Page 43 of Howl for the Gargoyle

"Oh, change the channel," I called.

Rafe stood up straight and blinked at me. "Huh?"

I scrambled off the seat as the first notes of my voice came carrying into the air. "Turn it off."

I was nearing the stereo just as he turned it off, the sudden silence as loud as Mikey's determined drumming. My face was hot, and Rafe was staring at me with amused confusion.

"You really hate that song, huh?"

My blush grew hotter and I squirmed in place, debating what to tell him and not realizing my mouth was already opening. "It's my song."

Rafe had already turned back to the counter, cracking an egg into a bowl, but he paused, staring at the egg with the shell still in his hand. "Wait, what?"

"That was…that was my band."

I pressed my lips between my teeth, and Rafe turned a comically surprised face in my direction, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"Your band?" he asked, dropping the eggshell on the counter.

I rolled my eyes and nodded, then stiffened as Rafe started to prowl closer. "No," I warned.

"Come on, I have to."

"Rafe, no!" But I was laughing, totally incapable of sounding stern.

I tried to block the stereo with my body, but as long and tall as I was, Rafe was taller, and he had no issues with crowding against me, burying his face in my throat and tickling at my sides with one hand, reaching around with the other.

I froze as the music shouted around us again, loud and sudden, my singing voice spinning through a strand of lyrics Kiernan and I had argued over. My eyes squeezed shut, and my nose wrinkled. It wasn't that I didn't like our music. I loved performing it. Listening back was…harder. I didn't sound like that woman any more. I didn't feel like her.

I cried over the stereo, long and aching, and Rafe hummed in my ear. "Oh yeah, I definitely recognize that note."

I sagged, barking out laughter, and he leaned back and grinned at me, squeezing the arm around my waist. His head tipped to the side for a moment, just listening, and I tried to escape his grip. Except I wasn't trying very hard. If anything, I might've been rubbing closer.

"I like it," Rafe mused, and then his eyes grew huge again. "Oh my god, am I fucking a rock star?!"

I huffed and glared at him. "If you were fucking a rock star, you'd probably have known my name to start with. Right now, all you're doing is burning a musician's breakfast."

Rafe glanced at the skillet, but it wasn't even smoking. "I dunno, I don't really keep up with music that much. Wow, you're on the radio! This is exciting! Grab the prosecco and juice from the fridge, we'll toast."

I'd heard myself on the radio before, but I wasn't about to turn down a mimosa or a bellini—definitely not part of my usual post full moon routine—and Rafe's excitement was a little infectious.

"The label's probably pushing us on air to create hype for the tour," I explained as Rafe and I set to work.

"A tour?!" Rafe exclaimed, with an even more exaggeratedly open mouth.

"Stop!" I laughed. "That is part of the package, right?"

He blinked and straightened, shrugging. "I suppose so. I've never really thought about the logistics of the life of a world-renowned rock star."

I didn't dignify his teasing with more than a dry look this time, and he beamed back unrepentantly.

"How do you handle full moons on tour?" Rafe asked, flippant and casual.

The shocking pop of the cork on the prosecco made me jump with tension, and I stiffened.

"They've reserved shelters for me. It's… It'll be the first time," I said, focusing too hard on the bottle in my hands.

Rafe was quiet, and when I peeked a glance, he was watching me, sober and calm now, too knowing.

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