Page 29 of Unmarked Magic

The drummer. The backbone of the band.

“He’ll be here. He wouldn’t let us down,” I assured him, confident in my own words.

Wren folded his arms, eyeing the door of the bar. “Yeah, I know. But it’s not like him to be late, and he’s not answering my calls.” He eyed me hopefully. “You think you could stand in for him if push came to shove?”

Fuck. No. I’d mentioned to him in passing that I knew how to play when we were deciding on a set list, which were all covers that I knew well.

But Wren didn’t know the real reason I stopped playing drums. I didn’t want to think about Jones not showing up. It would be an embarrassment for both the band and the bar. They were expecting a band, and the right crowd was here waiting for them due to my marketing efforts.

“He’ll be here,” I insisted with a firm nod.

Wren didn’t look so sure. “I hope you’re right.” He made his way back to the stage, where the rest of the band continued getting ready.

I ran my hand over my brow, feeling the heady warmth in the air already. Turning to the kitchen, I filled up my water bottle, taking a long drink.

Fifteen minutes passed and Jones didn’t show. Wren caught my eye, lifting a hand as if he didn’t know what to do.

Morgan gave me a sidelong look. “Are we going to cancel?” She threw a worried glance in my direction, knowing how much this night meant to me. How hard we both worked to make tonight happen. She and Ty had helped me put the stage together, and Morgan had put up flyers around town.

My jaw tightened. I did not want to cancel this band. The thought of standing in for Jones gnawed at my insides. I pushed away the overwhelming urge to throw up. It was a really bad idea. My chest screamed at me not to fucking do it, but I’d promised the bar a band, and I didn’t need a reputation around for not delivering on my word.

I walked over to Morgan, getting her attention. “Grab Wes.” I motioned to the back corner of the bar, where I knew the rest of our friends were. “Ask him if he can pour drinks for a bit.”

She eyed me curiously.

At that moment Colt walked in the entrance. “Tell Colt.” I gave her a look that meant I was serious. Because, if this backfired, he needed to know what was going on.

Grabbing my drink bottle, I made my way onto the stage, giving Wren a quick nod. The look of relief on his face was worth the mountain of unease rising inside me.

“You tapping in?” he asked, adjusting his guitar strap.

I slapped him and the guy on the bass guitar on the shoulder as I passed. “Let’s do it.”

Making my way to the back of the stage, I sat behind the drums, picking up the sticks. They weaved through my fingers naturally, spinning as if they were a part of me.

My feet found the pedals, and I gave them a kick to reacquaint myself. I gave the symbols a tip, then adjusted both them and my seat. It all felt like the most natural thing in the world.

At that moment, something made me look up into the crowd gathering in front of the stage. My group of friends were now a few rows back: Skye, Ty, Red, and Colt. I locked eyes with Colt seconds before the lights dimmed, blocking out the crowd. A spotlight fixed on the stage, blinding me to everything else.

Wren nodded at me as he struck the first chord. I closed my eyes and flipped my cap backwards, letting the rhythm consume me as I led the band through the intro that, thankfully, I already knew. I loved this song, I’d played it many times.

In that moment, it was me, the music and the drumsticks making magic. I missed this, missed the kick of adrenaline that playing music like this did to me. It was addictive and raw. The most out-of-body experience one could have.

My arms burned, but I didn’t care. I was numb to the rhythm pounding through my blood, seeping its energy into the song.

Unfiltered chaos brewed inside me, and, seconds before the chorus hit, I lifted my water bottle upside down, spilling its contents on the drum kit. The crowd roared in my ears as I continued to play, water splashing high into the air with every beat, creating a fucking masterpiece to watch. The intensity of the crowd heightened, and the scent of wild berries laced with the strongest hit of desire suddenly hit me.

Red. I’d never been able to pinpoint what the exact scent was until now. But there it was. The wildest of berries. Blackberries.

Fuuuuccckkk.

I tried to ignore it, but it was impossible. The beat. Her scent. I wanted to taste her again. Needed her lips on mine. Playing the drums did this to me. Let the wildest form of me off its leash, the hardest part of a blood mage to control: lust, desire.

The song ended, and I choked on her scent, which seemed hellbent on suffocating me.

Dropping my drumsticks, I scrambled from the stage, headed straight for the exit. Because I needed to get out of here, right the fuck now.

Stumbling outside, I sprinted down the road, my boots turning snow into sludge as I ran. The noise of the bar became a distant echo against the evening’s still, and I finally bent over, dragging icy air into my lungs as I gripped a frost-covered gate, leaning against it.