Charm This! Page 9
But “Strength of the Pack” was different. It was something he had written for himself, a song about his brothers and the bond they shared, straight from his heart.
And that was why they loved him. Why he was on all the magazines and world tours. Why thousands of teenagers were sticking his face on their home screens and howling his lyrics into their selfie sticks on youtube.
It was because his songs were his truth.
And his truth was universal.
The verse built up steam heading to the first chorus. Johnny could practically taste their excitement on the air.
Something flew out of the crowd at him and landed at his feet.
He knew it was a bra before he looked down. He could smell the woman who it belonged to - young and brave. She’d been working up her nerve to do this all night.
He scooped it up and hung it from the mic stand without missing a beat, and went right into the chorus.
As they always did, the crowd sang it right along with him.
“You can’t fight the…
Strength…
Of…
The…
Pack.”
God, it sounded good like that. He smiled down at them and spotted bra girl in the front row.
She was blonde and her curves were a bit on the generous side, just his type.
She pointed at the lacy thing on his mic stand and lifted her shirt, giving him a great view of the bra’s previous contents.
It was par for the course, and similar things happened during every show, but somehow, it felt different.
He looked down as a soft haze enveloped her. Her hair was a halo of the softest gold, her eyes china blue in an angel’s face. In spite of the crowd, he knew her beautiful breasts were revealed just for him. Those stiff little nipples were pink as flowers and reaching for him as if he were the sun.
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to go to her. To push the crowd away and claim her for himself.
Confused, he stepped away from the mic and leaned down to stare at her for a moment.
He nearly missed the start of the second verse, but luckily the girl didn’t keep her cool. She freaked out under the focus of his attention, squeezing her eyes shut and letting out a piercing scream that brought him back to reality.
Jesus. Too much time under the lights today, for sure.
He shook off the cobwebs and kept singing.
A minute later and the weird incident was forgotten.
A light breeze swept in at last after a stifling day. It felt good against his skin, nice way to end the night.
Johnny was in the middle of his guitar solo, really shredding, when the cloud cover finally broke, bathing the stage in the light of the new moon.
Johnny had just enough time to notice the haze over the crowd before the moonlight gripped him like a fist.
His skin tingled with electricity and a crawling pain ignited on his forearm.
He faltered, the Strat yelped out flatly.
His fingers fell uselessly off the strings and he stopped singing.
Seth, the bass player, was solid. Johnny heard him fill in the last few bars as the chorus approached.
The crowd would probably think it was planned that way.
But Johnny could barely hear the crowd or the song now.
There was something alive in his arm, scratching to break free. He watched as the skin writhed and stretched.
He looked away and caught Seth’s eyes. Seth nodded at the mic with a what the fuck? look on his face.
Johnny would have liked to know the answer too, but the chorus was coming and he was rooted to the spot.
Seth grabbed the mic and held it out to the crowd. They filled in eagerly.
“You can’t hide the…
Strength…
Of…
The…
Pack.”
Johnny’s arm seethed with electric pain.
What the hell is happening?
Inside he felt the flapping of wings.
He could deny it all he wanted, but he knew where this was going. And he needed to get away. The consequences of losing control were unthinkable.
He pictured the bodies of the crowd, burning to ash, or trampling each other in an attempt to escape.
He turned to run, oblivious to the shouts of his bandmates.
Seth stepped in front of him, arms out.
But Johnny dodged and slipped away.
If he could just get away from all of these people, maybe everything would be fine.
Two steps later, he was engulfed in red flames.
His first thought was that he was too late.
He’d let his control slip too far.
And now everyone was going to pay.
Then the flames turned to a rosy purple, and the truth hit him. The flames were not his own.
He’d blundered in front of the pyrotechnics. They switched again, in time with the song, and he was showered in green sparks.
He fell to his knees as a pair of hands lifted his smoldering form clear.
Someone threw a fire blanket over him.
Fear overwhelmed him and he fought to breathe.
He wasn’t afraid of the fire - never of the fire.
It was that out of control feeling.
He peered out.
The crowd shrieked as the clouds covered the moon again.
He looked down at his arm.
The pain was gone.
His bandmates gathered around him. He noticed almost absentmindedly that the music had stopped.
Paramedics pushed past. He would have to deal with them.
But not yet.
He flashed Seth a grin and stood, tossing the fire blanket aside. He pushed past the paramedics and grabbed the mic.
The crowd stood before him, silent.
He took a huge breath, then pulled the mic against his mouth.
“You can’t fake the…” he began.
The crowd went nuts, joining him as he sang.
“Strength…
Of…
The…
Pack.”
His bandmates scrambled back to their places as he belted out the final chorus, with 40,000 screaming fans losing their collective mind.
“You’ll never take the…
Strength…
Of…
The…
Pack.”
Seth leaned in as the roar washed over them.
Johnny waited for a question or accusation, but it never came.
“Now that’s fucking Rock and Roll,” Seth shouted with a conspiratorial grin.
* * *
***
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THE END of Chapter One of Burn This!: A 300 Moons Book.
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Tasha Black lives in a big old Victorian in a tiny college town. She loves reading anything she can get her hands on, writing paranormal romance, and sipping pumpkin spice lattes.
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