Hypnotizing Beat Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2019 Katherine McIntyre

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-973-7

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Melissa Hosack

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To all the lovely oddballs and outcasts, this book is for you.

  HYPNOTIZING BEAT

  Discord’s Desire, 2

  Katherine McIntyre

  Copyright © 2019

  Chapter One

  The nightmares happened almost every night.

  Trevor tried to excise those flashbacks of the past from his skull, but the moment sleep stole him, the memories returned. He’d wake up in a cold sweat to stare at the top bunk Kieran and Liz slept in, half-believing the iron bars of his cage still surrounded him.

  Trevor lit a cigarette as he stalked along the sidewalk of a street still blazing with yellow and red neons even at three in the morning. That was Las Vegas, an entire city of insomniacs like him. And with the two-week stretch of shows Liz had booked for their band, Discord’s Desire, they’d be full up on the energy they siphoned from humans for a while. This city reeked of sex and desperation, the exact things that fueled their ragtag crew.

  He sucked in the first drag of nicotine, which flooded him in a quick sweep, because he needed somewhere to channel this nervous energy. A couple of drunk girls stumbled past him, their loud, carefree laughter echoing into the streets. The shadow lengthening from the alley ahead had him slipping his hand to his waistband for his knife.

  The Venetian stood out nearby, all faux and muted elegance compared to the gaudy pinks of the Flamingo or the smack-you-in-the-face monolith of Treasure Island. He just wanted a stiff drink, quick-like.

  Ever since the Lotus Garden incident where he’d run into Tymarch Alberich, the very man who enslaved him all those years, his nightmares had increased a thousandfold. The active bounty the asshole placed over his head didn’t help either. Avoiding the Otherworld didn’t cut it any more.

  Ky would kill him for escaping in the night like this. Trevor tapped the ash from his cigarette, the flecks drifting by in the late-night breeze. Their lead singer took overprotective to Mount Everest levels, especially since he got all official-like with their booking manager Liz. Trevor hadn’t escaped one set of chains for a new one, however well intentioned.

  Trevor rolled his shoulders before he entered the Venetian, which pulsed with energy even now. Balls clinked, buzzers rang, and shouts and cheers resounded through the place while folks gambled away their money and sanity. The moment he stepped inside, the smell of sweat collided with heavy cleaning solution, and he flicked his cigarette behind him to careen onto the pavement. Cocktail waitresses bustled through in tight tees, carrying full loads of drinks to tables filled with the latest brand of douchebag. With the summer storm attitude that descended, Trevor wasn’t in the mood for chatting with anyone.

  He dodged past the machines blaring at him and flashing their neon lights almost as shamelessly as the broads stripping down on the dozens of stages lining the Strip. The bar stood out in the center of the casino, a fake-marbled attempt at elegance so ostentatious it hurt. Nothing in this realm compared to how the Otherworld’s raw, organic growth collided with innovation. Besides, Vegas was tits straining out of a low-cut top and mascara thick enough to smear. Trevor spent too much time with his own desperation to bother with anyone else’s.

  He slipped into one of the red-backed seats lining a circular cream bar with tall columns in the center. The bartender appeared faster than a blink, as if he could flash in like a pixie or gnome.

  “What’ll you have?” the guy asked, looking efficient and trim in his burgundy vest and black slacks.

  “Gin and tonic,” Trevor ordered, hunching forward to rest his forearms across the cool surface of the bar. Just one wouldn’t cut it either. A couple of gazes flicked his way—though he was used to the attention. Even with glamour hiding his sharper than human teeth or the wild, banshee light in his eyes, humans still saw a lean black guy with long spiked hair the color of burnished silver. Add on the black patterned tattoos threaded up his arms and he didn’t need his leather jacket or spiked bracelets to stand out.

  A group of college age girls giggled from the other side of the bar, trying to flash him looks they deemed seductive. Trevor had received enough of them to become one jaded motherfucker. Unlike Jett and Renn who whored themselves out, Trevor exercised a bit more caution with who he took to bed. After all, no amount of energy he could siphon from a good fuck would fix the hopelessness threatening to choke him every waking day. He spent his time waiting for the inevitable—to end up in a cell again.

  The bartender returned with his drink, and Trevor wrestled out his wallet. Before he could pass over his card, the bartender shook his head.

  “No need,” the guy said. “Lady on the other side of the bar offered to pick up your tab.”

  Trevor lifted the gin and tonic in a salute. “Cheers.” He scanned the side of the bar but didn’t catch any locked and loaded gazes. The columns obscured the other half of the bar, where she must’ve been hailing from.

  He sniffed the drink—the crisp scent of juniper wafted his way, though that wasn’t telling enough. With the bounty over his head, he sure as a snake didn’t trust mysterious drinks gifted his way. Time to pay a visit to the opposite side of the bar—somehow, he got swindled into making conversation whether he wanted to or not.

  Trevor hopped from his seat, the weight of his knives at his side giving him some measure of confidence. Already, he could hear both Ky and Liz yelling at him for being reckless while Renn gave a thumbs up in the background. Sure, the whole thing could be a trap with a couple of Alberich’s hulks waiting for him on the other end of the bar, but he had vigilance tamped into him after years of being under the bastard’s thumb. Besides, he could shock them with a banshee wail and bolt.

  The moment he turned the corner, Trevor froze.

  She sat at the bar wielding an appletini like a weapon, and the trim black dress she wore clung to her lithe form like it’d been painted on. The neon blue scarf around her neck and matching heels fit her style to a T, accenting glossy chestnut locks pulled into a chignon and sharp, inquisitive eyes that sliced like a knife. The leannan sidhe’s pointed ears and elfin features were the only tip offs of her fae heritage, since she could blend even without the glamour veil that kept humans unaware of their kind.

  The sight of Danica Maslanka delivered a one-two punch to the stomach, the reminder of the smoking ruin way things left off between them.

  Trevor lifted the gin and tonic as he approached. “So, let me guess, poisoned?”

  Her plum lips quirked in a pert grin. When they’d first met, he’d found her stunning, but nothing painted someone in shades of ugly like betrayal. “Like I’d be so classless to offer a poisoned drink. I was looking for a way to chat one-on-one, and I figured if I sent an email, you’d ignore it.”

  “You’d be right.” Trevor took a seat beside her. He did trust that she hadn’t poisoned the drink—the woman wasn’t a killer, she just possessed no ounce of moral fortitude. Like he should’ve expected more from one of his kind. When Ky’s brother Larsen Blackmore targeted the band, sending mercenaries after them six
months ago, Danica had showed up with a similar vendetta and they’d joined forces.

  Until Ky got kidnapped and Danica ditched. She had Larsen in her sights and nailing him to a cross meant more than saving their lead singer. The last time they heard from her, she hung up on Liz while Ky was the worst sort of screwed. Trevor’s blood heated all over again, and he took a sip of the gin and tonic to cool his nerves.

  He met her eyes, not betraying an ounce of the bitterness. “What’s so important you needed to stalk me all the way to Vegas. Not a close drive from San Fran.”

  Danica glanced away, her gaze flickering to the columns behind the bar. “San Francisco and I are on the outs. Besides, my staff has always been urging me to take a vacation, so I figured now would be a fantastic time.”

  Bull. Shit.

  “Wouldn’t Los Angeles be better real estate for your talents?” Trevor asked. If she wanted to play around, he’d indulge. After all, whatever reason brought her to him couldn’t have been a good one. “There’s more glitz than talent around here.” A leannan sidhe like her fed from artists in the same way Ky and Renn siphoned energy from sex and passion. He just leeched off of the crowds’ energy, so playing shows offered the perfect medium.

  “And miss out on the chance to grab a drink with legendary guitarist Trevor Arceneaux? Never.” She placed a hand to her chest in mock surprise, the sarcasm fluid as a stream mid-storm. He had to give her credit for thoroughness—he kept his last name off the internet, so she must’ve gone an alternate route to obtain the information.

  Trevor took a sip from his drink, the coolness gliding down his throat like relief. Not like he’d reached some state of calm. If anything, Danica’s presence hotwired his emergency alarms to constant alert. The woman didn’t act without motivation and ultimately placed her agenda above all else.

  “How’s your sister doing?” he asked. Two could tango along the knife’s edge.

  Danica’s gaze sharpened, if possible. The heartless woman had her weaknesses, no matter how she tried to downplay or hide them. After all—she had never been the one with a personal vendetta against Larsen. Everything she’d done was for the sake of her sister.

  “She’d be better if she could get a seat at one of your shows,” Danica responded, trilling sweet as a sparrow. “A little birdie told me your show at the Joint tomorrow night is already sold out. When did you boys go from garage band blues to Rolling Stones?”

  Avoidance of the highest order—that had been Danica’s game from the moment they met her. Too bad for her he’d played the game for as long as he could remember. Whatever roundabouts she took, he’d follow, until he managed to suss out her motivations for tracking him here.

  “The bar’s set for sleazy in Vegas, and that’s the reputation we’ve cultivated for ourselves.” Trevor took another sip from his drink, the icy gin trickling down his throat. Not like the liquor did anything to sate the thread of exhaustion pulling tighter in him each passing day, ready to snap at any moment.

  Danica’s eyes narrowed. She stared past him, and the back of his neck prickled.

  “We’re being watched,” she murmured, her lips barely moving. She placed her appletini on the bar.

  Like he could spend some time by his lonesome without one of Alberich’s goons trailing him. Lah-dee-fucking-dah. Looks like they’d be proving all of Ky’s mother henning right.

  “Follow my lead,” Trevor mouthed. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, the icy blast mirroring the adrenaline that surged through him with the oncoming threat. He slammed the glass onto the bar and slipped out from his seat. If they wanted to tail him, he’d spent years dealing with the occasional bounty hunter who tried to nab him when he neared pockets of the Otherworld. Now they’d taken their game to the human realm.

  Trevor held out a hand in Danica’s direction. Her smile remained steady even with the confusion lighting her jade eyes. She placed her hand in his, a slight, soft touch, when he’d been expecting claws.

  “Why don’t we head up to my room for the night,” Trevor said, his words dripping with intent.

  Once Danica caught on, her demeanor transformed. Those lids grew heavy with a scorching stare, and her plum lips curled into a seductive smirk. She draped her arms around his shoulders and sank against him like some fawning fan. Should’ve figured after the way she’d played them in the past that Danica could slip into a role. Her slim body pressed against his, and she leaned in close enough that her lemongrass and lime perfume lingered.

  Trevor wound his arm around her waist, his palm flattening on the small of her back. Her hands traveled from his shoulders to waist in a slow, tantalizing dance as she leaned in. Together, they strode in the direction of the nearest stairwell. He didn’t have to glance behind him to feel the intensity of being watched. A lifetime of vigilance made sure the instinct was stamped into him bone-deep.

  “We’ll get him to follow us to the stairs,” Trevor mumbled into her hair, his lips brushing against the silken strands. Even though he hated her guts, something about her lithe body pressed against him traveled straight to his cock. Danica was the sort of stunner he couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried. She let out a loud, girlish giggle, which sounded nothing like the throaty sarcasm she normally rolled on.

  Once they got to the steps, that’s when his stalker would act, and he could handle the situation away from the dozens of humans and bystanders who could get hurt in the process. Even if they whipped out fae magic, due to the veil of glamour, all the humans would see was a drunken bar brawl, a common sight in this city. The stairwell door beckoned, feet away.

  Danica’s fingers curled tighter into his leather.

  “When he jumps me, run the other way,” Trevor murmured.

  Danica snorted in response. “I’m not some porcelain doll in need of protection,” she whispered. “Besides, he could be here for me.” Trevor’s brows furrowed, but before he could ask, she slipped out of their feigned embrace to tug the door open.

  She whirled around and crooked her finger at him, a honeyed seduction in her deep, green eyes. Her expression dripped sex, and his cock throbbed in response. Because now was the time to get horny over a woman who betrayed them, right before some bounty hunter jumped them. He sucked in a deep breath and followed her inside to the stairwell.

  The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Trevor pulled out his knives. Danica slipped on a pair of brass knuckles, except these ones were tipped in copper.

  “Expecting an Unseelie?” Trevor asked, giving her a sidelong glance. Everything surrounding her appearance in Vegas to the acute way she prepared for the situation spelled trouble.

  “Who else would Alberich hire for thugs?” Danica shot back.

  The door creaked open.

  A couple strolled in, laughing with each other as they wobbled on unsteady feet like they drank one too many martinis on the floor. Trevor hid his blade and slunk toward the wall while Danica tucked her knuckles out of sight. She brushed her body against his, following with a throaty, pointed laugh to throw the humans off their scent. The couple barely paid them mind as they focused on conquering the stairwell. The door clicked shut while their voices drifted from the flight of steps.

  Only a lifetime of vigilance saved Trevor.

  A shadow whipped his way at a bullet train speed right as Trevor lifted his blade. Their stalker must have snuck in when the couple opened the door.

  Claws met metal in an echoing screech.

  The ankou, a long, lanky shadow of a beast, hissed at him. Those rotten teeth were on full display, and his rancid scent slammed in full force, like a cemetery mated with a dumpster. Empty eye cavities glared at him from the creature often dubbed the graveyard watcher, and Trevor steadied his footing, prepared to shove back.

  Before he could make his move, copper glinted under the dim fluorescent lighting. Danica’s fist collided with the creature’s face.

  A screech came from the beast as its flesh sizzled under the impact of the copper
tips, the metal like acid to an Unseelie. Trevor didn’t miss his chance. His knife slipped between the gauzy flesh covering protruding ribs. He thrust deep and dragged the blade across, the skin tearing with the effort.

  The claws descended again, snagging his beat-up leather jacket. They ripped into the fabric, and the creature opened its mouth again to let out a cloud of that horrid breath. Except a blackened cloud drifted from the beast’s maw, like a chimney puffing oily smoke into the air.

  Danica lobbed another punch, this time aiming for the slice he’d created along the ankou’s chest. As her copper tips descended, the cloud made her splutter, and she staggered back a few paces.

  The cloud spread, the noxious fumes making his eyes burn as tendrils trailed toward him. Trevor closed his lips and plunged ahead anyway. He’d grown so used to seeing in the darkness that half the time he could close his eyes and find his way. His blade snaked out and sank into something solid.

  The ankou let out a low hum in anger. “This isn’t your fight,” it hissed.

  Well, devil be damned.

  Trevor peered through the haze, ignoring the way his eyes stung. His blade had sunk straight into the murky stomach of the ankou. As much as he wanted answers, the creature presented an immediate threat. He dragged his blade up until it stopped against the ribs. Blood poured from the opened gash, thick, black liquid spilling onto the floor.

  Danica leapt between them right as the claws lashed out again. She dodged the ankou’s blow and delivered another one of her own. Even with the remaining mist hanging in the air leaving a residue similar to pepper spray, she ignored the sting, her shoulders heaving with coughs. She slammed her fist into the creature’s skull again and again and again.

  As fast as the ankou descended upon them, it dropped to the ground. Chunks of skull created a stark contrast amidst the surrounding pool of blackened blood. The janitor was going to have a joyride cleaning this one up—chances are, the glamour would just make the fae corpse look like someone died from alcohol poisoning, passed out in their own vomit.