Page 16 of Bewitched By the Phantom
“I wouldn’t chop you into little pieces,” he argues. “That would be a waste of a perfectly good body.”
I stare at him, and when his lips quirk up, I narrow my gaze. “This is funny to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he answers honestly. “Don’t worry so much, Angel. Just feel.”
“I told you not to call me angel,” I growl.
“But you’re my angel of music,” he purrs, and his fingers continue to play the melody again. I listen to him play the song that’s haunting me, the words written on the scrap of paper in my mind. He watches me despite his fingers playing on the keys, and it almost feels hypnotizing, like he’s trying to lure me into a trance.
It’s working.
The more his fingers play, the more my body starts to hum with it. I take a deep breath and scoot my chair closer to him, until we’re side by side. Then I lift my guitar and start to strum the same melody in a higher key. The words slip from my mouth before I’m even conscious of deciding to sing.
“You move like a secret I used to keep. Your name tastes like verses I dream in my sleep. And every knot you play pulls my pulse away,” I rasp.
His voice joins in, singing the same lyrics I do, as if he already knows them by heart. I should stop, should wonder what the hell is happening, but instead, I find myself leaning closer as the deep tenor of his voice joins with the alto of mine.
Our voices blend too perfectly, not just harmonizing, but melding. It’s unnatural, beautiful. My skin tingles with the feeling of it as we sing together. If I’d have been standing, my knees might have given out on me.
I don’t even realize I’m swaying toward him until the keys falter and our noses are nearly touching. For a second, there’s electricity between, static that begs to be dispelled if we just touch flesh to flesh. Which one of us would be shocked? Our bodies are close, our breath shared. He reaches up and runs his hand along the guitar neck, like he’s memorizing the shape of my sound, like he wishes it was my neck instead.
He’s going to kiss me. I can feel it. And fuck me, I want him to. That terrifies me more than any of the weird shit going on around me. This feeling, this agony that I feel about this mysterious man should be a red flag. Not only is he my rival, but he’s also fucking weird.
“You vibrate with fire,” he whispers. “Like pure, pristine fire.”
“I don’t even know you,” I choke, curious and afraid at the same time. What would it be like to kiss him? What would it feel like?
He smiles and his words are low and amused when he says, “You’ve known me longer than you think, Angel.”
Panic spears into my chest and I pull away. “What does that mean?”
He stares at me, but he doesn’t answer.
I shoot to my feet, swinging my guitar onto my back and backing toward the door. My cheeks are hot, flushed. My heart is racing as his words echo in my mind. “This isn’t what I came here for,” I hiss, but it sounds like a lie. It feels like a lie.
I spin and storm out of the room, desperate to put distance between me and the singer. I don’t know what just happened back there, but it isn’t right. I can’t do this. I can’t be haunted by this masked asshole. I have a task here, and he’s my enemy. I shouldn’t want to kiss him. Oh god. Claudia is gonna have my head if she finds out I almost kissed our rival.
Once I’m back in my room, I lean against my bedroom door in relief, glad to shut myself away from the rest of the competition. My phone beeps as soon as I lock the door and set down my guitar, letting me know that I have a message. I hesitate, before reaching into my pocket and pulling it out. There, a message from Phantom waits.
I open it and stare at the words.
You sound even better with him.
I freeze and read it again. What the fuck does that mean? Did he hear us? Is he here like he said he would be? How else could he know?
The pieces shift in my mind, but nothing locks into place. All I know is Erik shouldn’t make me feel this way, but god, he does. And music has never felt more dangerous than it does when I sing with him.
Chapter
Eleven
Ican’t sleep that night. No matter how hard I try, I toss and turn, struggling to fall into sleep when I should be getting as much rest as possible. After all, we’re gonna have another round of competition in a few days and I have to be well rested for that, but I just can’t. After hours of struggling to count sheep, I sit up in bed, frustrated.
Maybe a walk will help. Or a snack. I can go to the makeshift food hall and search up something to eat. Everyone else is asleep when I slip out of our apartment so I’m careful not to make any noise as I make my way toward the food hall in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts. I’m wearing a pair of tennis shoes so I don’t walk across the hard ground. There’s no telling what’s on the floor even though they’d done a decent job of cleaning things up.
Just before I turn the corner for the food hall, soft music catches my attention. I stop with a frown and tilt my head toward the sound. It’s strange, warbled, echoing through the halls like it’s underwater and alive. Before I make a decision to do so, I’m following it, curious. I’ve never heard something like that before. If anything, I’m curious as to what could be makingthe strange music when everyone is asleep. Which band is it? I haven’t heard that sound before.
I follow the sound backstage, through corridors and utility tunnels, searching for the source. The air grows colder the longer I walk, making me wrap my arms around my stomach to try and warm it. The lights flicker every so often the closer I get to the music, throwing shadows on the walls I don’t look at too long in case they move.
