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 Riot

A MONSTER ROCKSTAR ROMANCE

MONSTERS OF METAL

R. K. PIERCE
Copyright © 2024 by R. K. Pierce
All rights reserved.

Cover Design: EmCat Designs

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 Contents

Content Warning
Riot Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26

One Month Later

Acknowledgments
Author Note
More Books by R.K. Pierce
About the Author
 Content Warning

Riot is a paranormal rockstar romance with dark themes, strong sexual content, and monster peen. Reader discretion is
advised.
Subjects include double/triple/quadruple penetration, violence, murder, light stalking and more.
 Riot Playlist

Ghost – Rats
I Prevail – Chaos
Dead by April – Trapped
Fame on Fire – Welcome to the Chaos
Ghost – Year Zero
Asking Alexandria – When the Lights Come On
Atreyu – Catastrophe
Ghost – Square Hammer
Korn (feat. Skrillex) – Get Up
Pop Evil – Dead Reckoning
I Prevail – Bow Down
Ghost – Mary on a Cross
The Unguided – King’s Fall
Slaves – Patience is the Virtue
 Chapter 1

ASHTEN
Changing the name of your band mid-tour isn't the greatest idea. Stupid even, if our drummer is to be believed, but I don't care.
It's time for something new.
The old name, Maelstrom, doesn't fit us anymore, especially with the fame we've accrued touring with Rhage. It was just
supposed to be a placeholder when we formed the band, a name to use until we came up with something better, but it stuck. It’s
not the most unappealing name in the world—there are definitely worse ones out there—but the fact that my piece of shit ex
chose it makes it worse than most in my eyes. Knowing that he picked it and then tried tirelessly to tear the band apart when we
broke up, leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and seeing it on all our merch is a constant reminder of bad decisions and bad
memories.
Without a doubt, we need something new.
Something better, sexier.
Something that screams 'metal band with badass instrumentals and a female screamer'. It’s not like there are many bands out
there like us. We need a name that’s just as powerful and unique as our group, and I’m not giving up until I figure out something
that matches our image.
Pop Rocks? I jot the name down in the notebook on my lap, staring down at my loopy handwriting for a moment as I mull
the name over in my head, chewing on it and trying to imagine it on the T-shirts in the lobby. A second later, I scratch the words
out with a groan and glare at the long list of rejected names.
I’ve been at it for hours and still haven’t come up with anything good enough to present to my band mates. I’m irritated, my
optimism slowly slipping away as the minutes pass, and doubt is beginning to sink in. Maybe this is a stupid idea, and I’m
wasting time trying to change something that’s worked fine for us so far.
After all, how much can a band name really affect us?
A lot, I remind myself. Our name is the first thing most people will ever hear about us, and if it isn’t catchy enough, that’ll
be the only thing they ever hear. They won’t care to know more, and won’t bother to ask.
This name is fucking important.
I flip to a clean page in the notebook and close my eyes, resting my head back against the wall as my mind churns with
more potential ideas. We still have over an hour before we take the stage, and I'm restless. I'm hyper-focused, determined to
come up with the perfect name that will convince my band members this isn't a waste of time. That rebranding and honing in on
it will pay off in the long run, make us more memorable.
At least I hope it will.
I chew on the end of my pen absentmindedly, running through a list of rock-related words. Who knew naming a band could
be this difficult? It wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t so much riding on it. The entire future of our band hinges on this name,
and this can be what rocket launches us to greatness. It has to be perfect, memorable, catchy, strong…
"Still brainstorming?" a voice asks next to me. My eyes pop open and I look up to find Jesse, our lead guitarist, staring
down at me and my notebook. He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, spiky black hair sticking
out in all directions. The black liner around his eyes makes them look even brighter blue than they already are.
"Yeah," I sigh, looking back at the notebook for the hundredth time. "Nothing sounds right."
 "You'll figure it out, Ash. I have no doubt.” He winks and offers me a smile. “I'm going to grab snacks from the food truck
out back. Want to walk with me?"
I contemplate for a second, but my stomach is too knotted for me to have an appetite. I'm stressed about the band name
change, stressed about playing our biggest show to date, and stressed about stressing.
I exhale a shaky breath. "No. Thank you, though."
“You sure?” he asks, disappointment obvious in his expression. He's been subtly trying to get me alone for weeks, being
extra sweet and thoughtful. He's even joked about taking me on a date, but as nice of a guy as he is, it's going to be a definite no
from me.
After my last relationship went up in flames, I refuse to date another musician, especially another band member. I'm not
risking my career again. Jesse can hook up with a groupie or something, because there’s no way anything is happening between
us.
“Yep,” I say, a little harsher than intended.
The corner of his mouth twitches, and his jaw hardens a second later. With a nod, he pushes off the wall and turns on his
heel, heading down the hall away from the backstage area.
I give the open notebook in my hands a final glare before snapping it closed, rolling my eyes as annoyance burns beneath
my skin. I'm going to figure out this band name thing if it kills me, but being backstage clearly isn't conducive to my creativity. I
need to get up and stretch my legs, walk around a bit. I could have walked with Jesse, but I know he would have gotten the
wrong idea. Letting him go alone was for the best, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wander.
Maybe I'll find inspiration elsewhere.
I haul myself up off the floor, pulling my thigh-high stockings back up because they've started to slip, and look over my
black vest, plaid skirt, and platform boots. Everything is in order. I'll check my makeup in the first mirror I find to make sure
my eyeliner doesn’t need to be touched up, but other than that, I'm ready to hit the stage.
Taking off down the hall opposite the way Jesse went, I wander around the event space. It might look different from all the
other places we've played, but at its core, it's the same. Halls filled with dressing rooms, security patrolling everywhere, and
crews bustling about. It's hectic, and always leaves me tingling with nerves, but I'll also never get tired of it.
This is what I was made to do: perform.
Any minute now, fans will start filling the rows of seats throughout the arena. Most of them are coming for the main event,
the mysterious masked rock band, Rhage, but a lot of them know who we are too. We've met so many new fans on this tour; I've
never signed so many CDs in my life. One day, if we're lucky, we'll sell out arenas too. We'll have bands open for us, and we’ll
have record labels fighting over who’s going to sign us.
In the meantime, I'm just happy to be part of this tour.
So many bands would kill to be in our place, to rub elbows with the international phenomenon that is Rhage, and that fact
isn’t lost on me. In fact, I’m milking every second of this tour for everything it’s worth.
The members of Rhage are something else, shrouded in mystery in a way I never expected. They never ever take their
masks off, their anonymity the most sacred part of their act. No one even knows their names, save for the lead singer’s.
Sebastian Alex is a household name at this point.
The Imps, his band members, are much more secretive. They’re nameless, faceless gods of music who’ve left an entire
generation in a chokehold. You can’t open any social media site without seeing their dapper disguises everywhere, their music
streams putting older, more famous bands to shame. Everything about them calls to my curiosity, and I can’t help but wonder
what they might be like beneath those masks and perfectly-tailored suits.
Are they regular people, like me? Like Jesse? Are they felons on the run from the law, hiding in plain sight from the
authorities? Or maybe aliens with no noses or eyelids, and that's why they keep their faces hidden?
I laugh at the image, thinking about the disguises I've painstakingly memorized over the past several months. Their masks
are on all the merch in the lobby, and I've watched every one of their performances, taking notes on their stage presence and
interactions. In order to be the best, you have to do what they do, and I've studied them as in depth as I possibly can, learning
what drives their fans wild.
Whether my intense research has anything to do with it is yet to be determined, but we’ve seen a huge spike in downloads
and our followings across social media. People have even started recognizing us in public, which blows my mind most of all.
It’s a whole new level of fame I never imagined hitting when we formed Maelstrom.
And this? It’s just the beginning. A few more years—months even, if our numbers keep multiplying the way they are—and
we’ll be unstoppable.
We just need a new name to accompany our newfound popularity…
“I bet if we swapped, no one would notice,” someone says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I stop right before the hallway splits off in different directions, craning my neck around to find the source of the voice. It’s
deep and velvety, and for some reason—though I’m not sure why—has goosebumps racing up my arms.
“Until you started playing,” another voice says, cackling right after. “You couldn’t keep up.”
 “Come on, just one song⁠—”
Two bodies swoop around the corner, nearly running me over, and stop abruptly in front of me. They’re tall and broad,
wearing perfectly-tailored turquoise suits with shimmering silver ties. My eyes slowly creep higher to find identical, crystal-
encrusted silver masks with short devil horns. Their eye holes are impossibly black, hiding any hint of their faces, but I can
feel the weight of their gazes on me. They’re staring, watching me, possibly waiting for me to say something.
Too bad my tongue refuses to work, leaving me speechless.
I know exactly who they are because I’ve watched them every night they’ve performed, admiring how flawlessly they play
the electric and bass guitars for Rhage. I’ve watched them rile up the crowd as they dance across the stage and grind on their
instruments, flirting with the other band members as well as the crowd. They’re cocky and playful, and fuck, does the crowd
love them.
“If it isn’t our favorite lead singer,” the one on the left says, his voice dancing over me smooth as velvet.
“Don’t let Sebastian hear you say that.” The other scoffs before turning to me. “But he’s right, we like you way more.”
Heat that doesn’t belong in my cheeks scorches my face, and I hate how much I enjoy his compliment. I take a step back
automatically, my throat tightening. The last thing I need is to be swooning over one of these sexy masked men… much less
two. They’re for studying and research only. Nothing more, nothing less.
At least, that’s what I think as I desperately try to collect myself and reel my thoughts in.
“Sorry, we nearly ran you over,” the first one says, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. “That was rude. Are
you alright?”
All I can do is nod as a tingling feeling starts in my fingertips and quickly spreads up my arms. “I’m fine,” I assure them,
my mind suddenly hazy as my heart races in my chest.
What the hell is happening?
I’ve seen these twins a hundred times. I’ve watched them shred their guitars on stage countless nights, and been almost this
close to them before. I shouldn’t be nervous now, but why do I suddenly feel so exposed? Why do I feel like I could lay down
in the hallway and take a nap?
“Are you sure?” The one on the right jabs the other in the ribs with his elbow, and then tilts his head to the side. “You don’t
look alright.”
He’s right, as much as I don’t want to admit it. I’m not alright. I feel odd, tired. It’s like exhaustion suddenly slammed into
me, ripping away every bit of energy I had, leaving me feeling hollow. This is my first opportunity to get any of the masked men
alone—in particular, the sexy, raunchy twin guitar players—and my body is ruining it with fatigue.
What kind of shit ass luck is this?
I groan internally, not wanting them to know anything’s wrong.
“No, I’m fine,” I repeat, my eyes bouncing between their twinkling masks. “Good luck tonight.”
I sidestep to move around them, eager to get away and figure out what’s going on—maybe I do need to eat something after
all—and the masked man on the right gently catches my arm to stop me. Despite his fingers being concealed by a black leather
glove, I can feel the heat of his touch melting through me. My eyes trail up from his hold on me to his mask, and my heart skips
a painful beat.
Time screeches to a halt, the only sound being the blood pounding in my ears, and I force myself to take a breath. After a
beat, the fatigue instantly disappears, along with my hazy thoughts, and everything is clear as day as the man holding me in
place chuckles.
“Break a leg, istelia.” The way an accent takes over his voice on the last word has my stomach fluttering. I have no idea
what it means, but it’s sexy as fuck, and I nod hurriedly before slipping out of his grasp and making a left down the next hall.
My boots pound against the tile floor as I put as much space between me and the twins as possible, even if it’s the last thing
I want to do. I’d rather turn around and run after them, ask them the questions about Rhage that have plagued my mind for
weeks, stare at them until they tell me to stop—until they make me stop. I want to do anything to spend a few more minutes
alone with them, but I can’t. I won’t.
I swore off rockstars after my last relationship ended terribly, nearly tearing our band apart, and I don’t plan to go back on
my word now.
Spending any amount of time with the twins is dangerous, so it’s best for me to stay far, far away.
 Chapter 2

DAIRE
You fucking idiot, I think as I stare at my twin's profile. He walks with a cocky swagger, and I can tell he's wearing that stupid
smirk of his without seeing his face. You're going to get us caught if you keep doing that shit. What were you thinking?
I could feel it as he fed on Ashten’s emotions, slowly drawing from her like he was sipping on stout liquor. He knows
better than to feed on individuals, to wait until the crowd forms so we can feed unnoticed, and I want to punch him for being so
reckless.
I was thinking her energy tastes fucking delicious, Steele's voice echoes through my head as we make our way down the
hall. You felt it, too. Why are you so pissed?
I glare at him through the eye holes of my mask, fuming at his insolence. We can't ruin this gig, Steele. If we get caught,
Sebastian will…
Keep fucking his human girlfriend while the rest of us follow the rules? The acid in his tone is evident and silence
follows.
He has a point. When we came topside, we all swore to stay away from humans, to not get close to them. Under no
circumstances were we to fuck with them, much less mate with them. Sebastian was adamant, yet he was the first to fall. Now,
he does little between shows that doesn't involve Niki. They're always together, riding in their separate tour bus, visiting towns
we stop in. I've never seen a demon so vexed, so completely wrapped up in a female. A human female at that.
It's fine for the rest of us—less time for him to be up our asses—but he expects us to just carry on like before. To stay away
from humans, to follow the rules.
Steele is clearly tired of it and, to be honest, so am I. We've watched Ashten together for months, talking about her when no
one can hear, thinking about her between shows. We’ve always shared everything, including love interests. Will she be the first
—potentially only—human we ever share?
You're right, I finally admit. But if we're going to do it, we have to be careful. The middle of a hallway isn't exactly
discreet.
Steele doesn't say anything, just leads the way to our dressing room backstage and pushes open the door. We're the first
ones here, as usual, and he waits to speak until the door clicks closed behind us.
“I wasn't going to do anything in the middle of the hallway,” he grumbles out loud. “I was just getting a taste, seeing if she's
worth all the trouble we'll have to go through in order to have her.”
I nod, ticking off the number of things we need to handle if this is going to happen. We'll need to ensure her silence; we
can't risk her running and telling the world she got fucked by a couple of demons. There are enough rumors out there
surrounding the band as it is. Then, we'll have to reveal ourselves, something we haven't done since we hired our bus driver.
There's also the matter of our cocks… can a human possibly take them all?
“What if she isn't interested?” I ask, thinking about the fear pouring off her earlier. The way her heart raced and her breaths
became erratic. The nervous energy was nearly tangible, and oh so sweet.
“She won't be afraid of us for long,” he assures me. “Not when she sees what we can do to her. Besides, there was a hint of
arousal there. It just needs to be stoked, like a flame.”
I cross my arms over my chest, thoughts running wild with images of Ashten. Her staring up at me from her knees as she
begs for my cocks, her bent over as I take her from behind. I picture kissing every inch of her flawless brown skin, tasting
every part of her until she shatters apart, filling all of her holes until she screams for me. Hell, I’d fuck her in the middle of the
stadium while everyone watched if it meant I could have her right now.
“That'd be nice,” Steele says, reading my thoughts.
I chuckle. “It would be, but I don't plan to let anyone watch. If she's ours, she's ours, no one else's.”
Before Steele can respond, the dressing room door opens again, and I glance over to see Tobias slipping through the
doorway. He's in a twinkling navy suit, his current favorite, and his plain black mask that covers every inch of his head and
neck. I don't need to feel his emotions to tell he's fucking irritated as he snaps the door closed behind him.
“Hey, Princess,” I say, watching him slink across the room to the lounge sofa. “You're in a wonderful mood.”
“Fuck off,” he growls.
Steele meets my gaze, and I can tell what he's thinking before his voice echoes in my mind. Sebastian probably pissed him
off.
He needs to get laid. I smirk, looking back at Tobias. There's no telling how long it's been since the poor fucker got his
dick wet, but it would definitely improve his piss poor attitude.
Emrys slips into the room in his bronze suit a moment later with a silent nod in our direction. The door clicks closed
behind him, and he makes his way across the room, curling up at the end of the lounge sofa and nervously twiddling his thumbs.
Now, it's just a waiting game for the last member of our group, but as the minutes tick down until Ashten's band takes the
stage, an awkward stiffness settles over the room. My eyes flick from the television that's playing a live image of the empty
stage to the time on my cell phone to the closed door and back again.
This has been our tradition since we started touring, always watching the opening bands together before we go on stage. At
first it was a way for us to learn, to watch the other bands’ tendencies and see how the crowd reacted. We were always looking
for ways to appear more human, to blend into the topside world better.
Then, it was our pre-concert ritual. It felt normal, rehearsed, perfectly planned, just like all our sets. Sebastian gave us shit
for it sometimes, but he was always there nevertheless. But now, there are four of us in the dressing room waiting for the show
to start, and the vacancy left by our lead singer is impossibly loud, somehow swallowing up the room and all of us with it.
Where the fuck is Sebastian? Steele’s voice rings in my head through the silence.
I don’t know. Truthfully, I have a pretty good idea, but the thought of him skipping our pre-concert ritual for human pussy he
can have literally any day and any time crawls under my skin and festers there. Surely, he isn’t ditching us to stuff his girlfriend
full of cum.
The minutes drag by, no one speaking as the tension in the room becomes thicker, heavier. The air constricts around me,
growing more uncomfortable, until I can’t stand the silence anymore.
“He's not coming, is he?” I ask, shifting my gaze in Tobias’ direction.
The two of them have always been close, closer than any of the rest of us, and if Sebastian Alex isn’t going to show up,
Tobias will know something about it. If I had to guess, it’s probably what led to his shitty mood.
He’s still for a moment, staring a hole through the wall ahead. Then, he shakes his head.
Fuck.
Tobias shoves to his feet and heads for the door. “See you all on stage,” he tosses over his shoulder before disappearing
into the hall. The door slams closed and the room is drowned in silence again.
“What the fuck was that about?” Steele asks, looking at Emrys, who still hasn't said a word this entire time.
Emrys lifts a shoulder. “I saw them arguing earlier today, but couldn't tell you what about. Tobias has been volatile ever
since.”
I scoff. “Why the fuck are we always the last to find out anything?”
“That's what I want to know,” my twin grits out, his hands balling into fists. “What are we supposed to do now?”
Emrys glances between us before getting to his feet, his waist-length brown hair swinging behind him. “I don't know about
you two, but I'm going back to the bus until we go on.”
Then, without another word, he's gone too.
What the fuck is happening? Steele’s voice sounds in my head.
I don’t know. Whatever is going on, it's not good, and we've been completely left out.
Sound erupts from the television, and my eyes shoot over in time to see Ashten taking the stage. She's dressed exactly as
she was earlier, her black and green braids dancing around her as she steps up to the microphone. The stage lights play over
her brown skin, making her look ethereal. A goth angel cast in a lime green halo of light, coming for my cursed soul. Bright
eyes, full lips, and a figure I’d kill to run my bare hands over, to sink my claws into. She’s fucking stunning as always, and
thoughts of her on her knees in front of me come swimming back, making my cocks twitch.
“Come on,” Steele says, marching toward the door.
“Where are we going?” I’m unable to tear my eyes away from Ashten. She's a siren, calling to every part of me, making me
ache. I want her, want to watch her perform the way I always do, to admire the way her perfect ass sways as she stomps around
the stage.
Leaving, skipping their performance when it's been our tradition for so long, feels wrong. Being a demon, I’m not
superstitious, but if we skip Maelstrom’s set, we’ll be starting our own show on the wrong foot.
Steele doesn’t miss a beat.
“To watch in person,” he says, yanking open the door. “Why stay in here when the real thing is waiting for us down the
hall?”
My ears perk up, and I'm finally able to drag my gaze away from Ashten on the screen. To watch her in person and feed off
the hyped crowd while I do it? It sounds like a dream. Excitement mounting and mouth watering at the thought of the crowd’s
buzzing energy, I follow my twin as he leads the way down the hall toward the arena.
 Chapter 3

ASHTEN
My lungs burn and sweat drips down my forehead as I stomp across the stage, stopping to make eye contact with the front row.
Pointing, smirking, whipping my braids around as I headbang between verses. Everything is perfectly calculated, exactly how I
practiced this morning.
The crowd is going wild, their screams pounding through the arena despite my ear pieces blocking most of the noise, and
the guys are playing every note like their lives depend on it. Hands down, this is the best performance of our lives.
I pretend that we're the main event, even though we’re just the opener and we have the shortest set list of the lineup. None
of that matters. What does matter is the fans are cheering for us, and I feel on top of the world, the way I do every time I take
the stage.
When we finish our final song, I’m fighting to catch my breath. My throat is impossibly dry, and I’m desperate for a drink. I
finished my water several songs ago and just did what I could to finish the set, but now I’m paying for it. With a bow, I call out
a shaky ‘thank you’ into the microphone and replace it on the stand.
I wave with both hands to the crowd and bow before turning to head off the stage, hating that the show is over but relieved
to finally have a break. I’m exhausted, my knees wobbling, arms heavy.
The next minute is a blur, and we're backstage before I know it, my head feeling like it’s full of cotton. Without the music
blaring in my ears, the hall is horribly silent. Suffocating.
Water.
Jesse hands me a bottle of water before I can ask for one and I take a swig, reveling in the way it soothes my scratchy
throat. I probably need to rest my voice before our next performance on Monday. I don't want to damage my vocal chords,
especially with half a tour to go.
"That was amazing, Ash," our drummer, Adam, says, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. His spike-covered glove
nearly misses my cheek, but I'm so used to his dangerous wardrobe that it doesn't bother me. "Pretty sure you hit a new high
note at the end there.”
I hadn't even noticed. I'd just been trying to sing as loud and proud as I could, making sure my screams were high and sharp
in between, but that would explain my scratchy throat.
"Maybe," I say, my voice gravelly.
Yep, definitely time to rest the vocals.
"We’re headed out to hit the town," Mick, the bass guitarist says, looking in my direction. He’s a burly guy with a full,
sandy beard and a perfectly bald head. He might dress like a terrifying biker gang member, but he’s really just a big teddy bear.
"Are you coming?"
Getting out and exploring downtown doesn't sound like the worst idea, and I've already seen Chemical Velvet and Rhage
perform more times than I can count. Surely, I won’t miss anything exciting if I skip the rest of the show and go out with the
guys. Maybe we'll end up in a bar and I can watch them sing karaoke. That’d be hilarious. The last time Adam blacked out
drunk and sang Mariah Carey until they threw us out.
Or maybe I could grab a drink and...
"Ashten," a voice calls, derailing my train of thought.
 I whirl around to look for who said my name, expecting it to be one of the backstage members, or maybe a rogue fan who
found their way backstage, but my heart leaps into my throat when I see the Imp twins in their matching turquoise suits and
glittering masks from earlier. They're heading our way, hands in their pockets identically, and suddenly the rest of my band
melts away. There’s only the twins and me, and as they stop a few feet away, I stare up at them and all thoughts of hitting the
town with the guys fade to nothing.
"You killed it," the one on the left says. "That was your best performance so far."
Heat prickles across my cheeks. "T-thank you. I... you watched?"
The one on the right chuckles. "Of course, we did. We watch every show."
I blanch, the blood draining from my face and leaving me a little lightheaded. They watch our shows? All of them?
My brain short-circuits.
How did I go all this time without knowing that?
I’m suddenly embarrassed, thinking back to every misstep and screw up from the shows we’ve played this tour, trying not
to panic over them all at once. There’s no way they saw them all.
No, they probably didn’t actually watch the shows, or if they did, they didn’t pay much attention. They’re probably just
saying that to be nice.
My head swims, an awkward moment of silence dragging by before Jesse nudges me with his elbow.
"You okay, Ash?"
Embarrassment peaking as more eyes land on me, I feel claustrophobic. The space around me is shrinking, the walls
closing in, my band members getting uncomfortably close even though they haven't moved. My skin feels too tight, squeezing
me until it’s hard to breathe.
"I'm fine," I say breathlessly, my gaze bouncing between the two masked men. "Thank you again. If you'll excuse me…"
Then, for whatever reason, I slip around them and head down the hallway, leaving them all behind. I have no idea where
I'm headed or what I'm doing; I just have to get away so I can breathe, so I can think. So I can not have an entire panic attack in
front of them.
These twins shouldn't put me on edge the way they do. They shouldn't make my heart race when I see them, or make my skin
prickle with anticipation as though they might reach out and touch me.
Nope. No. There's no fucking way I'll ever be involved with another rockstar, much less two of them. After what happened
the last time I tried to date one, I just want to be left alone. My pussy, on the other hand, clearly hasn’t gotten the memo and
develops its own heartbeat the longer I think about them.
I keep walking, making my way through the halls and getting hopelessly lost in the backstage area. Good. If I'm lost, that
means I'll be harder to find. I'll worry about making my way back to my hotel room later.
Right now, I just need space.
Chemical Velvet goes on in a couple of minutes, and then everyone will be occupied watching the show. I just have to stay
lost until then. My feet keep moving, and I barely see where I'm going or who I pass along the way. I definitely don't notice the
two shadows on my heels, tracking me through the halls, until it's much too late.
I find an alcove with a lone bench and collapse onto it, eager to catch my breath and give my aching feet a break. Closing
my eyes, I take several slow, deep breaths and will away the shakiness from my fingers.
Why the hell am I so worked up?
"This is a terrible hiding place if you're looking to be left alone," a voice says, making my head snap up and my eyes fly
open. The twins appear around the corner, staring at me, one with his head cocked to the side.
"We have a place way better if that's what you're after," the other says, but this time I can't tell which. Not being able to see
their faces is such a mindfuck, especially when I can't tell who's talking or who's looking at me.
"And what if I wanted to just get away from you two?" I ask, my voice unnecessarily sharp.
One of them laughs, soon followed by the other, before they step closer to the bench I'm sitting on. I'm cornered, but it
doesn't feel malicious. They may look sinister, but I don't think either of these twins would hurt me... at least, I hope they
wouldn’t.
"You and I both know that's not the truth," one says, extending a hand to me. "Come on, let us show you."
I cock an eyebrow at him, still not trusting him entirely. They can't disappear with me forever because they have to go on
stage shortly, but they probably have well over an hour to spare. Maybe two if Chemical Velvet is feeling extra ballsy tonight.
Sometimes they get really into the performance and lose track of time.
"Where are we going?" I ask, staring at his gloved hand.
As much as I don't want to admit it, my heartrate kicks up at the thought of being completely alone with these men. I picture
myself between their large, hulking frames, their hands teasing their way around my body, and heat swirls low in my belly. It's
impossible to get a read on them, to know what their intentions are, but I can’t help but wonder why they want to take me
somewhere hidden.
What if they're just trying to be nice, and I'm the one fantasizing filthy things about them?
 What would that say about me?
"It's a surprise," the one directly in front of me says, his hand still outstretched to me. "Are you coming, or not?"
I lean back and cross my arms, hoping it makes me look braver than I feel. I might look tough on the outside in my goth
clothes and makeup, but I want to melt into the floor right now, and something tells me these twins know that.
Could they really know how much their proximity affects me? Or am I overthinking things again?
"That depends," I say, pursing my lips. I refuse to cave so easily, regardless of how badly I want to. "There's something I
want in return."
The twins cock their heads at the same time, which would have been freaky even if they weren't dressed identically, and the
one in front of me chuckles. "You want us to show you our hiding place and do you a favor?”
I shrug, looking nonchalantly at my nails to avoid staring at them. “You want to show me your hiding place. I’m perfectly
fine right here.”
The one in front of me chuckles. “Fine. Name it.”
I hesitate, already knowing what I want to ask for, but hoping the beat of silence will make the twins sweat a little. I know
it's working on me. What I want isn’t something they’re liable to give, and just the thought of asking makes my stomach turn
with nerves, but this is my shot. I have to take it.
"Tell me your names," I say finally, looking between the two of them. "I'm tired of calling you the guitarists of Rhage."
"We're Imps," the one on the left says, stepping forward so he's shoulder to shoulder with the other man. His voice is
deeper, if only a little. "We don't have names."
I open my mouth to tell them they can take their nameless asses elsewhere, but the first one cuts me off quickly. "Deal.
Come with us and we'll tell you our names."
I shake my head, still fighting to keep up my cool, unbothered facade even though my insides are writhing like a thousand
bugs invaded my abdomen. His eagerness for me to follow them should have alarm bells screaming in my head, but it doesn’t.
Instead, it adds a challenging layer to this game we’re playing. What these men don’t know is that I hate to lose.
I’m not backing down.
"Tell me your names, and I'll go with you."
I cock a single eyebrow at them, and there's a beat of silence.
We’re at a stalemate, neither side willing to concede. For a moment, I think they might give up and leave me in peace, but
then one of them sighs. I can’t deny I get the tiniest bit of satisfaction from his annoyance. Good. That makes two of us.
The heartbeat between my thighs from earlier throbs to life as their lifeless gazes burn into me, their enormous figures
towering over me, making me feel small.
"Daire," the one on the right says, and my jaw drops.
"What?"
"My name is Daire," he repeats and jerks his head toward the man at his side. I almost expect him to call him Truth. "This
is Steele."
Steele and Daire. Not as cute as Truth and Dare, but fitting names for rockstars.
"We'd appreciate it if you kept it between us," he says. "There would be all kinds of problems if our names got out."
I pretend to zip my lips and throw away the key, a lame gesture, but I don't think either of them mind.
"Your secret is safe with me," I promise, finally reaching for Daire's extended hand. He pulls me to my feet with ease and
I'm once again in awe of their enormous frames. They probably go to the gym daily, working on the muscles that threaten to tear
through their tailored suits if they move the wrong way.
I wonder what those muscles look like outside of their clothes…
My stomach flutters at the thought, and I immediately want to set the butterflies on fire.
I'm only going with them to get away, for a few minutes alone. To maybe get to know them, to find out what I can about
Rhage. That's it. I'm definitely not hoping they corner me in a dark hallway or run their gloved hands over the parts of me that
are currently throbbing, aching to be touched.
Nope. Just going to get away.
"Let's go," he says, dropping my hand and turning to lead the way.
Without a word, I follow behind the masked men with no idea where they're taking me, and I can't say I hate the mystery.
 Chapter 4

STEELE
This is a terrible, horrible idea.
And I love it.
Ashten's energy is exploding through her veins, tangling around us and dragging me back toward her, but I keep my eyes
locked firmly ahead. I wish we were leading her somewhere to feast on her emotions, to drink in her essence until she’s
nothing but dust in our hands. Or even to fuck her senseless, to stuff every hole she has with all our cocks, but that isn't in the
plans.
Not tonight, anyway.
Tonight, we want to prove she can trust us. If she's ever going to learn our demon names and give us her soul, she has to
trust us. That starts right now, when we take her to a secret place we found to watch the show from earlier. Up in the rafters,
hanging over the heads of hundreds of fans. Hopefully she's not afraid of heights.
"Now's your last chance to back out," Daire jokes, looking at the small human who's now walking between us.
Even with her platform boots on, she's short, the top of her head barely reaching my chest. I'm beginning to worry she won't
be able to handle both of us when the time comes—even demon females have trouble sometimes, and they're much larger than
she is.
We'll take our time.
We'll be slow.
We'll…
"Steele," Daire says, snapping me out of my thoughts. For a beat, I'm worried I was thinking out loud, but he’s just warning
me. Stick to the plan, don't fuck shit up. Got it?
"It's this way." I clear my throat and take a left, leading us down the hall to a thick metal door marked ‘employees only’.
Ashten hesitates when Daire shoves it open, her eyes lingering on the crudely painted warning sign, and I wonder if her desire
to follow the rules is going to get the best of her.
"Are we going to get in trouble?" she asks, checking over her shoulder to make sure no one is watching.
Cute.
She's clearly a rule follower.
Maybe after spending a bit of time with us, we'll corrupt that good streak right out of her. It wouldn't be the first time we’ve
thoroughly ruined someone, and it probably won’t be the last.
"No," I assure her, gently pressing against her lower back to usher her toward the opening. "Trust us. If anyone says
anything, we'll handle it."
I think she's going to argue again, but she doesn't, slipping through the doorway into the dark passage beyond. The door
clanks closed behind us, submerging us in near pitch blackness, but Daire quickly finds a light switch.
"What the hell were you two doing back here in the first place?" Ashten hisses a whisper that makes me laugh.
"Being naughty," I tease. "We could be doing something less reckless like drugs..."
"...or alcohol..." Daire adds.
"Or both." I smirk. "Instead, we like exploring the concert venues, finding all the hidden nooks, looking for anything good."
 "Have you ever found anything worthwhile?" she asks, following along as Daire leads the way down the hall. We arrive at
a metal ladder bolted to the wall that stretches several stories above us, and Ashten's dark eyes widen.
"Loads," I say. "We found fifty thousand dollars stuffed into a backpack hidden under a stage once. That didn’t end well for
one of the security guards."
Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. “What was he doing with that much money?”
“Laundering,” Daire answers before I can. “Stealing from the venues. He would have gotten away with it too, if Steele and
I weren’t so fucking nosey.”
"We've found about eighty pairs of sunglasses," I muse, thinking about the asinine amount of shit we’ve uncovered on our
tours. "Watches. Love notes. A garbage bag full of guitar picks. All useless to us really, but fun to collect."
Ashten glares between us. "You keep all that on the tour bus?"
Daire laughs. "Of course not. Sebastian would never let us keep it all. Sometimes we just rehide the stuff, because why
not? Sometimes we keep it if there's room. Sometimes we sell it on ebay."
"We like to shake things up.” I nudge her playfully with my elbow. "Cause a little havoc. Start a riot every now and then."
She laughs, although she doesn’t sound entirely amused. "You two seem like nothing but troublemakers."
"Thank you," I say, taking it as a compliment, before pointing to the ladder. "Now climb.”

DAIRE
Ashten hesitates, scrunching her nose as she stares up at the simple metal ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall, and I can sense
her nerves mounting. Either she's afraid of heights, or she's worried about what will happen when we get to the top, but I take
the lead regardless. I climb, and she eventually follows, Steele leading up the rear.
I can see why she'd be nervous going with two complete strangers somewhere private and dark, but if she's going to hang
out with us, she's going to have to get used to things a lot riskier than this. Danger sets my blood on fire, and punishment… It's
my favorite aphrodisiac.
Halfway up, I'm wishing I'd made Steele go first. That way, I could be the one staring up Ashten's skirt at her perfect, round
ass. My twin and I share almost everything because of our single life force, but eyesight is not one of them.
I curse, determined to lead on the way down. I'll throw him from the platform above if he argues.
At the top of the ladder there's a catwalk, nearly impossible to make out in the darkness. I doubt anyone would see us even
if they were staring straight in our direction, and that's one of the reasons I love being up here. We can watch the crowd, watch
the show, and not be seen.
Fans are amazing, but they can be a little crazy. I'd rather not get ambushed trying to watch the show from the ground floor,
but I doubt these metal platforms have been used in years.
“Ta da,” Steele says when we make it to the landing.
My eyes flick to Ashten to assess her expression, but it's unreadable. Her racing heart, however, beats loud enough to
drown out the crowd below.
“Not a fan of heights?” I ask, impressed by her bravado.
She's clearly more than a talented singer and a pretty face. She's got fire in her, and I, for one, am an arsonist. I can't wait to
bask in her glow.
“Not really,” she admits, doing her best not to look down the several stories to the crowd below. It would be a nasty fall,
certainly fatal to a mortal, but I wouldn't let that happen. The only pain I’ll allow to be done to Ashten will be by my hand—or
the hand of my brother—and even then I’m likely to go easy on her.
Steele’s the one she needs to worry about. He’s always had a habit of taking things a little too far, being a little too extreme,
but maybe he’ll be different with a human female.
Hopefully.
“You’re safe with us,” I assure her, plopping down on the catwalk and swinging my legs over the edge. Metal banisters run
along both sides of the elevated walkway, and I rest my arms on the bar in front of me. I gesture to the spot beside me with a tilt
of my head. “You won’t fall.”
She stands frozen, her dark eyes scathing over every inch of me while she contemplates, before she finally sits down,
leaving plenty of space between her and the edge. Steele mimics my stance on her other side, draping his legs over the edge of
the catwalk.
“So you just brought me here to… watch Chemical Velvet?” she asks, quirking a brow and looking between us.
My lips twist into a smirk beneath my mask, my mind once again spinning with all the things I’d like to do to her. Here, this
high up in the arena, no one would see me thrust into the cradle of her thighs or hear her delicious moans as she took my cocks.
We could take her now, if we wanted, and I’m sure she would submit.
They always do.
But something about Ashten is different. Maybe it’s because she’s human, and I really don’t want us getting sent back to hell
for some delicious, tight pussy. Or maybe it’s the way she looks at me, like I’m the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. Or
the way her heart beats faster whenever she’s around us.
I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something that makes me want to take my time, to draw things out with her.
Maybe I’ve just become a fucking masochist during my time on Earth.
“You wanted to get away,” Steele says, drumming his fingers on the banister. “This is as away as you can get in this place,
isn’t it?”
She nods, moving an inch closer to the edge to peer down at the stage. Chemical Velvet is about to start their set with a
crazy light show, exactly the way they have every other performance, then it’ll be a countdown to when we have to take the
stage.
We’ve got plenty of time to spend with Ashten, but it’ll be hard letting her go.
Maybe we can see her after the show…
“I did.” She toys with one of the neon green braids hanging over her shoulder. “But I mainly wanted to be alone.”
“Yet you came with us so willingly, istelia,” Steele says, amusement in his voice. “We can go if you’d prefer to stay up
here alone.”
“No.” She answers quicker than I expect, her response tugging upward at the corner of my mouth. Maybe Steele was right
about her wanting us after all. Good, that will make this all much easier. “You can stay—I mean, yes, stay. What is it that you
keep calling me, by the way? I’ve never heard it before.”
My blood runs cold—as cold as it can for a demon anyway—and I shoot my brother a daring look. I knew I screwed up
calling her that the first time, but he’s just added fuel to the fire by bringing it up again. I might be an arsonist, but he’s a
complete pyromaniac playing with fire and hoping to get us both burned.
Asshole.
There’s a reason she’s never heard of it; it’s demonic, one of the oldest languages in existence. We might not be able to
come out and say what we are, but we sure are throwing her some pretty big hints.
We need to be more careful, I think, and Steele nods.
Telling her this one thing won’t hurt.
I swallow hard, knowing that Sebastian will have our heads if he finds out what we’re up to. Then again, if he cared so
much, he wouldn’t spend all his time buried inside his girlfriend and he’d actually show up when he’s supposed to.
After a long beat of silence, I finally smirk. “I’ll tell you, but you have to guess first.”
 Chapter 5

ASHTEN
I scowl and bite the inside of my cheek. I’m not in the mood to play games, especially considering I’m battling my fear of
heights and trying to be unbothered by these two when I’m growing more flustered by the minute. However, they’re members of
Rhage—the biggest band I’ve ever gotten the chance to meet face to face—and I don’t want to disappoint them by coming off
the wrong way.
I want to tell them they can shove this guessing game up their asses, but I can’t risk starting beef with the band we’re
opening for. That wouldn’t bode well for us at all. So, as much as it pains me to play along, I do it anyway.
“Ummm…” I rack my brain for playful nicknames. Knowing the twins and how wild they are on stage, I doubt it’s anything
sweet. Probably something hilarious or mildly degrading. Maybe a little vile or dirty. They haven’t given me any reason to
assume they’d pick on me, but that’s the only thing that sticks.
“Little bit?”
The twin on my right, who I think is Daire, laughs. “No.”
When neither of them says anything else, I assume they want me to guess again. Bastards. I toss around a few ideas, having
about as much luck as I am renaming our band, and huff. “Spitfire?”
This time, the one on the left chuckles. “No. But you’re getting warmer.”
I groan and roll my eyes toward the dark ceiling overhead, quickly losing my patience. What are we, five? “Forget I
asked.”
The masked man on my left, who I’m pretty sure is Steele, laughs again and shakes his head. “Maybe we should call you
Spitfire. Seems fitting.”
I narrow my eyes on him, which only makes him laugh louder. Suddenly, I’m questioning why I even came up here. It
definitely wasn’t to be made fun of.
“It means brightest star,” the other cuts in, and I look over at him with eyebrows raised, expecting him to elaborate or say
he’s joking. He doesn’t do either.
“Brightest star?” I repeat, still waiting for the punchline. It seems like much too sweet of a nickname for either of them to
call me. They don’t even know me.
A pesky voice at the back of my mind has the nerve to pipe up. Bringing me here clearly means they want to…
Daire nods, his silver mask twinkling in the dim lighting. “It’s why we can’t take our eyes off you while you’re on stage.
You just drown everything else out.”
I stare at him, attempting to make eye contact through the empty black sockets of his disguise, my face flaming. Is he…
hitting on me?
Surely not.
Jesse is the only man I’m supposed to be worried about trying to make a move. Not this man… definitely not both of them.
Coming up here with them suddenly seems like a horrible idea after all, and my heart races as panic sweeps over me. My
eyes flit away from Daire, back toward the ladder several feet down the catwalk. Would it be rude to excuse myself? Would
they even let me go?
Do I really want to leave?
 My head is spinning, my chest tightening with anxiety, until Steele’s voice cuts through the white noise.
“Stop being so fucking creepy, brother,” he snaps, glaring around me to stare at his twin. “You’re going to freak her out.”
“Apologies,” the other says, but my mind is racing even faster.
Brother? So these two are actually related. Real twins, if I had to guess, judging by the way they act and dress. So perfectly
in sync with one another, like they can read each other’s thoughts. Before I can say anything else, my curiosity gets the best of
me.
“Are you really twins?” I ask, my gaze bouncing between them. They’re both staring out over the crowd now, clearly
unfazed by how high up we are. Good for them.
“Unfortunately,” Steele’s deep timbre replies.
“The matching outfits weren’t enough of a hint?” Daire laughs.
I roll my eyes again. “No, I thought you might just be two weird best friends that liked to confuse people.”
They both chuckle and Steele pokes me playfully in the thigh. “You’re not wrong, istelia.”
I hate how much I already like hearing that nickname, even more now that I know the meaning. “Is that like Latin or
something?”
Steele shakes his head. “Older.”
My eyebrows arch. Older than Latin? I mentally run through a list of languages, cursing myself for not paying more
attention in world history. It was never my favorite subject and I barely scraped by with a passing grade. Now, it’s coming
back to mock me. Wonderful.
“Greek?” I guess.
Daire shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Arabic?”
“You’ve never heard of it, I assure you,” Steele says, which only irritates me more.
I open my mouth to argue, but close it again a second later. Irritating as it is, he’s probably right. If it’s an old, dead
language, I probably haven’t heard of it.
“Enough about us,” Daire says, leaning back to prop himself up on his hands, his legs still dangling from the catwalk.
“We’re much more interested in you.”
“Me?” I stare at him, uncomfortable butterflies swarming back to life. I know what he said, but for some reason my brain
isn’t firing on all its cylinders. I’m processing his words as slow as molasses, and I can’t imagine what they’d want to know.
“What about me?”
He shrugs, almost imperceptibly in the dark. “Whatever you want to tell us. Why did you take up music?”
It’s a normal question, one I’d expect from any fan or stranger on the street, but coming from one of the twins it sounds
strange. Do they really care about getting to know me? Or is this some ruse to get me to trust them before they ask for some
illicit favor? I’m hardly listening to Chemical Velvet’s opening song, the electric guitar and loud bass drowned out by my
intense focus on Daire’s words.
Why did I start music?
It’s a simple answer, one I’ve mulled over since I was a freshman in high school. It’s not a pretty answer. I didn’t have
natural talent, and it took me years before I was good enough to consider singing in front of my ex, much less a whole crowd.
Music was the one place I found solace when the rest of my life was a terrifying, intolerable mess.
Music saved me when I was in a dark place.
“I didn’t go looking for music,” I answer, thinking back to the day it all started. "Music found me."
"Poetic," Steele says.
I chuckle once, but it comes out dry. It was my first day of high school, and I'd just gotten to the cafeteria. No empty tables,
nowhere to sit.
The scene rushes back just like it was yesterday, even though it's been years now—eight to be exact. I slowly made my way
through a sea of unfamiliar faces, embarrassment eating me alive. What could possibly be worse than being a freshman, not
knowing anyone at your new school, and being one of the only goth kids in the entire building? Trying to sit at a table with
popular kids and them laughing at your brand new red and black checkerboard pants.
"Are you goth or something?" a girl asked, flipping her perfect blonde hair with a smirk. I wanted to slap it off her face.
Instead, I pursed my lips and stood my ground. "Yes. I'm glad your eyes work."
She snickered, giving me a nasty look. “Such a shame. You’d probably be pretty if you didn’t dress like a loser.”
I should have played whack-a-mole with my tray and her face, or at least dumped my milk on her head, but I didn't. Instead,
I grinned as wide as I could manage, gripping my tray until my knuckles ached, and tossed my braids over my shoulder.
"Gotta look the part when you're in a band." It was the first thing that popped into my mind, and I had no idea why. I'd never
been in a band and couldn't even play an instrument, but I didn't miss the impressed looks her friends gave me. "Have fun being
a groupie, bitch.”
Not my best comeback ever, but it was enough for me to walk away with my chin held high. It was also enough for me to
start my music career, kicking it off with singing lessons every week until I got the courage to start looking for bandmates.
Thus, Maelstrom was born in a garage and slowly grew to what it is today.
"Let's just say I wanted to prove someone wrong," I say, rolling my eyes before looking at Steele again. "I wanted to be
famous so I could rub it in her face."
"And?" Daire asks. "Did you do it?"
This time I chuckle in earnest before shaking my head. "Honestly, I haven't seen her in years. She probably forgot all about
me, but I don't regret any of it. I live to perform now."
He nods. "It shows."
Again, my cheeks flame, and I have to look away. I let my gaze fall to the stage below, watching as the lead singer bounces
across the stage, swinging his microphone around as the guitarist shreds through an amazing solo. The height is a shock of
reality to my senses, and the butterflies die instantly. I wish they wouldn't come back every time one of the twins looked at me
too long, but I can't help it.
Something about them sets my blood on fire, and I don't hate it, even though I should.
"What about you two?" I clear my throat, looking back at Steele before I get nauseous from the height. "Did Sebastian just
ask you one day to start a band?"
Daire answers before his twin has a chance. "Pretty much. He came up with the concept and approached us with the idea.
Neither of us had ever played an instrument before, so we had to learn pretty quickly."
I glare at him, my mouth falling open. "You'd never played before?"
"Never." Daire shakes his head. "It didn't take long to figure it out though. A few weeks maybe."
"A few weeks?" My voice is an octave higher, my disbelief evident. I've met a lot of good musicians, most of which have
played their whole lives. When Rhage debuted a few years ago, they already sounded like they'd been playing together forever.
"That's amazing."
"I get told that a lot." Steele chuckles, and I get the feeling he's not talking about guitars anymore.
Instantly, my thoughts are far away from guitars too, thinking about what it might be like to be pressed between these two
masked men with much less clothing separating us. Heat pools in my belly and sinks lower, settling between my thighs and I
fight the urge to bite my lip.
Goddamn these twins.
Steele chuckles and shifts closer to me, leaving only a couple of inches between us on the catwalk. “Do we make you
nervous, istelia? I promise we don’t bite… well, unless you ask.”
“Not even then,” Daire snaps, his voice sharp.
“What about if she begs?” Steele asks, leaning in close enough that his cedar and citrus cologne rolls off him and assaults
my system. “Yes, please beg.”
I open my mouth, not sure what I’m going to say, but I’m suddenly lightheaded again. Much like the incident in the hallway,
my thoughts swim and my limbs feel too heavy for my body. A crushing wave of fatigue is smothering me, and I fight to take a
breath.
“Daire,” I whisper, fighting to keep my eyes open.
I look over at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s glaring at Steele silently, like he’s anxiously waiting for his next move.
What the hell? Why isn't he saying anything? Did he not hear me?
I try desperately to hold onto the little bit of energy I have left, but it's fading fast, my eyelids beginning to droop. Suddenly,
this catwalk seems like the most perfect place to take a nap. I could curl up between the twins and go to sleep, just closing my
eyes for a little while. There's still time before they go on stage.
"Steele," Daire barks, though I'm not sure why. He's not doing anything. He hasn't even touched me, but Daire's voice is
angry. Authoritative. Sexy?
I'm too tired to assign it a feeling, but it definitely surprises me. A few seconds later, my eyes close and there are arms
around me.
Are they arms?
It could be a warm blanket, cradling me as I drift off to sleep.
Then, everything goes black.
 Chapter 6

DAIRE
I stare down at Ashten in my arms, too stunned and angry to speak. Her eyes are closed, her pulse nothing but a faint whisper in
her veins, and her breaths are shallow. A few more seconds and Steele would have killed her.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I grit out, my gaze snapping up to him. “We agreed not to hurt her. This is how
you’re going to get her to trust us?”
Heated rage bubbles beneath my skin, my fingers vibrating with the urge to sprout claws and attack, but I can’t. At least, not
with Ashten in my arms. She’s so fragile, so delicate. I fear one wrong move will snap her in half, but I clutch her close
nevertheless.
Beneath my anger, something else brews. Heat, need. Immediately, I know I like having her this close, her soft body
pressed against mine. I want to discover and taste every inch of her, but if Steele keeps crossing boundaries, I’ll have to
abandon my desire. I won’t risk Ashten’s safety for him, regardless of what he thinks.
“It slipped,” Steele says, a lazy chuckle following. “Besides, she’s fine. I could have kept going.”
“You won’t be laughing when one of these claws slips across your throat, brother.” It’s an empty threat. I can’t hurt Steele
without hurting myself, and killing him would mean certain death for us both. Still, it feels good to say. “I will not be dragged
back to hell for your carelessness.”
“You wouldn’t be dragged back to hell. Who’s going to know?”
I growl, carefully getting to my feet and cradling Ashten against my chest. In all our years, I’ve never been this angry at my
brother. I’ve never wanted to kick the shit out of him, beat him within an inch of his life, all while enduring the pain myself. But
seeing Ashten so helpless has done something to me, sparked something within me. I will keep her safe, no matter what, even if
that means keeping my distance.
If we stay away from her, Steele can’t hurt her.
My mortal. My istelia.
I will protect her.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Who’s going to know that the lead singer of our opening band disappeared when she was last
seen with us?” I’m fuming, poison lacing every one of my words. “Use your fucking common sense, Tannamog. If you want to
do something stupid, pick a random fan and bleed them dry, but I won’t let you hurt her.”
A long moment of silence hangs between us, and I focus on Ashten’s shallow breaths. I could give her the energy she needs
to wake up, and we could pretend she fainted. We could laugh it off and stay up here like nothing happened until we need to
head to the stage to perform, but I can’t risk it. Steele obviously can’t be trusted around her, and I’m tired of looking at his
stupid masked face.
He finally sighs, shaking his head and getting to his feet. "You're right," he says, though I'm not sure I believe him. He's
probably just saying it to get me to calm down, which has the opposite effect. "I was careless. I won't do it again."
"Fuck no you won't, because we're not getting this close to her again." I grit my teeth, fighting to suppress the growl
vibrating in my chest. "I'm taking her back where we found her and we're leaving her there."
Steele steps into the middle of the catwalk, blocking my way. Not that it matters—it's not like I can carry Ashten down the
ladder anyway.
 "I'm sorry, Mallatog.” Steele groans. “Is that what you want to hear?"
"No," I say, looking down at Ashten's solemn face. She’s peaceful, beautiful, but oh so weak. I barely know her, but I can
already feel myself being wound around her delicate fingers. It's a dangerous feeling, knowing that if she tells me to jump, I'll
ask how high.
I swallow hard, knowing that the longer I spend in her presence, even as she sleeps, the more attached I'll become. I need
to get away from her, fast.
Maybe this is how it started for Sebastian, I think to myself, knowing my brother can hear every word.
But unlike Sebastian, I won't get so caught up that I lose sight of more important things. I won't let myself fall for this
human, no matter how much her energy calls to me. Distance, staying away from her, is my only option.
"Are you coming?" I ask, but before Steele can answer, I disappear in a swirl of shadows. I reappear at the foot of the
metal ladder, my eyes gravitating toward the door leading back into the arena, and Steele appears a second later, wrapped in
darkness.
"You're not really giving me a choice, are you?" He sounds annoyed, and if I wasn’t holding Ashten I might reach over and
slap the shit out of him.
I shoot him a venomous glare. "No. You've lost your privileges. Go make sure the hall is clear. I'm not going to just carry
her through the place unconscious. That'll draw attention we don't need."
"Fine." He marches past me and slips out the door, letting it clank closed behind him.
Go stand guard by the bench, I tell him. Silence greets me, but I know he heard me, so I wait, cradling Ashten in my arms
for another moment. I admire every detail of her face, my lips aching to graze across hers, but I resist the urge.
“Maybe one day, istelia,” I whisper, knowing that in order to keep her safe that can never be the truth.
All clear, Steele’s voice echoes in my head. Faint, but there, so I know he’s made it back to the alcove. With a deep breath
and a final look at Ashten, I disappear again.

STEELE
I peer into the hall, making sure no one is going to accidentally happen across Daire appearing out of thin air. The coast is still
clear. There's a security guard barely visible at the end of the hall, but everything else is deserted for the moment.
"Hurry up you mother f⁠—"
A swirl of shadows erupts beside me and Daire steps out with Ashten in his arms. In an instant, the shadows are gone
again, and the tightness in my chest relaxes some. As much as we joke around, we'd be violating about fourteen demonic laws
if a mortal saw us appearing from nowhere. Not to mention, this carefully curated lifestyle we’ve created would instantly
implode.
Our entire lives on the topside, our entire music career, hinges on none of us getting caught, and Sebastian would skin us
alive if we ruined everything. Draining a human's energy is one thing. Dissolving them to nothing but dust leaves no trace of
evidence, so we’d never be discovered that way. But being seen.
That would ruin everything.
"What took you so long?" I joke, but Daire ignores me, carrying Ashten's limp body to the bench and gently setting her on it.
I never imagined he'd be so fucking sour over me drinking Ashten's energy again, especially somewhere well hidden, but
he's clearly bothered. If I didn't know better, I'd say he has feelings for the mortal, but I do know better. I know him better than
he knows himself. He's never actually cared for a woman, just what she could do for him. What she could do for us.
Ashten should be nothing more than a means to an end, a way to sate our salacious desires, feed our hunger. Caring for her,
growing attached the way Sebastian has to his mortal mate, was never in the plans.
Is that what’s happening?
He positions her carefully and comfortably, making sure the back of the bench cradles her head, before turning on me.
Give her back the energy you took, he demands, and as tempted as I am to argue, I don’t. A fight isn’t what I want, and I
can feel the rage pouring off him, bleeding into the air around us.
If I want to smooth this over so we can move on, I’ll do as he asks.
I grumble and step up to the bench, kneeling next to Ashten. For the first time, I look up at her sleeping face, tracing the
lines of her plush lips and the dark liner along her lids. She’s weak, hardly breathing. It didn’t take much to drain her to this
point, a fraction of what it would normally take to bleed a human dry, but I guess that makes sense. She danced and sang her
heart out during her set; she was already exhausted.
Guilt settles in the pit of my stomach, and the fragility of mortal life stares me in the face.
 Maybe I did take things too far. Maybe Daire is right. Maybe I should apologize or something.
“Do it so we can go,” Daire hisses a whisper under his breath. “Hurry up.”
I sigh and reach for her hand, rubbing my gloved thumb over the backs of her dainty fingers, wishing I could feel her bare
skin against mine. What would it feel like? I guess now I’ll never know.
I close my eyes, the weight of guilt growing in my gut, and allow the energy I’d taken to flow back into her. It dances down
my arm, leaving my fingertips and invading Ashten’s nervous system. She’ll wake shortly, and it’s best if we aren’t here when
it happens.
When enough energy is transferred, I stand and turn to face Daire.
"Happy?" I ask, but he merely jerks his head toward the hallway.
"Let's get out of here before she wakes up." He leads the way, slipping into the hallway without a backwards glance.
I, however, turn to look at Ashten once more. Her breaths are deeper and she stirs, her head rolling to the side. This wasn’t
part of the plan, wasn’t how I saw the rest of the night going, but maybe this is for the best.
I should probably do the smart thing and stay as far away as possible. After all, I can’t risk hurting her. Not when she has
the attention of our fans and we’ll likely get dragged in for questioning if anything happens to her. Besides, Daire is liable to
start a full on brawl if I get near her again.
Yeah, I should probably stay away, but there’s a part of me—a tiny, demonic voice in my head—that says I should figure
out a way to make this up to her.
It won’t be easy, but maybe I can still get what I want. Maybe I can still claim her, mark her, and make her mine.
I just have to bide my time…
 Chapter 7

ASHTEN
I open my eyes, and my heart pitches toward the floor. I'm no longer on the catwalk, sandwiched between the mysterious twin
guitar players. Daire isn't glaring at Steele while I fight to stay conscious, and I'm not completely drained of energy. I'm in the
alcove where they found me earlier, alone on the bench, and there's no sign of them anywhere.
Panic crawls up my back in an icy wave, but I try to think logically. Had I dozed off and dreamed the entire thing? Had I
really not gone up to the rafters? Had I been sitting here the entire time?
Everything had felt so real, from my fear of heights to the butterflies in my stomach. The way the twins sounded, smelled...
It was all too vivid to just be a dream.
"Daire—" I manage, before gasping and slapping a hand across my mouth. I promised them I wouldn't repeat their names,
and until I'm certain it wasn't just my imagination getting the best of me, I plan to keep my word.
But how can I know if it was a dream?
I shove to my feet, a little lightheaded still, but otherwise fine. My mind is swimming with images of what happened—what
I think happened—but the more I consider it, the stranger it sounds. Why would the twins come find me after I ran away from
them? Why would they lead me up to the catwalk to do nothing more than watch Chemical Velvet play their set?
It doesn't make sense. And yet… It felt so real.
I step into the hall, still trying to get my bearings and figure out how I ended up back here, when the first notes of Rhage's
opening song hit my ears, followed by Sebastian Alex's distinctive growl that echoes through the entire arena. Had I really
dozed off for the entirety of Chemical Velvet’s set?
That's embarrassing. Anyone could have walked by and found me snoring, but I try not to think about it.
The crowd is screaming, the noise reverberating off every surface in the building, tugging the corners of my lips up into a
smile. I might have seen them perform the same show dozens of times already, but I can't deny how much I adore them. Their
music, their aesthetic, their talent... I'm in awe of it all.
Making my way down the hall, I can imagine Sebastian Alex moving across the stage the way he always does. Crossing
from one side to the other, returning to the middle and kneeling to serenade the front row. I’ve memorized it all. The
keyboardist's hair swaying as he jams on his instrument, and the drummer effortlessly banging out a tempo. And the twins...
A flutter rolls through me, and I immediately shove down the feeling. How dare my body betray me like this? I have no
business being attracted to masked men I just met, and definitely no business daydreaming about them. I shouldn't care about
seeing them perform live as I've done it countless times already, but even as I try to deny the desire, my feet carry me toward
the arena.
Maybe I'll just pop into the stands for a few minutes, watch them perform a song or two, and then head for my hotel room.
We aren't quite fancy enough to afford an actual tour bus like Rhage, just a van to haul all the equipment, but we're well on our
way.
I won't blend into the crowd, especially since we just performed and I'm still wearing my stage outfit, but maybe I can hide
in the shadows and keep from being seen.
Or maybe I can head back up to the catwalk and watch from there.
Just the thought of being up so high again has my skin crawling, but there's a chance the catwalk doesn't even exist. There
might not even be a door leading to the ladder we climbed, because there's a chance it was all just a dream. That's more logical
than any of it actually being true.
It was probably just a dream.
But what if it wasn’t?
I stop in the middle of the hallway, debating for a moment. Do I hide out in the crowd or take my chances in the rafters
overhead? My fear of heights begs me to say no, to slip into the stands like a normal person and watch the concert from there,
but my curiosity gets the better of me. I want to know if what I saw actually happened, or if it was all in my head, and I can't
exactly ask the twins right now. They're on stage entertaining thousands of screaming fans.
The only way to know the truth is to hunt down the employee-only door and find the ladder I’d seen before.
I swallow hard, turning on the spot, and heading in the other direction. I was nervous following the twins, my insides
twisting with anxiety, but I paid attention to the hallways just in case I needed to make a run for it. I'd never be dumb enough to
follow two strangers somewhere and not have a backup plan.
However, I would break the rules and venture into an employee-only space to prove whether or not I made it all up. Maybe
I'm just psychic. Or maybe I'm crazy.
At this point, nothing is out of the question.
When I come to the door with the chipped ‘employees-only’ sign, my heart skips a nervous beat. It's possible I remembered
it from walking around earlier today and that's why it showed up in my dream, but I'm still not entirely convinced.
If there's no ladder, I'll go back to the arena. I’ll listen to a couple of songs and then head for the hotel to turn in early. I'm
clearly exhausted, probably a little delirious, if I'm dreaming about masked men dragging me off somewhere private.
But if there is a ladder… I’ll have no choice but to believe it was all real.
What would it mean if my dream was more than a dream? If I really went off with the twins, blacked out, and ended up
somewhere else with no memory of how I got there?
It’s a terrifying thought, one that has fear slowly crawling up my spine, but I shake my head to clear it.
"Get it together, Ash," I grumble, looking over both shoulders before quickly slipping through the door and closing it behind
me. Thankfully, the light is already on, so I'm not left fumbling for a light switch in the dark.
I step into the familiar space, and my eyes immediately fall to the metal ladder leading several stories up.
My stomach lurches toward the floor.
It's all here.
I gasp, all the blood draining from my face, and my eyes grow wide. It wasn't a dream. I was here earlier with Daire and
Steele, climbing up to the catwalk overhead, spending time with them. But what the hell happened? I don't remember climbing
back down and I definitely don't remember walking back to the alcove and falling asleep.
Steel had said something flirty, something about biting me, and Daire had snapped at him. Had he really bitten me?
My hand goes to my throat automatically, but it feels fine. No tenderness, no hint of a bite mark.
What the fuck is going on?
It's not the first time I've asked myself that question tonight, and I’m no closer to answers than I was five minutes ago. My
thoughts continue to swim. I want answers, answers only the twins can give, but they'll be preoccupied for the next couple of
hours.
Am I supposed to wait around until they're finished? I’m not sure my impatience can handle it.
Should I ask to speak to them after the show?
I know they have a meet and greet to do afterward, but maybe I can get them alone somehow. Worst case, maybe I can catch
them in the morning before they head for the next concert venue.
I stand there for several minutes, eyes locked on the ladder as I try to decide my next move, when voices outside the door
make me jump. Footsteps pass by, making my heart crash painfully in my chest. What if someone finds me here, where I'm not
supposed to be? What then? The twins aren't here to get me out of trouble like they promised, and I don't particularly want to be
thrown out of the venue.
We’re done with our set, but what if I get us banned from ever coming back? All over a stupid dream.
I hold my breath, not sure how it’ll help, and wait for them to pass. My mind is spinning, desperately searching for answers
when there aren’t any. The longer I stand there, the more I question my memories from the dream, losing my grip on the image
I’ve been clinging to. What if I’d dreamt something similar and this is all just a big coincidence? What if I’m clinging to the
whisper of something in hopes that it’s true when it was just a figment of my imagination?
What if this is all a waste of time?
“Fuck,” I whisper, perching my hands on my hips as I rock my weight back and forth.
I don’t know what to do, but anxiety is eating at me, making my skin itch. I can’t just stand here until Rhage finishes their
set. I’ve got to do something. I can climb this ladder and see if there’s a catwalk at the top, head for the arena and try to blend
in with the crowd, or I can go back to the hotel and crash for the night.
That’s it. Those are my options.
 I don’t know what the right answer is, I just know I want to see the twins again. Maybe, if I see them, things will make
some sort of sense.
Or maybe they’ll just be more confusing.
With a sharp inhale, I make for the metal ladder, trying not to think about how much trouble I’ll be in if I get caught. The
twins hadn’t seemed bothered in the slightest, but that doesn’t mean much. Those fuckers probably get off on anarchy. Not to
mention, they know their clout will get them out of any issues they find themselves in. Of course, they wouldn’t be bothered.
I, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so lucky. I’ve never been much of a rebel; I’ve always kept my head down and followed
the rules. Ironic, considering how deviant Daire and Steele are. I’d say opposites attract, but I won’t admit I’m attracted to
either of them. I just want answers, and unfortunately for me, they’re the only ones that can help.
If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be bothering to watch them live and waiting for my chance to talk to them. Probably. I for
sure wouldn’t be climbing an off-limits ladder, clinging to the rungs until my fingers ache and the floor disappears beneath me,
if I wasn’t trying to prove a point.
I silently hope this ladder leads nowhere, that it’s a deadend or that it leads to a breaker box or something. Anything but the
catwalk I saw earlier. That will only prove the impossible, that I was up here earlier with Daire and Steele, and somehow I
ended up asleep in the alcove.
“Fucking impossible,” I grumble as I continue to climb, fighting the nausea threatening to turn my stomach. I might have put
on a brave face earlier, unwilling to let either of the twins see me as weak, but I really do hate heights.
I climb, my heart crashing against my ribs and my mind spinning, being extra careful not to slip. It’s a long way down and
there’s no one to save me should I fall. When I finally reach the top of the ladder, I hold my breath and stare at the familiar
catwalk making its way across the arena, handrails lining either side.
My stomach pitches toward the ground.
It’s exactly like I remembered.
I walk slowly across the metal platform, daring to look down at the stage, and my heart skips a funny beat. It’s lit up with
purple and green swirling lights, Sebastian Alex growling into his microphone as the twins move to opposite ends of the stage.
Even up here the crowd’s screams are deafening, and I reach for the handrail with trembling fingers.
This was a terrible idea, but I’m here now. I might as well sit and enjoy the rest of the show. Then I’ll worry about how to
get down. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll pass out again and end up back in the alcove. At least that way, I wouldn’t have to risk the
ladder.
I leave several inches between me and the edge of the catwalk, not quite brave enough to dangle my feet off the way the
twins had, and I watch the mischievous pair on stage. They flirt with the crowd, grinding their hips against their instruments
and making sexual gestures to the women in the front row.
Oh how I wish I could be one of them.
The thought catches me off guard and my cheeks heat. I’ve only just met them—if everything that happened in my dream
was real—and I’m already simping for them hard. This isn’t good at all.
“I’m being ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath, but even as I say it, I can’t take my eyes off the twins.
No matter what, I’m going to get to the bottom of this and figure out what happened. While I’m at it, I’m going to figure out
why I can’t get either of those assholes out of my head.
 Chapter 8

ASHTEN
Rhage is breathtaking as usual, and goosebumps make their way up my arms as I listen to them play. They're everything I
admire about live music, everything I want my band to be. There's something about watching them from this high up, where no
one knows I exist, completely uninterrupted, that really is magical. The twins knew what they were doing bringing me here, and
even though I get a little queasy when I look down, it's worth it.
Every second is worth it.
When they play the last note of their encore song and the crowd explodes into a wave of screams and applause, I haul
myself up off the catwalk. My feet are half asleep and tingle as I hurry toward the ladder, carefully climbing my way down. I
crack open the door and peer into the hallway, waiting until no one is watching before I slip out of the employee-only area.
It's late, and I should head back to the hotel to get some sleep before we leave in the morning. It's the logical thing to do, but
my feet move of their own accord, carrying me toward the backstage area. It's my last chance to talk to the twins tonight, my
last chance to find out what really happened earlier, and I'm at least going to shoot my shot.
If they don't want to talk to me, I'll admit defeat and head for the hotel, but I have to try.
Rhage's meet and greet is taking place in a private room off the stage, and security is blocking every entrance. I shouldn't
have expected anything less. Fans have been known to do crazy things, and they have to protect themselves at all times. My
chances of getting in are slim, especially since I don't have a backstage pass, but it's worth a try.
I've waited this long for my chance to talk to them.
I might as well ask and see if they'll let me in.
The guard next to the closest entrance is a middle-aged man with a splash of salt and pepper hair and kind, blue eyes. He's
in all black, with the word SECURITY in bold white letters across his chest. If any of them are going to let me in, it'll probably
be him. He has nice dad vibes written all over him.
Nerves mounting, I approach him, relieved when he cracks a smile.
"Can I help you?" he asks, the grin still lingering on his lips.
"I sure hope so. My boyfriend won't answer his phone," I say, shocked at the words that come out of my mouth. Luckily,
they sound convincing. I want to talk to both twins, but I don't know if this guard would believe it if I said I had two boyfriends.
"I was wondering if I could just pop in for a second to talk to him."
He cocks a gray eyebrow, staring down at me curiously. "Who's your boyfriend?"
My stomach somersaults, but I do my best to keep my nerves out of my expression. "He's the bass guitar player."
Truthfully, Daire is the first one that comes to mind—I feel like he’s the more reasonable of the two—but I don't know
which guitar he plays. I'm guessing, but it won't matter. It's not like I can tell the guard his name anyway.
"Do you have a backstage pass?" he asks.
I pull out my artist badge from the pocket on my skirt and dangle it in front of him, hoping it's enough to get me in.
"No. Just this one."
His eyebrows shoot up as recognition crosses his face. "Oh, you're in the band that opened first. Mais… Uhh, mail…”
"Maelstrom," I correct, trying not to sound offended. His confusion is just further proof that we need to change our band
name to something more memorable. "Yeah, we opened so I'm pretty tired. I just wanted to see him before I head for the hotel."
 The guard shifts back and forth, and I can tell he's debating internally. He shouldn't let me in, it's definitely against the rules,
but I've supplied a solid argument. I’m not sure what I’ll do if he says no. Probably go to the hotel and try to get up early
enough to catch them in the morning. Still, a sliver of hope lingers that he’ll bend the rules for me until he shakes his head.
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you in," he finally says. "I can deliver a message for you, though, if you'd like."
Shit. I knew my chances of getting in were slim from the start, and I try not to be disappointed. A message is better than
nothing, though.
"Sure," I say. It’s not like I have any other option. "Can you tell him he owes me one hell of an explanation?"
My words come out sharper than intended, but I figure that will work to my advantage. Anger will add believability to my
story, if nothing else.
"Umm," the guard hesitates, glancing at the closed door behind him. "Yes, I can. You know what? Wait right here."
The security guard turns and pushes open the door, closing it quickly behind him before I can get much of a look inside the
room. I stand there, anxiety clawing up my spine as people make their way past me in the hall, wondering what will happen
next. Will the twins tell him I'm lying? That they don't have a girlfriend? Will one of them—or both—come talk to me?
I swallow the nerves threatening to eat me alive and wring my hands nervously. The wait is agony, but finally, after several
minutes, the security guard returns.
"He said he'll stop by your hotel to talk to you after the meet and greet, Ms. Ashten.” He tips his head, looking pleased with
himself.
I blanch. My hotel room? They don’t even know where I’m staying. How the fuck are they going to find me?
This wasn’t part of the plan, but to be fair, I didn’t have much of a plan to begin with. This definitely throws a wrench in
things. My heart stutters.
"Th-thank you," I say, succumbing to my nerves as my thoughts spin out of control. "Have a nice night."
I turn and march away from the security guard, trying to process what just happened. Daire and Steele are going to come to
my hotel room later to talk? I don't love the sound of that, but if it means I get to talk to them, to ask them the questions that are
weighing heavily on my mind and slowly driving me insane, so be it. I'll figure it out when they get there. If they get there.
They could have just said that to get the security guard to leave them alone.
The hotel I'm staying at is on the next block over, so I follow the darkened sidewalk to get there. The warm summer air hugs
my bare thighs, but there are still goosebumps on my arms unrelated to the weather. It's possible that very soon, I'll see the
twins again, and that thought alone has turned my insides into a knotted mess.
I shower when I get to my room, taking off the thick goth makeup and changing into a pair of light blue pajamas with little
burritos all over them, crawling in bed and pulling the down comforter up to my chin. Then I flip on the TV and scroll the
channels for a while, checking my phone every few minutes for the time.
Jesse and the guys wound up going to a karaoke bar without me, and he sent me videos of Mick and Adam howling out a
Taylor Swift song in front of a modest crowd. I cackle, almost sad I missed out on the show in person, but it doesn't compare to
the evening I've had so far. So much mystery, so many unanswered questions, all of which I'll hopefully have answers to soon if
the twins keep their word.
Now, I just have to wait.
 Chapter 9

STEELE
"We're not going," Daire snaps as we head back to the tour bus. Sebastian disappeared the second we were done taking
pictures, leaving the rest of us in the dust. Not like I expected anything different. Tobias and Emrys were hot on his heels,
leaving Daire and me alone in the arena.
That's normally how it goes. The three of them do whatever the fuck they want while we're left on our own. I don't mind,
not usually anyway. We've been stuck together since birth, only ever able to rely on one another. Normally, we get along fine
and don't argue about where we're going or what we're doing.
But today... today's proving that we can, in fact, disagree and be at each other's throats. How ironic that it's over a mortal
female.
"Who says?" I ask, looking him up and down as we step outside. The streetlights make his mask sparkle in the dark, but I
can feel the seething glare hidden underneath.
"Me."
"Then don't go." I shrug, tired of arguing with him. "She asked to talk to us. You're saying we should ignore her?"
"Yes," Daire growls. "You obviously can't be trusted within a hundred feet of her. We're staying far, far away."
"You're ridiculous.”
"And you're a fucking prick," he says, a growl bubbling just under his words. "I'm serious, Steele. I won't let you hurt her."
"I won't hurt her, Daire. I could have hurt her earlier, but I didn't.” I stop in the middle of the parking lot, wheeling on him.
“Would you cut me some fucking slack? Besides, when have you been so fucking soft for a woman? You wouldn't care if it was
anyone else. What's so special about this one?"
He stares at me but says nothing, his shoulders tense and his hands balled into fists. I don't understand what's fucking gotten
into him. She's just a woman, one he barely knows. How can she possibly have him so fucking whipped already?
"Nothing." He skirts around me, slamming his shoulder into mine as he goes, and I clench my fists. The urge to spin around
and swing at him is strong, but I beat it back. Two rockstars fist fighting in the parking lot is bound to draw attention, and we
don’t need that.
Lay low, don't fuck shit up, I tell myself as Daire heads back to the tour bus. Even from where I’m standing, I hear the bus
door slam as he disappears inside, and I stand there with my jaw clenched for a long moment, thinking.
Images of Ashten come to mind, and I don’t bother to shut them out. The way Daire carefully cradled her in his arms, how
delicate she looked as she slept. The sweet taste of her energy as I slowly drained it from her, and the way her wide brown
eyes seemed to stare into my soul even though she couldn’t see my face.
Istelia.
I can pretend all I want that I don't know what has Daire so vexed, and I can pretend that I don't feel it too, but I'd be lying.
Of the thousands of humans we’ve come across, and the hundreds who we’ve met during meet and greets, not a single one
stands out in my mind the way Ashten does. No one else’s energy tastes as sweet as hers, and there’s no one else I can’t get out
of my head.
I can deny it all I want, but she’s something special.
As much as I hate to admit it, things so precious must be protected, and if Daire doesn't trust me around her, that has to
mean something. Maybe I am a danger to her. Maybe it's best if I keep my distance, even if I don't want to.
"Fuck." The conflict within me is driving me mad.
I turn and head for the tour bus, halfway expecting to find myself locked out, but Daire has never been that petty. He might
be angry, but I'm way more spiteful than he could hope to be.
Emrys is lounging on the couch reading a book when I step inside. He hasn't even bothered to remove his mask or his
copper suit, but that's not abnormal for him. If I had a face like his, I'd keep it covered, too.
Tobias is at the tiny kitchen table eating Chinese takeout, his black mask discarded next to him. His skin is mottled with
blues and purples, like a galaxy gone wrong, and his black eyes snap up in my direction for a moment before he turns his
attention back to his food.
"Nice to see you, too," I grumble, heading past him to the bedroom at the back. Daire is laying on the bottom bunk to the
left, his mask removed and his violently crimson skin exposed. He doesn't acknowledge me as I step to the closet next to our
bunks and reach for a towel.
I'm taking a shower, I think.
Don't drown… or do.
I huff a laugh and turn my back on him, heading for the small bathroom in the hall. I miss the days of us staying in hotel
rooms, but some of them got really funny about us refusing to remove our masks in the lobby so we stopped trying. Besides, the
tour bus isn't so bad. It gives us privacy and has all the necessities. We're used to way less in hell, so this is an upgrade.
As I strip out of my suit and toss it aside, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My white hair is plastered to my forehead
with sweat, my gray eyes nearly glowing with all the energy I drank in tonight. I couldn’t drain anyone else if I tried.
I kick out of my pants, exposing more of my scarlet skin that’s flecked with dark marks, swirling and criss-crossing over my
torso and thighs. I step into the stream of scalding water, hoping it’ll melt away some of my discomfort. The knot in my chest
that won’t go away, the uncertainty plaguing my mind.
It doesn’t help.
Things haven’t felt this complicated in a long time, and if we aren’t careful, everything around us is going to implode.

DAIRE
Steele's shower thoughts are driving me insane, especially since he's thinking about Ashten. After nearly killing her and telling
the security guard he'd meet her at her hotel room, I'm ready to strangle him. I don't need to hear him fantasizing about her, too.
I grit my teeth, wishing I could shove my fingers in my ears to block him out, but that's not how it works. I'd have to crush
my skull if I wanted to shut off our connection, and when we regenerated in hell, I'd probably have to hear him complain about
it for eternity.
What an asshole.
Normally we don't venture too far away from one another, considering our shared life force. If one of us is injured, we both
are. If one dies, the other does, too. It's just easier to protect both halves of our life force if we're in the same place, but right
now I don't want to see him. For the first time since we were born—I've lost count of how many centuries it's been—I want
space. I want to get away, and now is probably my only chance to disappear for a bit.
I sit up so fast I nearly crack my horns on the bunk overhead and I grab my mask, darting across the room. My horns
disappear as I pass Tobias in the kitchen, my eyes focused on the front of the bus. Steele is probably too preoccupied to notice
my movement, but I’m not taking any chances. I don’t need him following me.
"Going somewhere?" Emrys says quietly, his mask tilting up in my direction as I pull mine back on.
"For a bit," I admit, making sure the glittery disguise covers all my exposed skin. "I'll be back."
He doesn't say anything else, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me as I head for the door. They've never seen Steele
and I apart. They've even mocked us for it. He and Tobias are probably as confused as I feel, but I don't have time to explain
myself.
I step back out into the night and start walking, putting as much space between me and the tour bus as I can. I walk until
Steele's thoughts disappear, until the invisible tether connecting us dissolves and disappears entirely. I can’t sense him or hear
him at all. Finally, after having him take up space in my mind for so long, I’m alone.
It's a strange feeling, one I'm not sure I care for after being attached to him for so long. A vital piece of me, like a limb, is
missing, leaving an unsettling hole in its absence, but right now isn't the time to worry about it. I just keep moving, letting my
mind wander as I do, thinking about everything that's happened in the last few hours.
How did everything go to shit so quickly?
 It started with just wanting to get Ashten alone and now... I have no idea what's happening.
As much as I fear her getting hurt in the process, I want to be close to her. I want to hunt her down, to go to her room and
talk to her the way Steele promised during the meet and greet. How will she feel about us if it turns out we lied? If neither of us
show up to explain things, she'll just think we're liars. Manipulators.
Maybe it's better that way.
If she's the one avoiding us because she thinks we're awful, it would make staying away from her easier for me. Probably.
Maybe. That, or it would turn into a game. I'd want to see how close I could get without her running away from me or telling
me off.
Thinking about her angry, about her fighting against me, is hot as fuck and I lose myself to the fantasy. Would she fight at
all? Or would she let me take her, let me do everything I've imagined doing since the first time I saw her?
I continue walking, following the sidewalk past the arena. It's late, after midnight if I had to guess, and there aren't many
people out and about. Most of the concert goers have cleared out of the parking lots around the venue, but there are a couple of
people walking together farther up the sidewalk. Other than that, the place is deserted.
I don't know where I'm headed. I have no destination in mind. I'm just walking, putting more distance between me and the
tour bus I don't want to go back to.
If I knew where Ashten was staying, I'd probably head there. I still could. Finding her in a town this big won’t be easy, but
it’s far from impossible. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s tracking human energies, even after they’ve long faded.
I make a left at the next intersection, catching sight of a group of guys walking together up ahead. For a moment I consider
crossing the street to avoid them, but as I get a few steps closer, I recognize their faces. They're the rest of Ashten's band,
clearly drunk from a night out on the town, and they're slowly walking in the same direction.
Curious.
Ashten isn't with them, which I'm both relieved and worried by. If she's not with them, I hope she's up in her hotel room,
safe away from the dangers of the city. Granted, I’m probably the most dangerous thing lurking the streets right now, but there
are still humans out there that could hurt her.
So help me if anyone ever lays a hand on her. There won’t be anything left of them. I’ll make sure of it.
If she’s up in her hotel room, does that mean she opted out of going with her band members in the hopes that Steele and I
would show up as promised?
Fuck.
Of course she’d wait for us.
Demons might not be known for keeping their word, but what I’ve gathered on the topside is that humans value integrity
above most other things. If we said we'd show up, she'll be expecting us, and as much as I don't want to care, as much as I want
to shut her out of my brain and forget about her altogether to keep her safe, I don't want to disappoint her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I pick up my pace, closing the distance between the members of Maelstrom and me, but leaving enough space to avoid
being seen. With any luck they're too drunk to care about my presence. I'm not in the mood for meaningless conversation,
especially with inebriated humans.
They make a left at the end of the block, and I follow, relieved when they head for a hotel front with a blue canopy over a
gold turnstile door.
They go inside, and I linger for a moment, giving them enough time to make it through the lobby to the elevator before
following behind. Aside from the front desk worker, the place is completely empty. All the better for me. I nod in her direction,
not missing the way her eyebrow quirks with curiosity, and head for the stairs. Taking the elevator wouldn't do me any good,
but if I go floor by floor, it shouldn’t be too hard to hunt Ashten down if she’s here.
Her scent will lead the way.
I step out onto the second floor, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, searching for any trace of Ashten’s lingering
scent. Any pulse of her energy, any hint that she’s here, but there’s not one. Disappointed, I duck back into the stairwell and
make my way to the third floor, doing the same thing.
Still, there’s no sign of her.
When I step out on the fifth floor, I freeze. A whisper of the musky, floral scent I’ve been hunting drifts through the hallway,
and traces of Ashten’s energy dance over my skin.
She's somewhere on this floor.
Eagerness mounting, I slowly make my way down the empty hall, lingering by each door for a beat as I search for her
energy. Every step takes me closer, her scent and energy growing stronger until I'm vibrating with the need to find her.
I stop in front of room 508 and place my hand against the pressed wood, feeling through the barrier to search for any
whisper of Ashten beyond it, and a grin creeps across my lips when I sense her. Finally. I focus more on her energy, honing
every bit of my attention on the sweetness bleeding from the room, the slow heartbeat and steady breathing that tell me she’s
asleep.
 I could knock.
I should knock and wake her up.
But the idea of seeing her curled up and sleeping in her bed nearly has me coming undone. I just want to watch her, to
admire her while she dreams, before I have to ruin it all.
I grip the door handle, tapping into the dark magic flowing through my veins that will unlock it for me. We aren't supposed
to use our magic on the topside. It's like a beacon for other dark creatures, especially other demons, to find us. I already used
too much getting Ashten down from the catwalk earlier, but just a tiny bit more won't hurt.
The lock flips and I twist the handle as quietly as possible, slipping inside without a sound.
 Chapter 10

DAIRE
The room is dim, illuminated only by the flat screen hanging on the wall above a glossy white dresser. A show I don't recognize
is playing, the volume turned down low. It looks like one of those annoying soap operas Emrys is so fascinated with, but I can't
be sure.
I step into the room quietly, peering around the corner past the bathroom to see Ashten curled up beneath the covers the way
I'd imagined. Her black and green braids are spread out around her on the stark white pillowcase and her low, slow breaths are
a peaceful chant I could get lost in.
Leaning against the wall, I watch her, not daring to move closer. I have no idea what my next move is. If I scare her, she
could start screaming or throwing things, but going back into the hall doesn't feel like an option. I'm already here, and I'm not in
a hurry to go anywhere.
A quick glance around the room tells me she likes things organized. The room is perfectly tidy, aside from an open suitcase
on the couch beneath the window across the room. It looks like she's kept her belongings inside, only pulling out what she
needs. She'd hate to see our room on the tour bus. Steele and I are good at many things, but being clean and tidy isn't one of
them.
I smirk, taking a step closer to the bed, imagining what it'd be like to crawl beneath the blanket with her if only to hold her
close. The way her body fit perfectly in my arms earlier, conforming to my shape, was like nothing I ever expected. I want to
feel her pressed against me again, but I know I can't.
I can. But I shouldn't.
Another step forward and my fingertips begin to tingle. I'm completely sated, full of energy from the concert, but Ashten's
energy wafting through the room is so tempting. I want to taste it, to drink her in, but I won't. I came here to warn her about us,
not for any other reason.
I'm not Steele.
Steele would have already taken what little energy she has left, the greedy bastard. Thinking about him urges me another
step forward, and I pause at the edge of the bed. I trace the line of Ashten's form with my eyes, imagining what she'd look like
if I peeled back the covers. Is she sleeping in a cute set of pajamas? In a lacy bra and panties? Naked?
My cocks throb at the thought of her naked, and before I can stop myself, I'm trailing my fingers over her covered thigh.
Gently, carefully, I run my gloved fingers up her body, fighting the urge to peel back the covers and slide in bed next to her.
What would it hurt, really?
Regardless of where I am when she wakes up, she's going to be terrified. She's going to scream, I'm sure of it. So what
does it matter if I'm standing next to the bed or laying next to her in it?
I grind my teeth, my emotions silently warring. If she were anyone else, I wouldn't even bother with restraint. I wouldn't be
trying to stay away from her to keep her safe. I wouldn't care what happened to her, but Ashten is different. I can't explain it, not
even to myself, but I want to protect her. I don't want her to be afraid of me.
Softly, I pull back the blanket and kick off my shoes next to the bed, easing myself onto the mattress next to her
excruciatingly slowly, not wanting to wake her. There’s just enough room between her and the edge of the bed for me to fit
comfortably, the curve of her ass pressed gently against me.
 For a moment, I don’t move. My heart pounds loudly, my senses on overdrive as I breathe in her scent. Musk and florals
wrapped in the sweet, sugary scent of her body wash. She’s wearing pajamas with tiny burritos all over them, and as much as I
would have liked to find her scantily clad, I can’t help but smile.
Even without trying, she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, which only makes what I’m about to do even more difficult.
In order to protect her, I have to stay away.
First, I have to warn her.
I have to tell her to keep her distance, even if it’s the last thing I want to do.
But for now, for this brief moment until she wakes, I’ll enjoy every second I have with her like it’s the last time I’ll ever
see her.

ASHTEN
The entire arena is packed, every seat filled. I'm standing in the middle of the stage, microphone in my hand, even though
there's not a band playing behind me. I'm alone and confused, but the crowd doesn't seem to mind. They're screaming and
cheering like we just finished their favorite song.
From out of nowhere, the squeal of an electric guitar erupts from the speakers, but I instantly know it's not Jesse
playing. The sound is higher pitched than his guitar, smooth and sharp. I turn on the spot and see one of the twins walking
toward me playing his silver instrument. It's Daire, though I'm not sure how I know.
His silver mask twinkles in the stage lights and my stomach flutters as he approaches, his gaze dialed in on me. A
moment later, a bass guitar joins, and Steele approaches from the other end of the stage. They both stop a few feet away
from me, playing their instruments effortlessly as they watch me.
Are they waiting for me to sing? To dance?
"Daire?" I say, my voice sounding sluggish and distant. "Steele?"
"This is all for you, istelia," Daire says, gesturing to the packed arena. "Everything is just for you."
I have no idea what they mean, but it sounds good when they say it. I also can't say I hate having their attention, even if
it's in front of thousands of people.
Daire steps closer, tossing his guitar aside carelessly while Steele continues to play, and he stops a few inches from me.
He plucks the microphone from my hands and tosses it aside with his instrument before his hand comes up to cup my chin.
He tilts my face up and I stare into the eye holes of his mask. I can almost swear I see the outline of his eyes for the first
time.
His other hand goes to my hip, gently brushing against me until heat pools between my thighs. This is a dream. It has to
be. The twins had their chance to do whatever they wanted to me on the catwalk and they both kept their distance, even
though Steele joked about doing other things.
Could Daire really want me?
"Istelia," he says, but his voice is muffled. It sounds a mile away, yet somehow pierces through my senses all the same.
"Wake up istelia."
"I don't want to," I say, snaking my hands up to his chest even as the image wavers. "I want to stay here a little longer."
"Istelia," Daire's voice says, much clearer this time.
The dream begins to fade, his image growing darker as consciousness drags me out of the fantasy. Finally, when I realize
I'm staring at the backs of my eyelids, I open my eyes and find the familiar hotel window staring at me. I fell asleep waiting for
the twins to come like they said they would, watching a movie that must have ended a while ago, but as I shift to find the remote
I realize there's something warm pressed against my back.
Not something. Someone.
I'm not alone.
My heart shoots into my throat and I attempt to scramble across the bed to get away, but a thick arm wraps around me to
hold me in place. As I open my mouth to scream, a hand claps across it to muffle the sound, and I struggle against my captor for
a few seconds before I recognize the smooth leather glove pressed firmly over my lips.
I squirm, trying to crane my neck to see who snuck into my room and see the flash of a turquoise sleeve. My stomach
bottoms out.
Daire? Steele?
I suddenly can't breathe, my chest constricting. Why the hell would one of the twins break into my room? I scream again,
fear surging through my system, but the sound barely makes it through his hand.
 "Ashten, I'm not going to hurt you," Daire's unmistakable voice mutters in my ear. "Please, stop screaming."
His gentle tone would have soothed me under any other circumstance, but it does nothing to reassure me now. If anything, it
has the opposite effect, making my heart beat harder and faster. I slam my elbow back into his ribs and he flinches but doesn't
let me go. I try to kick him, swinging my legs wildly, but they're caught in the blanket.
"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, but it comes out in incoherent noises. It doesn't seem to matter, because he
understands.
"If you'd calm down and let me explain, I would," he says gently in my ear. "But you have to stop screaming first."
Every part of me is yelling at me to keep fighting, to get away from the intruder who currently has me restrained, but a tiny
voice at the back of my mind urges me to listen to what he has to say. It's logic, slowly prying its way through my panic, and I
try to listen. Daire has never done anything to make me distrust him—except sneaking into my hotel room right now—and he
has too much to lose if he hurts me.
Maybe I should give him a chance, hear him out, even though I want to punch him in the throat.
That can still be arranged after I hear what he has to say. If his reason isn't good enough, I'll punch him twice.
So, as much as my adrenaline is telling me to fight and get away, I take a deep breath and calm myself the best I can. I still
in his arms, suddenly hyper-aware of his closeness and the tension in his muscular body. Swallowing hard, I try to get my
rampant thoughts under control, but it's a hopeless battle.
"Are you going to let me explain?" he asks, his voice gentle as ever.
I nod, eager for him to let me go. I want to see him, to meet his gaze while he explains himself.
"Promise you won't scream."
I huff, my annoyance flaring, and nod again.
Finally, he lets me go and I shuffle to the other side of the bed before rolling to face him. He's still wearing his concert
outfit, including his sparkling silver mask. He looks bizarre compared to the simple, contemporary hotel room decor, and even
though my cheeks are flaming and I'm mad enough to kick him off the edge of the bed, I can't deny how relieved I am to see him
again.
“I’m here,” he says, propping his head up on one of his hands. “What are your other two wishes?”
 Chapter 11

ASHTEN
"Okay. I wish you'd tell me why the fuck you're in my hotel room," I say, glaring at him. "How did you even get in here, Daire?"
"I'm here because you wanted to talk," he answers. "Didn't you tell the security guard one of us was your boyfriend?"
My cheeks flame, but I don't answer immediately. I did what I had to do to get a message to the twins, and it worked, but
that doesn't give him permission to break into my room. How the hell did he even find it?
"Yes, I have questions—so many questions—that need answers, and you're the only person that can give them to me. How
the hell did you get in my room?"
He hesitates, staring at me with his blank masked expression, and I want to slap him.
"I broke in," he finally says, shifting to prop himself up on his elbow instead. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
No, not really, but it's what I expected. There's no other way he could have gotten in. I check every door twice to make sure
it's locked and closed, a very old habit that refuses to die, so I know I didn't leave it open. I also know the front desk wouldn't
have let him in, even if he lied.
"How did you find my room?" I keep drilling him with questions, relieved to finally get some answers after the
complicated, confusing evening I’ve had.
"I ran into your band mates outside. They made it easy."
I frown, wondering which one of them told Daire my room number. If I had to guess, it definitely wasn't Jesse. Probably
Zach.
"Why break in?" I ask, my temper flaring. "Why not knock like a goddamned normal person and wake me up?"
He shrugs one shoulder and glances at the television like something on the screen suddenly caught his attention. "I told you
we like to be naughty. Breaking the rules is in my blood."
I scoff, but I guess I shouldn't expect anything different from him or Steele. They both clearly love the thrill of
troublemaking. Why would breaking into people's rooms or houses be off the table?
"Speaking of breaking the rules, where is your partner in crime?” I peer over him to search the rest of the room, but his
twin is nowhere in sight. “I thought you and Steele were normally attached at the hip."
Daire sighs, a noise I can hardly hear behind his mask, and he looks back in my direction. "We had a... disagreement."
"Oh?" I don't want to care. I shouldn't care. If anything, I should have already kicked Daire out of my room and bolted the
door behind him, but if he broke in once, who's to say he wouldn’t break in again? Besides, there is a tiny part of me that's
happy to see him, even if it doesn't make much sense. "About what?"
A heavy moment of silence settles between us, the tension in the room threatening to suffocate me. Whatever they fought
about, it must have been serious.
"Ask a different question," he says.
I narrow my eyes on him, suddenly aware of how little room exists between us. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted
to, but I keep my arms crossed firmly over my chest. "No, you broke into my room and all but attacked me. You don't get to
avoid my questions."
"Yes, I broke in," he says with another sigh, "but I didn't attack you. I woke you up as gently as I could, but then you started
screaming like a banshee."
 I glare at him.
"Ask a different question," he urges. "We’ll circle back to that one.”
I want to argue again and demand an answer, but there are other questions I want to ask, other answers that I need. "Do you
promise to tell me the truth?" I purse my lips, running through the list of questions I’ve been desperate to ask.
"Of course. As long as it doesn't jeopardize your safety."
The blood drains from my face, a wave of ice washing down my spine, and I shift to mimic Daire's position. "What do you
mean jeopardize my safety?"
"I mean what I said. There are certain things I can't tell you, things that would put you in danger," he explains, his voice soft
but stern. "Ask your questions and I'll answer if I can."
His words make me uneasy, and I begin to run through all the worst case scenarios I can think of. Knowledge equals
liability, and if he can’t tell me certain things because it will put me at risk, he has to have some dangerous ties I don’t know
about. A gang? The mafia? Drug lords?
I don't know what the answer is, and I'm not sure I want to. I know I'm trusting Daire more than I should any other stranger,
but something in my gut tells me it's okay. My intuition has never let me down before, however, there's a first time for
everything.
"I..." My voice trails off. As many times as I've imagined this moment, as many times as I've thought about asking Daire or
Steele what I want to know most, I'm at a loss for words. What if he thinks I'm crazy? What if this proves I'm crazy? There’s
only one way to find out. "I think I blacked out earlier today, or something, but before that I was with you and Steele."
"You mean when we nearly ran you over in the hall?" he asks, his voice light.
"No, I saw you after that. You came and congratulated me after our set."
"That's right," he says with a nod. "Then you ran away from us. We weren't sure what happened."
I pause, replaying everything in my mind for the thousandth time. I ran away from them and my band members, but the twins
followed me. That's how we all ended up in the alcove, where they told me their names. That's how I followed them to the
catwalk and how I blacked out. I know that's what happened—I remember it all—but the way he's avoiding all of that has me
second guessing myself.
Now, even though I was so sure before, I'm doubting my memories again.
This is my one chance for answers, the moment I waited all evening for, and now I'm afraid to sound crazy. I force an
awkward laugh to relieve some of the tension in my chest, and Daire cocks his head.
"What happened when you led me up to the catwalk?" I ask, swallowing my nerves. If I expect a straightforward answer, I
need to ask a straightforward question. "We were watching Chemical Velvet and then... then I was back in the alcove and I
couldn't remember how I got there."
He answers without hesitation. "Ashten, we didn't see you after you ran away in the hall."
I swallow hard, trying to process his words. That’s far from the answer I wanted. I know I saw them again. There’s no
other explanation for it. How else would I have known about the ladder or the catwalk? How else would I remember every
detail about the Chemical Velvet opening or Steele’s cologne? How would I know their names?
I nearly gasp at the realization.
The memory of him telling me their names is clear as day, and the fact that he’s lying about it sets my blood on fire.
“You’re a fucking liar,” I say, clamoring off the bed and making my way toward the door. I wrench it open and gesture
toward the hall. “If you aren’t going to tell me the truth, get out. Tell Steele he’s welcome to come by if his answers are better
than yours.”
Daire scrambles off the bed after me, stopping a few feet away and looking between me and the hall. “I thought you wanted
answers?”
I lower my brows over narrowed eyes, and the corners of my mouth sag into a frown. “I want the truth, and if you’re not
going to give it to me, you can go.” I gesture to the hall with a sweep of my hand again. “I don’t have the time or patience for
lies.”
He doesn’t move, just stares at me. Angry heat prickles along my skin, and I fight the urge to yell at him because there’s still
a tiny part of me—an annoyingly tiny part that has no business being as significant as it is—that wants him to stay.
I know if I needle him enough, he’ll give me the answers I want.
At least I hope he will.
Slowly, he moves closer, reaching for the door and swiftly snatching it out of my hand. He closes it softly before wheeling
on me, getting so close that I’m forced to take a step back. My ass hits the wall behind me, and I stiffen as he steps closer still,
until his form is nearly pressed against mine.
I feel impossibly small next to his towering frame, and unease knots my stomach. He wouldn’t hurt me… right?
“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he says, his voice so low I almost miss it. He plants one hand against the wall above my
head and brings the other up to trace his gloved fingers along my jaw, making my pussy ache. Backstabbing bitch. I should not
be turned on right now, no matter how sexy this man is. “You should stay away from us. All of us.”
 I’m frozen in place, my eyes locked with the eye holes of Daire’s mask. I might not be able to see his eyes through them, but
I know he’s staring back just as intently.
“What does that mean?” I whisper, unable to find my voice. “If you don’t want me around, why’d you come here?”
He exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Ashten, if it was up to me, I’d spend every day in your shadow just hoping you’d
give me a moment of your time.”
My heart lurches, and it’s harder to force air into my lungs. It’s the last thing I’m expecting him to say, and it shoots through
my chest like an arrow. Does he really mean that?
“But it’s too dangerous,” he goes on, shifting closer so his body pins mine against the wall. Every inch of me is on fire,
desperate to feel his touch, but I stand frozen, waiting for his next move. There’s no way I’m going to admit how badly I want
him, regardless of the arousal pooling between my thighs.
Goddamn this man.
“How?” I finally ask. “How is being close to you dangerous?”
“Please trust me.” Daire’s hand dips lower, his gloved fingers brushing over my collarbone. “I can’t tell you why, but it is.
You have to stay away from us so I can protect you. Do you understand?”
I hear what he’s saying, but I don’t believe him. How can I? What could possibly be so dangerous about these men that they
would put my life in danger? Niki clearly doesn’t care about the dangers considering she all but lives with Sebastian on their
tour bus.
Why am I so different? Why can’t I be in on their secret?
The cryptic non-answers only irritate me further, and I place my hands on Daire’s chest, firmly pushing him away. To my
relief, he goes willingly.
“Where is Steele?” I ask, changing the subject. “You told me to wait and ask. Does he know you’re here?”
“No.” Daire steps back, putting more space between us. “Steele isn’t as concerned with your safety as I am. That’s what
we were fighting about. He’s careless, reckless. I won’t let you get hurt because he’s being stupid.”
“And if I want to be stupid?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. “If I don’t care about the risks? Should I talk to Steele
instead?”
A low growl resonates in his chest, causing goosebumps to race over my skin. “You’re smarter than that, Ashten,” he says,
his voice sharp. “Whatever you’re thinking, forget it, right now. There are things out there you don’t understand, things about us
you can’t understand, and poking around for answers is only going to get you hurt.”
 Chapter 12

DAIRE
She’s so stubborn. Stubborn, fiery, and irresistible with the way her dark brown eyes bore holes through me when I don’t give
her the information she wants. Her stern look and confidence make me want to tell her everything, to take my mask off and
show her exactly why she should be afraid of me, but I can’t.
I have to stick to the plan.
Keeping her far away is the only option, no matter how badly I want to run my tongue over every inch of her body, to feel
her beneath me as I act on every impulse I've had since the first time I saw her. To thrust my cocks into her tight pussy until I'm
pumping her full of cum. I want to own every inch of her, to brand my mark on her skin. Her arousal is soaking the air, dancing
around me, and it takes every shred of self restraint I have to keep from tearing her clothes off.
She'd let me.
I have no doubt.
If I dropped to my knees in front of her, she'd let me lick every drop of arousal from between her thighs. She'd beg me to
keep going until I filled all her holes, until she shattered apart. Just the thought of her panting my name, begging me to fuck her,
has my cocks aching with need and I do my best to shove the image from my mind.
I'll be masturbating all night to get the thought out of my head. Even then, I don’t know if it’ll be enough to alleviate the
desire I have to consume every bit of this woman.
What I wouldn't do to make that fantasy come true.
She continues to glare at me, and I can see the wheels in her mind working. She wants to get more information out of me, to
press me further until I cave. She can try all she wants, but I won't give her any more answers than she needs. There's too much
at stake to divulge our secrets to this human unless she gives me her soul, and that's not something I'm willing to ask for.
I want to keep her safe, and the best way to do that is to keep her in the dark.
“Try me,” she says, perching her hands on her hips. “You haven’t even given me a chance. How do you know I can’t
understand, Daire? You don’t know me at all.”
A low chuckle escapes my lips, and I shake my head again. “It’s better if it stays that way, istelia. We’re not—I’m not—
good.” I reach up to brush one of her braids away from her face. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away.”
She scowls, her eyebrows lowering over her fiery eyes again. She obviously doesn't believe me. She probably thinks I'm
over-exaggerating, but how would she feel if she was faced with a full-fledged demon in her hotel room? Differently, I'm sure.
“So, you hunted me down and broke into my room just to tell me to stay away from you?” She cocks her head to the side,
still glaring at me. “Doesn’t sound like you really want to keep your distance, if you ask me.”
I smirk beneath the mask, fighting the dark chuckle making its way up my throat. Hells, she's feisty. I'd love to fill that
snarky mouth with something other than sarcasm. In a blink, I step forward again, pinning her once more to the wall. Her breath
catches as she stares up at me, and her racing heartbeat makes me grin wider.
"You're right," I tell her. "I don't. And if I knew I could keep you safe, I wouldn't bother. But this, asking you to stay far
away from us... it's the only way."
"I can handle myself, you know," she snaps, not bothering to push me away this time. "I don't need you looking out for me."
"That's where you're wrong." I lean my face down closer to hers, breathing in her sugar-coated scent that makes my mouth
water. I want to kiss her, to run my tongue along her plush lips until she opens them. I want to taste her mouth until I'm drowning
in her. "You can't protect yourself from what you don't know exists. Why won't you just let me protect you?"
"Why won't you just be honest with me?" Her hand snakes up my chest and she fists the lapel of my suit.
I groan, not sure how much more I can say. The truth she's so desperate for could ruin everything, and I know I'm already
treading on thin ice by trying to warn her. Why the hell is this so complicated? Why can't she just take my warning in stride?
Because she doesn't want me to stay away. I know the answer already, even if she won't say it, and that makes this all
more difficult.
Neither of us wants to stay away, but we should. It's what's best for everyone. Right?
"Because the truth will destroy everything," I say, daring to reach for her hand. I hold it there, afraid to interlock our
fingers. I never would have thought being this close to her would be so difficult, but it seems I've been wrong a lot lately. "I
know you don't have many reasons to trust me⁠—"
"None, basically."
"—but you have to believe me. The less you know, the better."
"You're not being fair," she says, pouting.
"That's a part of breaking the rules." I shrug. "Sometimes you have to be unfair."
"So, what? I'm not allowed to talk to you anymore?" She arches her back, pressing herself harder against me, and I nearly
lose my resolve then and there. I have to get out of here before I do something unforgivably stupid, something she nor I would
ever forgive me for. "I just have to pretend like you don't exist or something?"
"Ideally." I nod. "I'm just trying to keep you⁠—"
"If you say safe again, I'm throwing you out," she snaps, and I can't help but laugh.
"I'm sorry. Truly." If only she knew how difficult this was for me as well, how badly I don't want to leave her now. If I
knew I could protect her, I'd stay here and never let her out of my sight. "And I'm also sorry for what I'm about to do."
She freezes, searching my masked face for some kind of explanation she won’t find. “For what? Daire…”
I draw on her nervous energy, drinking in the whirlwind of emotions pouring off her. They dance across my skin, sweet as
sin. I’ve never felt anything like her before, and now I’m not entirely sure I blame Steele for wanting to taste her again. Her
intensity, her purity. It’s all wrapped up in a decadent aura that hits my veins like a shot of adrenaline.
Her lids droop as I take from her, feasting on her emotions like it’s the first and last time I’ll ever get to taste her. I do it
slowly, not wanting to hurt her but knowing this is the only way. Her limbs sag and her head falls back against the wall, but I
hold her up, pinning her between me and the wall.
“Forgive me, istelia,” I say as her eyes close. When she wakes in the morning, I hope she understands why I did what I did.
I’m just trying to keep her safe, and warning her was the best way.
I scoop her into my arms, a feeling I'm already too familiar with. I hate that I'm doing it again, leaving her completely
drained to wake up alone, but it really is better this way.
Maybe I shouldn't have come at all. Maybe I should have let her wonder why we lied and left it at that. Things might have
been easier, less complicated that way. But seeing her cradled against me, I know I made the right choice for my conscience,
damned as it might be.
I'm a demon, but that doesn't make me completely heartless.
I walk her to the bed and gently place her back in it, pulling the blanket back up to her chin the way it was when I first
arrived. She looks peaceful, just like I found her. Hopefully, she won't be too angry in the morning. With any luck, she'll think
this was all a dream.
Then, before I can convince myself otherwise, I slide my shoes back on and turn for the door, making my way back down to
the first floor. This time, I take the elevator, nodding to the receptionist again before slipping out onto the empty street.
 Chapter 13

ASHTEN
I wake with a start when my alarm goes off and shoot straight up in the bed. My pulse races as unbelievable images from last
night tumble through my mind, and as much as I’d like to write them off as a dream, I know they were real.
Daire was in my room.
He scared the shit out of me and nearly gave me a heart attack when I found him in my bed, but I don't think he was trying to
hurt me. At the time, I thought I might have overreacted by kicking and screaming, but looking back, it was perfectly justified. In
fact, I wish I would have landed a blow or two just to prove a point. You can't just sneak into people's rooms and expect to not
get your ass beat. That's common sense.
A dull headache throbs in my temple, but it's nothing some pain meds won't take care of. I throw back the blanket and head
for my unpacked suitcase, digging for the first aid kit buried at the bottom. As I change and get ready for the long road trip
ahead, I replay our strange conversation, trying to make sense of it.
He was warning me... about himself. About the members of Rhage.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away." His words echo in my mind, but I still don't know if I believe them.
How dangerous could they really be? The whole interaction was strange, but he was convinced of the danger he was trying to
warn me about. I could hear it in his voice. He was adamant, nearly pleading with me to stay away.
My cheeks warm at the memory of him pressing me up against the wall, but the smile forming on my lips immediately fades
when I remember what came next. Darkness.
I fucking blacked out again.
What the hell?
I stare at the place near the door where we stood, turning the thought over and over in my mind. We talked, he apologized,
and then... nothing. Just like on the catwalk, I'd fainted and I’d woken up to find myself alone.
Something isn’t adding up.
I’ve never fainted before in my life, and both times I was with Daire I passed out. That isn’t normal, or a fucking
coincidence, but I have no clue what could have caused it. Nerves? Anxiety? My raging libido that seems to be getting the best
of me these days?
I curse under my breath, pulling on a pair of leggings before I put on and lace up my boots. I wanted to talk to the twins for
answers, and here I am with even more questions. Daire’s visit wasn’t an entire waste of time though. I did learn a few new
things, but it wasn’t good enough.
No. He still owes me answers, and I’m going to get them whether he likes it or not. If I have to talk to Steele to get them,
then so be it.
My stomach rumbles, begging me to stay and order the complimentary breakfast offered by the hotel, but I pull on a baggy
T-shirt and head for the door instead. I’ll worry about eating after I’ve given the twins an earful this morning. It’s early enough
that they’re probably still at the venue. I have time to catch them if I hurry. If I show up banging on the door, they'll have to talk
to me, right?
It’s a solid plan, and I don’t foresee any hiccups along the way until I sling open the door and nearly run into a body
standing just outside of it. Jesse is there, his fist paused in midair like he's about to knock, and I stop short to avoid running
over him.
"Jesse?" I gasp, surprised to see him at all. I figured they would all sleep in this morning considering how late the three of
them stayed out. In his other hand, he holds a brown paper sack and the faint smell of blueberries wafts around him. "Wh-what
are you doing?"
"I couldn't sleep," he admits, running his fingers through his shaggy black hair. He's dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a T-
shirt, remnants of eyeliner lingering around his blue eyes. "I grabbed breakfast and thought you might want some."
The gesture immediately warms my heart and appeases my growling stomach. I take the bag with a smile. "Thank you. How
much do I owe you?"
He waves a hand dismissively at my offer. "Don't worry about it. Were you headed downstairs for coffee?"
I chew the inside of my cheek, debating whether or not I should tell him where I'm going. If I tell him, he'll probably opt to
go with me, and as grateful as I would be for the company, I still don't want him getting the wrong idea. I should just be honest
with him, let him know that I'm not interested in dating him, but now isn't the time.
Right now, the only thing I can think about is getting to the arena before Rhage leaves for our next concert venue. I need to
talk to the twins. I need to give Daire a piece of my mind.
Jesse will have to wait.
"No, I'm actually meeting someone this morning," I say, my smile turning awkward. Can he sense my embarrassment? "I'm
already running late... overslept." It's a terrible excuse, and he can probably see straight through it, but my fingers are already
trembling with adrenaline.
What if Rhage has already left?
What if I've missed my only chance to talk to them before we get to Dallas?
"Right," Jesse says, masking his disappointment with a smirk. "Well, you'll want to hurry then. See you when we pack up
the vans."
He turns and heads down the hall without another word, and guilt sinks in my stomach. As much as I want to establish
boundaries, I don't want Jesse upset with me. We're both part of the band, part of a team. Our success hinges on each of us
performing at our best, and if there's upset among the members, things won't flow as smoothly.
I know, because it's already happened. When my ex, Leif, was still part of the band, his bad days were everyone's bad
days. Especially mine.
I make a mental note to check in on him later. I'll set aside some time to sit down with him and hash things out, but I can’t
think about it right now. I'm already turning and rushing for the elevator, hoping that I’m not too late.
Of course, I can always talk to Daire and Steele when I see them again, but I don’t know if my heart can endure the wait.
I’m too impatient, too eager, too desperate to wait the nine or ten hours it’ll take us to get there. I jam my finger into the
elevator call button, tapping my foot as I wait for the elevator, but it doesn't come fast enough.
I head for the stairs, shoving through the door and taking them two at a time until I reach the lobby. My boots squeak as I
speed walk across the glossy tile floor, and I shove through the turnstile door, hurrying down the sidewalk toward the arena. It's
early, the sun just breaking through the surrounding skyscrapers and painting the sky like a pastel watercolor painting; it’s a
stunning smear of rainbow colors that blankets the city.
By the time I reach the corner I’m breathless, but I don't slow down. I might be conditioned to sing and dance for an hour
straight on stage, but that doesn't compare to sprinting in platform boots through downtown streets. Still, I keep going, even as
my lungs begin to burn.
I'm not even sure what I'll say to Daire when I get there, but with all the pent up confusion and anger, I'm liable to just start
yelling.
Serves him right.
I make another right and the venue comes into view, my hopes soaring. There aren't many cars parked in the front lot, which
makes sense at this ridiculous hour, but the buses typically park behind the building. I hurry as quickly as I can, still clutching
the bag of breakfast Jesse gave me, my lungs burning from the mild jog I’ve maintained for a whole block.
This is my reminder to take cardio more seriously. You never know when it’ll come in handy… like now.
When I finally round the corner of the building, I search the few buses for any sign of Rhage’s logo, blood pounding
mercilessly through my veins as I try to catch my breath. However, I don’t see either of their buses.
Not willing to admit defeat, I keep walking, double checking every vehicle in the lot in case I missed them the first time.
They’re not here.
“Shit,” I hiss, breathing deep in an attempt to slow my racing pulse. They obviously left before sunrise this morning.
There’s no telling where they are now, but one thing is certain: they’re gone.
I curse, kicking a small rock and sending it skidding across the pavement. Of course, this would be my luck. Daire probably
urged them to leave earlier so he could avoid any chance of seeing me.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away.” I hear his voice again, and I find the disappointment threatening to
crush me.
 Now, as much as I don’t want to, I’ll have to wait at least half a day for any chance of getting them alone again, and that’s
even if they’ll talk to me. Daire might have said his peace about keeping his distance, but I haven’t said mine.
Irritated, I reach into the paper bag and pull out a blueberry muffin, still lukewarm from being freshly baked. I sink my teeth
into it, only halfway tasting it as I mull over all the things I want to say—yell—at the twins.
Our conversation didn’t end last night, and I won’t let Daire have the final say in the matter. This is far from over.
 Chapter 14

STEELE
You’re a fucking asshole. I stare across the tiny dining table at Daire who’s eating his breakfast and completely ignoring me.
He hasn’t said a word to me since our fight last night.
What started as a heated argument about him being a backstabbing dickwad turned violent quickly, and if Emrys and Tobias
hadn’t stepped in, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I would have killed him and we would have both ended up
back in hell.
My gaze lands on the bruise across his cheek, a dark crimson stain on his red skin that mirrors my own. At least I got a
good swing in before Tobias dragged me away.
You’ve told me at least fifteen times, he finally replies, sounding bored.
I glare at him, wishing my gaze alone would set him on fire. You’re a hypocrite, Mallatog.
The events of last night replay in my mind for the hundredth time since I woke up this morning, and my temper flares. I
didn’t expect him to be gone when I got out of the shower, but he left without a word. He was gone for hours, which he hasn’t
done since we came to the topside. I knew exactly where he’d been the moment he walked in the door. Ashten’s sweet, floral
scent stained his clothes and his skin and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
After telling me to stay away from her, he snuck out to see her. We might not agree on what we should do about the
beautiful, fuckable lead singer, but if he would have just talked to me…
“You’re not going to argue?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.
While we’re on the road we’re allowed to take our masks off, which is a relief from the leather. Even though I’m used to
the smoldering atmosphere of hell, it gets fucking hot wearing a mask all the time. I like to let my face breathe.
“No.” He flips his head, swooshing his stark white hair out of his eyes, and keeps eating the cheap biscuit he fetched
earlier.
Because you know I’m right.
He doesn’t look up from his plate or reply, which gives me my answer. He did exactly what he told me not to do, even fed
on the mortal after nearly biting my head off for the same thing. He claims it was to protect her. I call bullshit. I have no idea
why he thought what he was doing was right, but I do know one thing: The next time I see Ashten, all his stupid fucking rules
are going out the window.
I’ll do what I want to her, and she’ll enjoy every second of it.
She wants answers? I’ll give them to her.
She wants my cocks? She can have those too.
“I’d like to see you try,” he says, his gray eyes finally flicking up to meet mine. They’re dark, challenging.
“I’d like to see you stop me.”
I shove away from the table and stomp back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Tobias and Emrys are up at the
front, probably waiting to see if Daire and I start another brawl, so I’m alone. Even if it’s just for a moment, it’s a relief from
the unbelievable tension on the tour bus.
I’m nearly tempted to see if Sebastian will let me ride in his bus to Dallas. Even if him and Niki fucked the whole way
there, I wouldn’t care. Anything to get away from Daire. There’s nothing more maddening than wanting to be alone with your
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the bar is kept rotating in one direction only. Though something like
this tendency of a steel bar to open along the center through pressure
applied at two opposite points on the outside, seems to have been
known to forgemen, the Brothers Mannesmann came upon the
similar tendency under action of the rolls, by accident.
They were German tool steel manufacturers. A critical customer
wanted perfectly round and surface-polished bars of steel. They
attempted to give his bars this perfect shape and smoothness by
finishing them between cross rolls which spun the bars rapidly
around while they were slowly passing along through the machine.
The pieces were perfect outwardly, but, much to the steel makers’
chagrin, the customer reported that the quality of the steel was not as
satisfactory as that which he previously had been receiving. Upon
investigation it was found that this cross-rolling under pressure
tended to form a small hole along the center of the bar with slight
cracks in the metal all around it.
Upon this happenstance discovery is based the Mannesmann
process for piercing the bar, which consists in pushing over a
piercing head such a center-weakened piece as it comes through the
cross rolls.
One or two modifications of the Mannesmann piercing method are
also in use.
The material generally used for seamless steel tubes is medium
soft open-hearth steel of .15% to .25% carbon. It is received as billets
which are rolled down and cut at the mill or they are purchased as 3″
to 6″ “rounds” and cut into such lengths as give proper amounts of
steel for the tubes which are to be formed. Usually the bars cut for
tubes are from three to five feet in length.
They are heated in a furnace and after the end has been dented at
the center, they go into the rolls.
Piercing a Solid Billet by
the Mannesmann Process

Rolling Down the Pierced Tube

The rolls seize the forward end of the bar and swiftly whirl it as it is
slowly pulled in. A piercing head of high-speed steel at the end of a
stiff mandrel extends between the rolls just as we saw it in the pipe-
rolling process. As the forward end of the rapidly whirling white-hot
steel bar pushes against this piercing head, the piece, weakened
along its center line is pierced. As neither the rolls nor the piercing
head can be resisted, it is forced through the rolls and grinds its way
over the piercing head with the supporting bar, the walls of the
white-hot tube being thinned down and the piece very materially
lengthened.
It comes out a rough tube with thick and irregular walls. After its
removal from the rolling mill bar upon which another and colder
piercing head is placed in readiness for the next tube, it goes to other
rolls through which it is passed, first without a mandrel inside, and
later, with one, until it has become somewhere near the desired size
and the walls have been pulled down to the proper thickness. The
mandrel, of course, determines the size of the interior of the tube,
and the rolls, its outside diameter.
Some are sold in this form as hot-finished tubes after having been
straightened and cut to length by removal of the ends.
A great deal of the seamless tubing made is given the cold finish,
i.e., it is drawn through dies much as rods are drawn in the making of
wire.
For cold-drawing, one end of each tube is reduced in size over a
length of a few inches, by forging or by other means. This is where
the “pliers” are to take hold.
Now we can never heat steel without forming upon it a brittle
oxide or scale which is much harder and harsher than the metal
itself. During its sojourn in the heating furnace and its journey
through the rolls, therefore, each of the tubes acquired a hard brittle
surface which must be removed before the tube can be “drawn.” The
most practical way of removing this scale is by “pickling” the tube in
some weak acid, usually sulphuric (oil of vitriol). The acid dissolves
some of the scale and loosens the remainder so that it can be washed
off. To neutralize any excess acid which clings to the tube and to aid
lubrication, it is dipped into lime-water and then dried.
The tube now goes to the drawing benches which are long steel
frames along which a heavy steel draw chain is continuously
traveling from the center toward one end. Anchored at the opposite
end of the bench is a long bar upon which is fastened the mandrel or
ball which is to determine the inside diameter of the tube in the
drawing as did the mandrel between the rolls in the rolling.
 Tube-drawing Bench

The tube to be drawn is threaded over the long rod which is

anchored in place, and the forged-down small end is pushed through
the “die,” very firmly fastened to the bench near its center. The pliers
take hold of the forged-down end of the tube with a vise-like grip,
and are then hooked into the draw chain. The tube is thus slowly
drawn through the hole in the die. As these dies are of very hard
material, either hard cast iron or hardened steel with hole a little
smaller than outside of the tube, they compress the tube upon the
mandrel inside and the thickness of wall is thus regulated, the excess
metal being squeezed out so that the tube is very materially
lengthened. Tallow or grease with the lime-coat lubricate the tube, a
little being continually drawn into and through the somewhat
funnel-shaped die.
As was the case with the “cold finishing” of plate and the drawing
of wire, this cold working increases the elastic limit and tensile
strength of the steel. So cold-finished tubes are stronger than hot-
finished. For many purposes such increase in strength is highly
desirable. The exterior of the tube is also made very smooth and
uniform in diameter by the drawing.
 How Tubes Are Drawn

The cold-drawing has a disadvantage, however. It somewhat

embrittles the steel, as may be inferred from the increase in strength.
This is not a serious matter, however, unless the cold-drawing has
been overdone.
But for smaller sizes of tubing many drawings have to be resorted
to, to reduce the steel to the size required. Sometimes ten or even
fifteen passes are required before the tubes reach their final size. In
such case the tubes have to be annealed and repickled, limed and
dried after each pass or two in order to restore to the steel its
ductility. If this were not done the tube would eventually break in the
die.
The last pass is through an accurate “sizing” die which corrects any
variation in inside or outside diameter.
As the pulling strain which the steel will stand is limited, too much
of a reduction in size in any single pass must not be attempted.
As annealing, pickling, drying, etc., have to be done after every
pass or two, a considerable period of time elapses between the
piercing of the billet and its final pass as a small tube. For economy
in handling, tubes cannot be considered or handled singly, but must
be treated in quantity, so this period between billet piercing and the
final pass may be as much as two weeks, possibly more.
The tubes must next be straightened. This is done in cross rolls as
has been mentioned under the manufacture of lap-welded pipe, or in
various other types of machines.
Much seamless tubing goes into
automobile, bicycle, and various other
products for which very high grade and
perfect material is desirable. One of
the many interesting applications of
 Cupping and Drawing seamless tubing is its use in very fine
Seamless Tubes from sizes for hypodermic needles.
Plates Seamless tubes are easily bent,
swaged, upset, spun or otherwise
changed in form, as the material is
ductile and there are no welds to open.
Very large tubes are not made in the way just described. They are
rather made by “cupping” flat, round steel plates through a die. A cup
is then in several successive drawings put through smaller dies,
under which treatment it grows longer each time and gets a thinner
wall until it has become a long tube with the one end still closed. For
open ended tubes this and the upper, open end are cut or trimmed
off.
Cold-drawing here necessitates annealing to restore ductility just
as it does elsewhere and each annealing operation is necessarily
followed by pickling for removal of the scale formed.
By rapidly spinning large tubes in lathes or other machines and the
application of pressure with the proper tools and lubrication, the
walls of the tubes may be deformed. In this way the ends may be
expanded, made smaller, or completely closed. By such “spinning”
operations large tubes are made into articles of various shapes.
By this same “cupping” or hydraulic drawing of flat, well lubricated
sheets of soft steel, seamless high-pressure gas cylinders, steel
drums, barrels, and the like are made.
 CHAPTER XXII
TRANSFORMATIONS AND STRUCTURES OF
THE STEELS

It was “Ali Baba” who is quoted as saying, “Those who do not know
how to take the Philistine, better hadn’t!” or words to that effect.
Now through these chapters we have attempted to discuss in an
entirely non-technical manner the subjects presented. On this
account we were compelled to forego discussion of many things
which are highly important and interesting but which are more or
less difficult of explanation without the use of scientific terms and
theories. One such has been the “mechanism” of the hardening of
steel and its opposite, its softening by annealing. For those who may
desire to get a glimpse into this “wonderland” it is hardly fair to
refrain from brief discussion of the subject just because it is technical
and difficult and so may prove to be tedious to some who have little
reason to be interested.
It seems desirable, therefore, to impose this more technical
chapter or two that the subject of the real metallurgy of iron and the
steels may at least be “hinted at.” We say “hinted at” advisedly for it
is a long, long story, and, even now, after a great many years of
serious study no one has yet read it to the end. We are not saying this
in a discouraging way, however, for there seems little reason to doubt
that the multitude of facts which have been disclosed through the
tireless experiments and the study of hundreds of investigators have
put us well on our way to the solution of this one of Nature’s great
problems.
To those, however, who are not interested in the known details of
“how” and “why” hardening and softening of steel is possible and
why hardening of pure iron and mild steels does not and cannot take
place, we must say as would “Ali Baba”:—“Those who do not care to
study it better hadn’t.” Anyway, the study of this rather intricate
subject is conducive of “headaches,” and perhaps it is not extremely
important when viewed from the non-technical standpoint of these
articles.
We have several times referred to the debt which civilization owes
to iron and steel structural materials, machinery and tools and
particularly to those tools which have hardened cutting edges.
Almost every one knows that hardened cutting edges are imparted to
tools by sudden cooling in water or oil from a good red heat.
Probably most of us, too, know that the blacksmith can again soften
such tools by reheating to the same red heat and allowing them to
cool slowly. This he calls annealing. In this softened or annealed
condition a piece can readily be sawed or filed, while in its hardened
state a saw or file produces no result upon it.
Now what are the facts, meaning and the cause of this dual life of
the alloy, steel, without which we would be so greatly handicapped.
To be better prepared to understand the answer, let us consider
three or four accompanying and closely allied phenomena which
close observation of the habits of steel has disclosed.
 The “Point of Recalescence”
If we drill a hole in a small piece of carbon tool steel which we are
about to put into the heating furnace, and if into this hole we insert
the bare tip of an electric pyrometer, this heat-measuring instrument
will indicate at all times the rising temperature of the piece of steel as
it heats in the red-hot muffle or chamber of the furnace.
As we watch the piece grow red, the pyrometer registers 900°,
1000°, 1100°, 1200° F.,—gradually and uniformly indicating higher
and higher temperatures.

Apparatus for Determining the Critical Points of Steel

But lo! Something must be wrong! The pyrometer needle does not
now move forward but is standing still. Though we know that in that
hot furnace the piece must be absorbing heat at the same rate as
before, yet the pyrometer needle does not budge!
 But, as our wonderment grows and we are still undecided as to the
meaning, the needle again begins to advance and continues again
regularly and uniformly to higher and higher temperatures as though
it had never taken the vacation.
With the piece now at a white heat, we have proceeded far enough
with the heating.
Turning off the electric current from the furnace and allowing it to
cool we again watch the pyrometer needle as the temperature of the
piece in the cooling furnace gradually falls. Lower, lower, lower
swings the needle, always at a rate approximately uniform.
But again it suddenly stops and remains immovable, or perhaps
even rises slightly, for a period of several seconds, after which it
resumes its uniformly-timed downward course as though nothing
had happened.
Yes, these pauses of the needle occurred at very nearly the same
marking on the pyrometer dial, but not at exactly the same ones.
Going up it was at 1350° F., and on the downward way it was at
1250° F. And you are correct in surmising that these two points are
closely related. They are parts of the same, if we may so speak, and,
in reality they represent one point which is located about halfway
between them, the divergence resulting from what is known as
“hysteresis” or “lag,” which means, of course, a “being-behind-hand”
or tardiness.
For the present we may say that all carbon steels have this
“critical” range as shown by such pauses of the pyrometer needle
during heating or cooling of the steel.
Now as the piece is most certainly continuing to absorb heat in the
furnace as it grows hotter and is losing it uniformly to the air as the
furnace cools, we have no alternative but to judge that the pause of
the needle on its upward way was caused by some internal affair of
the piece of steel itself, for which, at just that stage of its journey, it
required and used for its purpose (which was other than making
itself hotter), the heat furnished it by the furnace; and, that on the
downward journey, at just that same point, it gave out again that
same heat. It must have been the setting free of this imprisoned heat,
if we may so term it, which kept the piece for those few moments
from cooling at the usual rate. Indeed, had we conducted our
experiment in a rather dark room and observed the piece closely we
would have noticed that during the pause of the pyrometer the piece
of steel did brighten or glow somewhat, showing that it had extra
heat from some hidden source. Because of this “self-heating” of the
steel as shown by the pyrometer and the brightening, the
temperature at which the phenomenon occurs has been named the
“point of recalescence,” which means the point at which it
spontaneously becomes hotter.
 Loss of Magnetism
Now another curious thing took place had we but noticed it.
We all know that iron and steel are our most magnetic materials.
From childhood we have seen pins, needles, steel pens, and various
other steel or iron objects jump to a magnet held near them.
What, now, when we find that our piece of steel in the furnace
when at a red or higher heat is entirely unresponsive or dead to the
attraction of a strong magnet?
Strange! Do you suppose that our magnet has lost its power?
Let us see.
Suppose that every minute or so, while watching the pyrometer
needle go slowly down again after turning off the heat, we put the
magnet to the steel.
Continually lower comes the temperature of the piece—1500°,
1400°, 1375°, 1350°, 1325°, 1300°, 1275° F.,—and lo! the piece jumps,
and from this all the way down to cold it responds to the attraction of
our magnet. Just to make sure that we are not “seeing things,” we
again start our furnace, and, as the steel heats, we test it with the
magnet.
So far there is no doubt about its being magnetic!
At 900° F., the pieces begins to show dark red, at 1000°, 1100°,
1150°, 1200°, 1250°, stronger and stronger red. At all of these
temperatures the steel is attracted. So it is at 1275° and at 1300° F.
But just as we are thinking that we must have been mistaken
before, we find that again the steel is suddenly “dead” to the pull of
the magnet!
And at what temperature? The pyrometer indicates 1320° F. But
was not this the same or very nearly the same reading at which the
pyrometer needle paused on the way up, and do you not remember
that it was only a little below 1250° F. that it paused on the way
down, and the disagreement of the two temperatures we ascribed to
“lag”?
 No, we made no mistake. Steel loses all of its magnetic properties
at the “critical range” and has none above it.
 Dilatation and Conductivity
Certain other great changes, too, occur here.
We know that most materials expand uniformly upon heating and
contract as they cool. Steel is no exception, but at the critical range
on heating it becomes fickle and for a short space contracts instead
of continuing its uniform expansion. Conversely, during cooling, it
ceases its uniform contraction and suddenly dilates or expands for a
short period when it reaches the critical range, after which
aberration it again resumes its old habit of uniform contraction as
the temperature falls.
Just so with its electrical conductivity. At the critical range the
electrical conductivity suddenly decreases abnormally as the piece
gets hotter and as abnormally increases as the steel cools through the
critical range on the return trip.
There are certain other happenings at or near this particular
temperature but we will not consider them here.
Manifestly all of this has a deep meaning.
 Recalescence Indicates the Hardening Point
You remember that we said the divergence between the going up
and the coming down pauses of the pyrometer needle was due to
tardiness or lag? Among humans habitual tardiness is not considered
a desirable trait, but it is undoubtedly through this very lag or
tardiness that steel becomes so serviceable to us.
This lag is peculiar in that it grows
less the more slowly we heat or cool
the steel, and, if the heating or cooling
is done slowly enough, the lag
disappears almost entirely, i.e., the
pause of the pyrometer needle occurs
at the same temperature on the
upward as on the downward way.
Conversely, the disagreement or split
grows or widens the faster the
temperature is raised or lowered.
Here is the vital point.
By extremely sudden cooling, such
as quenching in water, the lag becomes
so great that it never catches up at all
Heating and Cooling and any structure with its consequent
Curves of Steel with properties which was brought about in
.9 Per Cent of Carbon the steel by the higher temperature is
thus frozen or fixed and made to
“persist” after the steel has become cold.
It is just at this point, the “point of recalescence,” that steel
changes from its soft and malleable, to its extremely hard and brittle
condition. If it is quenched from temperatures above this point, it is
extremely hard, if from temperatures below it, even those only a little
below, it is soft and ductile. It is from just a little above this point,
then, usually between 1350° F., and 1500° F., that the blacksmith
hardens his tools by plunging them into cold water.
 Steels of Other
Composition
Now it should be noted particularly
that the specimen with which we have
been experimenting is a tool steel of
.90% carbon or thereabouts. This is
important, for, while all of the carbon
steels show this same critical
temperature, at which occurs the point
of recalescence, those containing from
.45% to about .85% carbon have Heating and Cooling
another point somewhat higher on the Curves of Steel with .46
temperature scale, and steels which Per Cent of Carbon
contain from .10% to .45% of carbon
have two others, or three points in all. Further, steels having less
than .10% of carbon and iron with no carbon at all have the two
upper points but no point at 1290° F. This lower one has
disappeared.
All of this means that if instead of a piece of .90% carbon steel we
had used one having .60% of carbon, say, we would have found two
different critical ranges or points at which the pyrometer paused, the
one at 1290° F., and another when we got to 1360° F. Had the steel
been one containing .30% carbon we would have discovered pauses
at three different points, viz., at 1290° F., at 1395° F., and at 1480° F.
With very low carbon steel or with wrought iron, the pyrometer
would have registered two pauses, one at about 1395° F., and the
other at 1650° F.
When records are carefully kept of the time which is required for
the temperature to rise or lower over each and every twenty-five
degree period, say, on the upward and downward way, and these are
“plotted,” what are called “heating” and “cooling” curves can be
drawn through the stars and dots so set down and these form a
record of the behavior of the pyrometer needle at each temperature
along the scale. Two illustrations of such curves are shown.[9]
 9. Special apparatus is now obtainable for determination of critical points,
heating and cooling curves.
Now if on properly spaced, dotted, vertical lines, which we will let
represent these various alloys, we mark points number three, two
and one as shown by our “cooling” curves, calling the topmost point
three, it is readily seen that the points are related. The lines and the
alloys which they represent are,

(a) The wrought iron,

(b) .15% carbon steel,
(c) .30% carbon steel,
(d) .45% carbon steel,
(e) .60% carbon steel,
(f) .75% carbon steel, and
(g) the steel with .90% carbon.
 Critical Point Diagram of Pure Iron and the
Steels

Of course many more cooling curves, especially of steels with other

percentages of carbon would be desirable, but we have enough that
we are safe in sketching the horizontal and oblique lines, Ar1, Ar2,
Ar3, Ar3·2 and Ar3·2·1, through the points which we have arranged.
For convenience, metallurgists everywhere mark these points Ar1,
Ar2 and Ar3, the first being the lower, and Ar3 the upper one. Arcm
represents an upper point found in steels having more than .9% of
carbon. The letter “r” is derived from the French word,
“refroidissement,” meaning “cooling.” The corresponding points
disclosed during heating are marked Ac1, Ac2, Ac3·2·1, etc., from the
word, “chauffage” meaning “heating.” The “A” apparently “just
happened.” Before the upper critical points were known it had been
used by Tschernoff to designate the temperature at which steels
harden.
 But it must not be supposed that the skeleton which we have
constructed can be fully accepted as true until it has been checked
and rechecked hundreds and hundreds of times by other
investigators. A great many have worked upon these critical points
and upon the “freezing-point” curves of the various alloys. It was of
course impossible for all of them to make their determinations in just
the same manner and with exactly the same materials. Examination
of their work and consideration of the results which they obtained
show some discrepancies as might be expected, largely probably
because of difference in purity of the materials tested, every impurity
such as manganese, nickel, silicon, sulphur, phosphorus, etc.,
modifying more or less the results obtained. As we discovered, speed
of heating and cooling also modify the results. When we consider the
difficulties which attend the making of determinations on metals and
alloys at high temperatures, the wonder is that there is such close
agreement. From these standpoints the differences which exist in the
published results seem quite small.
It was but twenty years ago that the first outline was drawn and
the whole “fusibility” or “equilibrium diagram” of the iron-carbon
alloys given in the next chapter has practically been developed within
this time. But over this period of twenty or so years the points upon
which these lines Ar1, Ar2, Ar3, Ar3·2 and Ar3·2·1 are based have been
checked many times and they are now well substantiated. These lines
form but a small part of the complete “iron-carbon diagram.”
 The Meaning of the Points
You remember that wrought iron and steels having less than .10%
carbon showed no point Ar1, and that in all other steels this point
becomes stronger as they contain higher and higher carbon. There is
little doubt that the point Ar1 exists or results from and because of
the carbon of the alloy. In wrought iron there is no carbon, hence
there is no point Ar1. If the extremely low carbon steels have an Ar1 it
is so weak that it cannot be detected.
Had we tested the .45% carbon steel for magnetic properties we
would have found that it lost magnetism at about 1395° F., instead of
at 1290° F., at which temperature the .90% steel became non-
magnetic. The point Ar2, then, shows the temperature at which loss
or gain of magnetism occurs. The electrical conductivity change
comes at neither of these points, Ar1, nor Ar2, but at Ar3.
However, with increase of carbon the line Ar3, which was drawn
through the points, Ar3, rapidly descends. At about .45% or .50%
carbon content, this line Ar3, representing the changes in
conductivity, joins line Ar2. Hence in steels having .45% carbon or
more, there is a common point, or one which in reality is made up of
both points. At this common point the phenomena peculiar to each
of the points occur.
This common line, now called Ar3·2, itself lowers with further
increase of carbon until, in steels of around .90% carbon, there is but
the single point Ar3·2·1, and the phenomena corresponding to all
three of the points occur at this one point at 1290° F., as we found in
our experiments.
As points Ar2 and Ar3 occur in carbonless iron, they cannot result
in any way from carbon but must have to do with the iron itself.
From their experiences with other materials, chemists and physicists
are well acquainted with such evolutions of heat as occur at Ar2 and
at Ar3. These heat absorptions and evolutions, with the sudden