer erupted from outside the tent as the band before me launched into their biggest hit and final song of their set. We both glanced toward the sound before our eyes met again.
"I should get out there," I said, reluctance weighing the words.
He nodded, but didn't release me. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine. "Knock 'em dead, kitten."
The nickname sent warmth spreading through my chest. I tilted my face up, stealing a quick kiss before pulling away to crack open my guitar case. I slung the strap across my body and dug a pick from my stash. With a final nervous smile, I headed for the stage stairs.
The crowd's energy hit me like a physical force the moment I stepped onto the stage. Hundreds of faces turned toward me, expectant and eager beneath the festival lights. My heart pounded as I positioned myself at the mic, adjusting the guitar strap across my body.
"Hey, Silvermist," I called out, my voice carrying across the field. "It's good to be home."
The cheer that followed vibrated through me, and I let myself sink into it, drawing strength from their enthusiasm. This waswhy I'd fought so hard to come back. For this connection, this rush, this feeling of being exactly where I belonged.
I launched into my opening song, fingers finding the chords instinctively as the music poured through me. Each note felt clearer, brighter than before, as if Julian's shadow had been muffling them all this time. The crowd responded, swaying and singing along to the chorus.
