Читать книгу The Unforgettable Wolf - Jane Godman - Страница 12

Chapter 5

A heavy, thumping beat filled the cramped space while on the screen the camera panned around to capture the ten-thousand-strong audience. Excitement, anticipation and exultation showed on the waiting faces. The person who had made the recording they were watching had perfectly captured the energy pulsing through the crowd. Thick, theatrical smoke rolled like fog from the stage and out into the waiting audience and, within it, colored strobe lights danced in time with the music.

Through the haze, Violet caught occasional glimpses of the giant LED screens at the rear of the stage. Alternating images of fire, close-ups of snarling animals and a stylized symbol that looked like three entwined number sixes flashed up on the screens. At the side of the stage, random explosions went off, shooting orange flames into the air.

As the camera panned the crowd again, Violet noticed the three-sixes symbol on people’s clothing. “What does that mean?” She managed to turn her attention briefly from the mesmerizing images on the screen to Nate.

It was Ged Taverner, lounging in a seat behind her, who answered. “666. The Sign of the Beast.” Violet glanced over her shoulder to see him putting his fingers on either side of his head to make devil horns. His grin exuded confidence. “It’s the band’s logo.”

Violet took a moment to digest that information as she cast a sidelong glance in Nate’s direction. The sign of the beast? Okay, so this band he’s in is not exactly the sweet, wholesome boy band I pictured. As if in response to her thoughts, on screen, the tension built further as the crowd sensed something was about to happen. The lighting shifted, becoming focused on a podium at the rear of the stage that supported a vast, gleaming circular wall of drums. Even above the music, the roar of the crowd filled the air as a lithe, muscled man ran on from the side of the stage and leaped into his seat behind the drums. His chest was bare and his tattooed biceps bulged as he pounded out a furious beat, his blue-black hair flopping forward to cover his face. He exuded raw, brooding vitality, and something more. Even through the screen, Violet could feel it. It was suppressed menace.

“That’s Diablo,” Nathan said. “The best drummer in the world. That’s what he’ll tell you when you meet him. If he speaks to you.”

“Why wouldn’t he speak to me?” Violet couldn’t take her eyes from the artistic thunderstorm Diablo was unleashing before her eyes.

“It will depend on his mood.”

Before she could unpick that cryptic reply, the cameras panned upward, spotlights picking up two men being lowered on twin platforms at either side of the stage. Their fingers flew in a symphony over their respective guitars as they focused intently on their playing.

“On the right, you have Torque. He’s lead guitar. Dev, on the left, is rhythm guitar.”

“Fire and ice.” Ged spoke up again.

Violet saw immediately what he meant. Red-haired Torque was all burning drama and flickering movement. The air around him glowed with life, and he punctuated the sweeping arc of his hand on his guitar so that it was perfectly in time with the explosions at the side of the stage. In contrast, Dev held his body statue still, the movement of his flying fingers the only sign of life. His white-blond hair and pale skin added to the illusion that he was carved from ice.

She watched as Nate, taking up a position slightly to the left of center, and behind Dev, joined the group. She turned questioning eyes to him.

“Bass guitar,” he said, replying to her unanswered question. “Only one person to come.”

With those words, the screen erupted into life. The crowd was in a frenzy as the lead singer strutted onto the stage. Owned the stage. Violet saw the devil horn gesture that Ged had made repeated over and over within the audience as the man on the stage grabbed the fixed microphone stand and rubbed it suggestively against his groin. When he started to sing, his voice ranged from husky crooning to wild screaming. No matter what sound those perfect lips made, he was mesmerizing. Throwing back his red-gold mane of hair, he strutted, crouched and jumped around the stage in skin-tight black leather pants and a flowing white shirt open to the waist.

“Khan.” Nate said the single word as though it explained everything.

There was no doubt about it. Beast delivered a spine-tingling performance. As the number reached its end, Diablo pounded out a crescendo and Nate slid his palm over the neck of his guitar, fingers caressing the frets, the instrument dropping down between his muscular thighs as he lunged. Torque and Dev played back-to-back in the center of the stage, and Khan howled out the final chorus while lying on his back and dry-humping the air.

As the final chords died away and the crowd went demented, Khan leaped to his feet. Tilting his head back and holding his arms wide, he half yelled, half growled, “Guten Abend, Berlin!”

If it was possible, the noise from the audience grew even wilder until Nate pointed the remote control at the TV set and muted it. Shifting in his seat, he viewed Violet’s face. “And that’s Beast.”

“Wow.” She was stunned by what she had just seen. By what he was a part of.

They were seated in a small room off the larger living area of the band’s tour bus. In addition, Violet had seen a kitchen, shower room, two restrooms and a long narrow hall lined with bunks. Nate had explained that they used hotels when they could, but the bus was their home away from home when they were on the road. While they were waiting for the others to arrive, Ged had suggested showing her the film of the band.

“I wanted you to watch this before you met them. Beast is not like any other band,” he explained now. There was a note in his voice that troubled her.

Violet turned her black leather chair to face Ged. She wasn’t sure what she thought of the band’s manager. Ged Taverner was a huge, dark, brooding figure with eyes that seemed to see right inside her soul. “I see what you mean.”

He stared at her for a long silent moment. “I’m not sure you do...but you will.”

* * *

Nate kept one eye on Violet as the men who had saved his sanity climbed—or, in the case of Khan, erupted—onto the tour bus. All at once, the vast, glossy space was filled with noise and virility. It was always like this when the five of them were together. Not so much a competition, more an unconscious demonstration of strength. The band members were such a closely knit group that they had developed their own brand of masculine pride. With five huge competing egos, it sometimes looked like machismo gone wild. Only they knew the truth. Only they knew the real story. And Ged knew it all, of course. He was the man who had brought them together. The man who had saved them.

When the backslapping and calculated insults were over, Nate spoke up, his voice cutting across the clamor. “Guys, this is Violet. She’s joining us for the tour.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to study Violet. Diablo’s were gold with haunted shadows in their depths, Torque’s gray with multicolored moonstone flecks; Dev’s were like chips of ice and Khan’s a brilliant, unrelenting amber. He could feel Violet’s unease as she was caught in their combined beams. Nate knew what the others were thinking. Saw it in Khan’s altered stance and the way he licked his lips. A flash of anger ripped through him. No way.

“She’s with me.” He kept his voice level, but his eyes challenged them. Don’t even think about it.

Slowly, the others relaxed. The coiled tension unwound. The macho posturing gave way to casual welcome. Nate had staked a claim to Violet that the others would respect. None of them had ever brought a girl on tour before. Oh, there had been plenty of women sharing those bunks. Plenty of wild nights and crazy days. But no one had ever started out by introducing someone to the band, announcing that she would be accompanying them. It was a new dynamic. He knew Ged was watching closely, observing how it would work out.

“Welcome to the zoo, Violet.” Torque’s brilliant smile flashed. He brushed back his long, flame-red hair, his movements quick-fire. Torque didn’t know how to be still. “Beast. Zoo. Get it?” Violet smiled, and Nate could see some of the tension draining out of her. Torque wandered away to stow his belongings under his bunk.

“Has Nate made coffee yet?” It was Dev’s drawling voice.

“No.” Violet looked wary. Dev’s uncanny stillness and watchfulness always had that effect when people met him for the first time.

“Good. Nate’s an Englishman. He can’t make coffee for shit.” Cool as ever, Dev strolled off in the direction of the kitchen.

Watching him, Violet was taken by surprise as Khan grasped her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Nate should have introduced you to the most important person first, beautiful Violet. I am Khan.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Violet said, casting a helpless glance up at Nate.

“Naturally. Everybody is.” Khan’s voice was a purr as he went to his bunk. Nate knew from experience he would curl up and be asleep in seconds, leaving his luggage strewn in everyone else’s way.

Diablo was always the unpredictable one. In the end, he muttered something that could have been a welcome, but might just as easily have been a curse, as he went to join Dev in the kitchen.

Nate drew Violet down to sit on one of the large, squashy sofas that lined the living area. “These are the people you will have to live in close proximity with over the coming weeks, maybe months.” He didn’t mention that the tour was scheduled to last just over a year. Surely her memory would have returned by then. “What do you think?”

“I think I need another blow to the head.” She gave a shaky smile. “Seriously? I think I’ve totally disrupted your life...and theirs. Are you certain you want me along?”

The question shook him. Gazing at her, Nate tried to analyze what he was feeling. This wasn’t about his sense of responsibility toward her. It wasn’t because she needed him to come to her rescue and care for her. Are you certain you want me along? He wanted her. It was that simple. And that complicated.

“After a few hours cooped up with us, you may wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. Torque’s zoo comment wasn’t far wide of the mark.” He stretched his long legs in front of him. “The schedule is punishing. We’re crossing the Channel to France tonight and starting the European leg in Paris. Things will get really frantic in a month or two when the US tour begins.”

“How many of you are American?”

He should have foreseen she would want to know more about them. Questions about their backgrounds weren’t easy to answer, but they had come up with a biography that suited them. Over the years, they had honed it so it satisfied even the most pressing journalist. Even so, he didn’t feel comfortable telling Violet a series of half-truths. “I’m English, as you know. Diablo is Native American. Khan is from India and Dev comes from Nepal.”

Violet accepted his explanation without further comment. “And Torque?”

Ah, Torque. The hardest one of all to explain. “He’s well traveled.”

“A child of the world, that’s me.” Torque returned carrying coffee. “Wherever I lay my well-worn beanie, that’s my home. So it begins. Diablo has just threatened to kill Khan for stealing the best bunk.” He raised his cup in a mock toast, those curious, mercurial eyes shifting color. “Welcome aboard, Violet.”

As he spoke, the engines rumbled into life and the gigantic bus rolled out into the traffic.

* * *

The band was going to spend the afternoon at the stadium engaged in rehearsals. Nate explained the way it worked. Their entire stage, video and lighting rig was in duplicate, so while one stage was being erected in one city, the other one was on its way to the next venue ready to be set up there.

“It’s a luxury not many bands can afford. A huge crew of professionals travels ahead of us to set everything up, so all we have to do is turn up and perform. All part of the mystery that is Ged Taverner and his billions.”

Violet was bemused at the way he spoke of Ged. It was as though he was indebted to, but barely knew, the man who was responsible for the band’s success. “How did you meet Ged?”

They were eating lunch on the tiny balcony of their Parisian hotel suite. It overlooked the River Seine, and the brilliant sunlight, blue skies and iconic buildings made it a picture-perfect scene.

A slight shadow crossed his features. “It was six years ago. I had been through a difficult time. I’d been ill following an attack—” his eyes were on the river, so she couldn’t read his expression “—it’s not something I care to remember, let alone talk about. I was a music student and I’d been in a band. Not Beast.” He turned back to look at Violet, and the shadows were gone. “I’d never come across anything quite like Beast. Ged turned up at my apartment one day. He said he’d seen me play—God alone knows how, because I hadn’t done anything for a while—and he was putting together a rock band. He was looking for a bass guitarist, if I wanted to audition. At first I wasn’t interested, but he left me his card. I don’t know what it was, but something about the encounter, something about Ged, kept tugging at my mind. Anyway, I got in touch, did the audition and haven’t looked back since.”

“Is that how Ged found the others?” Violet sipped her water. The elegant menu had dismayed her, and she had ordered a rare steak with a salad instead of any of the dainty French dishes. “He scouted them?”

“I suppose so,” Nate said.

Violet sensed he was being deliberately vague. Beast had been together for six years, so he had to know the details of how every one of the members joined the band. Violet thought about Ged Taverner. On the surface, he was charming, but there was something about him that troubled her. It was a watchfulness, a stillness, that was outside of her experience. He was the puppet master, the Svengali, and he reveled in the role. Maybe that was what she felt from him. That sense of needing to be in control. Whatever it was, it worked. The band clearly owed their success to him.

“Is this okay?” Nate indicated the suite behind them. They had arrived in Paris just over an hour ago and checked into this grand, old hotel that cried out “money.” There were two adjoining bedrooms with a sitting room in between. “This way, the others in the band won’t get any ideas that you might be available.” His face darkened as he said the words.

She reached across the table and clasped his hand. “This is perfect.”

Could she tell him she’d be happy to share one room—and a bed—with him? Could she find the words to tell him that her fantasies about getting him into bed, any bed, were getting wilder by the minute? She didn’t know if this longing was something she’d experienced before; all she knew was it was raging out of control. How would Nate feel about that? About her wanting him, but also about her possible inexperience? She guessed he wouldn’t want to take advantage of her memory loss. No matter how much I might want him to.

She wondered if something of her thoughts showed in her face, because Nate’s eyes flashed and his grip on her hand tightened. Just as he leaned across the table toward her, there was a wild pounding on the door.

“Nate?” It was Torque. “Get decent, man. We’re leaving in five.”

Nate groaned. “I have to go. You can either come and watch—but I warn you it will be boring—or you can explore the city and meet me at the stadium in a few hours.”

“I choose the nonboring option.” Even though it means being apart from you.

“Very wise.” He rose to his feet, paused and then, as though unable to help himself, stooped and kissed her lightly on the lips before striding out without a backward glance.

Violet sat very still for a few seconds, then slowly raised her fingertips to touch her lips. It had been the briefest of kisses. Barely a kiss at all. So why did her lips feel like they were on fire? Why was she trembling all over? Why did she want to run after him and beg him to kiss her again? Because this attraction was growing like wildfire, consuming her to the exclusion of everything else.

The thought jerked her up from her seat like a lightning flash. No. This couldn’t have happened. She was confusing gratitude with something deeper. She was still suffering the effects of that blow to her head. I could have a husband, or a lover, waiting for me somewhere. He could be frantically searching for me even now. I may not be free to have these feelings for another man.

She didn’t think that was the case—and Nate’s frequent internet searches that turned up no trace of anyone looking for her, no newspaper reports of her as a missing person, backed up her hunch—but she clung to the thought anyway. Because the alternative was that she had tumbled headlong into this intense attraction toward Nate with no real idea of who he was. Worse than that, she still had no idea of who she was. But she had a suspicion that she was a werewolf, and she knew he was a werewolf killer. It was hardly a match made in heaven.

Restlessly, she decided to push her thoughts aside, reasoning that her damaged head wasn’t capable of straight thinking. After being confined on that bus with all the raw energy that was Beast for the best part of a day, she needed activity. Among her expensive new clothing, she had noticed some kick-ass running gear. Changing hurriedly into three-quarter-length leggings, a tight T-shirt and running shoes, she made her way down to the lobby and out onto the street.

The wide pavements alongside the river were busy, but there were other joggers taking advantage of the pleasant weather. Violet ran at a steady pace, enjoying the fresh air and the sunlight on her face, even though she craved more. What more was, she didn’t know. When she tried to reach within herself to find out, it eluded her. All she got was a sense of needing bigger, freer, wilder. Frustration kicked in and she paused, leaning over a wall to view the river as she caught her breath.

That was when it hit her. A memory. The first she’d had since that blow to her head. Brief and faint, it flashed into her mind for a second or two. A man, strong, tall and powerful. He was angry. His voice was raised. She got a sense of her own anger firing back at him before the image faded. Although she tried to catch it, to hold on to it, it was gone.

Even though she had felt the confrontational mood of the flashback, she had felt something else more strongly. It was there again. That feeling of otherness. Wherever she had been when she and that man faced each other with rage quivering between them, it had been...different.

Where am I from? Where do I call home? That man cared enough to be angry at me, yet he doesn’t seem to be searching for me. The mystery of her identity appeared to be tied into the mystery of where she belonged. A slight headache was forming behind her eyes, and instead of jogging back to the hotel she walked slowly, her feet dragging. Her thoughts kept returning to the only thing that mattered.

Nate. She picked up the pace. I need to be with Nate.