Page 7 of Our Deceptive Heat

I have no words to explain my reaction to him other than he steals all my reason from my head. I am still as I take him in, lost and floating, unable to find my voice.

“Tyr,” he says his name quietly but firmly.

I can instantly hear the singer in him.

In my head, I can hear music that I’ve come to associate with him. Deep notes and intricate melodies.

“And this is Envy!” Digs says.

I turn, and my entire world shifts and narrows to this one moment. This one person. If there are such things as fallen angels, Envy is one. His hair is white, his eyes pale green, his skin is clear with high cheekbones and plump lips. Intelligent, cautious eyes watch me from a tall form that seems slimmer than the others. He is so damned beautiful that I don’t think there is a song to describe him.

My tongue is tied. I have no words. All I can do is stare. I want a picture that I can cry over; I want to reach out and touch him and see if he’s real.

He smiles, and my stomach flips. Music bursts into my mind, dancing around me.

Envy.

I am in so much trouble.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello,” I manage to rasp out. “I’m Ryn, your songwriter.”

His smile widens, but Tyr steps protectively between us, moving to block my view. I know that move. Locke does it all the time to protect Lia and me.

I turn away, focusing on the job at hand and showing Tyr that I respect his decision to shield his alpha.

“So you need a hit song?”

“It would be awesome if we could. But just a song, any song. So the label doesn’t drop us,” Digs says with a carefree laugh.

I nod sharply. I know what my father is like. The threat is very real.

“I’ve listened to your music. It’s good. It’s intense and very emotional. I’ve got some ideas, and I’d love to know what you think.”

In seconds, I have five notebooks open with pages of notes spread out on the coffee table. I pull out my pens and tie my hair in a loose bun at the base of my neck. My fingers slip my phone out of my pocket to load up what I’ve been working on.

I lay the ideas down on the table, playing the tunes and voice notes I’ve kept when needed. Letting them get a sense of who I am and what I can do.

I’m used to having to prove myself. Most people assume I skate by on my parents’ names. They don’t know I’m work driven. I focus on research and aim to be the best I can be in whatever I do.

Some people call me obsessive.

I call myself driven, meticulous, and goal orientated.

Tyr is the most passionate, getting up close to me and leaning in. Our arms press together as we pick apart lyrics and change things up. He constantly asks me questions and makes suggestions that spark ideas in my head. After an hour, I stare at him as he listens intently, and I decide this alpha is almost a male version of me. His eyes find mine, and he smiles.

I’ve won him over. I don’t know why I feel such relief, but I’ve never been able to work with anyone like this. He gets the lyrics; he understands what I’m trying to do. Working with him is like speaking a language only we can understand.

I’m surprised by how much theory he knows and wonder why he’s not writing his own music. He clearly knows what he’s doing. I wonder if he’s been blocked and unable to write. Maybe I could help him.

His hair hangs to the sides, kind of scraggly, but it looks soft. I want to reach out and touch it. I’ve never seen hair as black as his. He lifts his eyes and catches me staring. My stomach flips, and I look away, opening my bag and pulling out a protein bar.

Time slips away as we iron out exactly what sounds are Fate’s Choice. Tyr expects perfection. Two hours after we start, I realise I respect this individual more than any other person I’ve met in this industry.

Digs keeps our drinks refilled and distracts Tyr when he’s getting too intense.

The others help Tyr, but they look to him for direction. Mako sits in the corner playing a guitar, while Envy sits at a keyboard and records the notes and music Tyr gives him.

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