Page 8 of This Fate That Guides Us
The warmth of a sunset in the mountains.
A worn leather coat wrapped around naked skin.
A shot of sweet bourbon in an old-school bar.
A patch of wildflowers in the middle of the forest.
Blended together, they smell like fun and adventure and the comfort of home.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist these scents trapped on a tour bus with all four of them for eight weeks. In a voice sounding entirely too much like Bea, my brain reminds me hot musician knots are just what we signed up for when we decided to work in the music industry.
My foot has barely crossed the threshold when I see them. Their masks firmly fixed in place. Primordial Covenant. Theband I’ve become obsessed with ever since I saw them open at a concert a year ago.
“Thanks,” I whisper as he steps into the room and introduces me. He motions for me to take a seat at the large table with the band. I have to force my legs to work as I close the distance and sit down.
So close, it’s easier to see all the small details I missed from the crowd at their show. The intricate details of their masks that aren’t as obvious from afar.
Before I can get lost in studying them, Brady slides a small stack of papers across the table. “First things first, Miss Powell, we have a non-disclosure agreement. This isn’t part of the contract itself. It’s only to help protect the identities of the members of Primordial Covenant. I requested they be here so we can make sure there aren’t any immediate biological concerns with the five of you working together. Incompatible scents in a small space aren’t ideal. If you sign here, they’ll remove the masks and we can continue.”
I read through the papers, recognizing there isn’t anything out of the ordinary in the fine print. Glancing back at the band, I hesitate. Signing this agreement, watching those masks fall away, will change everything.
Is this contract worth losing the fantasy I’ve built around them in my head over the past year? What if I go on this tour and get to know them only to realize they’re nothing like the men I’ve imagined?
More importantly, how awkward will it be working face to face with the band who have starred in every heat-induced dream I’ve had over the past year?
Blowing out a breath I quickly sign the paper and hand it back to Brady. This gig is a great opportunity for my career. I won’t bypass it for silly fears or embarrassment. It’s not like these delectable smelling men can ever be mine anyway.
“Omen, allow me to introduce Pack Graves. Nexus, Nebula, Callisto, and Titan. I will leave it up to them to tell you their birth names when you are more comfortable around each other.”
I school my features as I watch their faces reveal. The drummer, Titan, his mask falls away first. Two small clasps holding it in place. He sits several inches taller than his pack mates. Though I already knew he was a giant from seeing him sit at his drum kit on stage.
Long, raven hair falling to the middle of his back, eyes so dark they almost seem black, a wide nose and prominent brows. He’s handsome and slightly intimidating.
Callisto, their guitarist, is next. He fumbles with the clasps along the edge of his mask before sliding it onto the table, revealing an oval-shaped face with a straight nose and thin lips. His light brown hair, pulled back in a small bun, highlights the golden undertones to his tawny skin.
His eyes are his most striking feature, drawing me in with their unique intensity. One is a dark shade of mossy green, the other a denim blue with a line of the same green on the left side. He offers me a sweet smile and I nearly swoon on the spot.
Next is the bassist, Nebula, who pulls his horned mask up off of head with ease. I’ve always wondered how well-ventilated his mask is. I imagine during their shows it gets very warm inside the glass-like material. His broad shoulders and thick arms make him look daunting as he crosses his arms over his chest. He could easily crush an egg between his pecs.
Glittering blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a prominent cupid’s bow. He’s the most classically handsome of the group. He’s also the leader of their pack, something I realize as my instincts urge me to stop meeting his eyes.
The band’s lead singer, Nexus, is the last to get his mask off, though it seems to be the easiest to remove. He’s beaming, throwing a wink my way as he slides all of their masks into abox on the floor beside him. A square jaw, high cheekbones, and plush lips define his face. Rich brown eyes study me with clear interest.
I can feel my face heating uncomfortably from his attention.
My safety is always at risk thanks to my birth family and my designation. For the first time, I think my heart might be at risk too.
CHAPTER THREE
NOW PLAYING: DIZZY- Olly Alexander; If I Would’ve Known- Kyle Hume
Sitting in the small, disorganized office our band manager, Brady, uses for meetings, I fight back a sigh of frustration. We only have two weeks before our sold out summer tour begins and I’d hoped to have all of our ducks in a row before now.
Unfortunately, the label’s previous tour photographer decided he wanted to accept an offer from another company at the last minute. Good for the guy for getting a better deal, but damn him for doing so when we’re so close to the tour deadline.
Crossing my arms over my chest I sprawl in my seat, using the contact between my legs and my mates to help settle my grumpiness. I’m known for being a bit of an asshole, but even I can recognize I’m being meaner than usual today. We aren’tused to coming into the office so early. We’re night owls, so trips to the studio never happen before mid-afternoon.
Uncrossing my arms, my sigh is much more audible this time, earning a raised eyebrow from Brady where he’s reviewing the paperwork he has to go over with the new photographer they want to hire. Which is why we’re here. So we can make sure our instincts aren’t going to cause issues with the tour.
