Chapter 10

Zagan

THE MUSIC GUIDED EVERY QUICK step of my feet, every movement of my body, and every motion of my arms. It was K-Pop month at the dance studio I volunteered at in New York, so I was down in the dance studio of my new house, putting on the last minute touches to the choreography for the song we were working on—“Cake” by KARD. The teachers and I always put together choreography that used moves from the actual group’s routines but had our own touches thrown in.

After only one round earlier, Iyla seemed pensive, and before I could even make a move to start round two, she’d fallen asleep. I let it slide, because the one round managed to refuel me more than it typically would’ve. Her pleasure was so profound that it managed to get rid of any hunger that had been lingering in my gut. And the taste? Fuck. I really couldn’t remember having someone who’s essence tasted as amazing as hers. It was still kinda blowing my mind that I’d managed to stumble upon her and get bound. She was basically like a delicacy to an Incubus like me.

This might not be so bad , I thought with a smirk as I finished up the dance, facing my reflection in the wall of mirrors. That’s when I noticed Iyla in the reflection, lingering in the doorway.

Catching my breath after running through the dance a few times, I turned to face her. “Look who finally woke up. You exploring?”

Her eyes were slightly wide, and she gestured behind her. “You have a recording studio in your house.”

I raised a brow and rested my hands on my hips as my heart rate started to come back down. “Uh-huh.”

She waved her hand at the room we were in now. “And a dance studio.”

I shrugged like it was no big deal, and really, for me, it wasn’t. The house didn’t come with either studio, but that meant nothing for a demon who could have a lot of things at the snap of their fingers.

“I teach a lot of hip-hop classes,” I explained, looking around the newly made room. “I also like to dance for stress relief, so having my own studio is convenient.”

I glanced down the hallway where my new recording studio was—the studio I hadn’t even stepped foot in yet. Because while dance was a way for me to relieve stress, it was also my method of escape from my problems. Right now, that studio—or rather, what I needed to do in the studio—was my problem.

I grabbed my water and downed half of it, still looking past her head at the dark room at the other end of the hall. “I’m supposed to be in the music room writing our new song, but …”

But everything I write these days is garbage.

“You guys write your own music?” she asked with the hint of interest that she typically tried to hide when talking to me.

I drew closer to her and leaned my shoulder against the wall. “You didn’t know that? That’s pretty common knowledge among our fans. And there’s no ‘we.’ I write the music.”

Iyla tilted her chin up higher, making her dark hair slip over her shoulder. She took on a defiant, almost cocky purse of her lips. “I’m not a fan.” She winced in a fleeting apology and added, “No offense.” She cleared her throat, looking confident once more. “I didn’t know who you guys were until last night. Nahla’s the fan. I was just along for the ride.”

I ran my tongue over one of my lips rings in annoyance and shook my head, mumbling, “Well, that explains a lot. You were very … different from our fan base.”

I’d thought her hesitant, almost timid nature was a sort of act. A charade of sorts to come off mysterious or something. Now, like a fucking moron, I realized she genuinely was those things. Unsure. Inexperienced. Stiff.

But also hungry for life.

Iyla’s brow plunged in defiance, and she crossed her arms defensively. “Why? Because I don’t sleep around? Because I don’t party?”

“Because you’re afraid to be who you want,” I answered calmly, simply stating the facts as I’d observed them. I’d been around plenty long enough to know a lost soul when I saw one. “It’s obvious you’re letting the world or someone in it dictate your life and what you do with it. Maybe a parent. A religion. An ideal you were brought up with. Whichever the case may be, our fans are typically free, for lack of a better word. Those things don’t hold them back from living life anymore.”

The indignation had slipped from her face. Now, her pinched brown eyes held mine, and she looked as if I’d just reached across the space between us and punched her in the gut. She swallowed and whispered, “I’m free.”

“Not from where I’m standing. You may be bound to me, Sparrow, but that doesn’t compare to the chains something else has wrapped around you. You’re ruled by another’s standards and desires, not your own. Hell, I doubt you truly know who you are, because you’re too busy living life for someone else to even find out.”

Her mouth tightened, and she shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

She spun on her heel and left the way she came, and we both knew what her retreat meant.

I was right.

I LET OUT AN ANGRY roar and lit the sheet music in my hands on fire. I didn’t even bat an eye when the black ash hit the carpet of my brand new studio.

Everything was shit.

The notes? Shit.

The lyrics? Shit.

It was all the same damn thing I always sang about these days, and we were all getting tired of it. I had to come up with something new and fresh to give our fans a reason to keep listening to what we had to say.

“Damn, I like what you’ve done with the place.”

I looked up at the sound of Dante’s voice. He, Perseus, Xander, and Coldin filed into the lounge part of the studio where I was currently sitting on the edge of the red U-shaped couch, elbows on my knees, glowering at the ash at my feet.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked with a heavy sigh.

“We came to see what your new place was like,” Xander answered, scanning the room. Just having him here added to the churning sea of rage inside me.

He wore an annoying bright green shirt that made me think of toxic waste from some bad sci-fi film and checkerboard pants. He had Coldin’s drum sticks resting between his ears and skull for some damn reason, as if they were an accessory and nothing more.

Xander flashed me a teasing grin after his perusal and added, “Since, you know, our lead heart-breaker got himself tied down here. Nice going, by the way.”

“Shut up,” I gritted out, trying to ignore the urge to set him on fire where he stood.

“Yeah,” Perseus said, dropping onto one end of the couch and making himself right at home. His golden hair fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back into place with his heavily ringed fingers. He pinned Xander in place with his jade-green eyes. “It could’ve happened to any Incubus. We’ve been careless these days, not ensuring our partners aren’t virgins. Let’s take what happened to Zagan as a sign that we can’t let our guards down.”

Xander didn’t take being bonded seriously since he didn’t understand what it meant to be bound. To him, it was a joke. But then again, everything was a joke to him. That was the reality for most Mischiefs, demons who existed solely for the antics and fun of chaos. They thrived on pulling jokes, causing a commotion, and being careless. Some of them were alright to be around because they did know how to have fun, but the majority of them were just headaches.

Xander was in the latter of the two.

He was also the only one here who didn’t have to worry about getting chained to someone from a bond like an Incubi or Succubi did. He didn’t have to worry about living his life in the dark pits of Hell, only coming out into the light of day when on a job like Coldin did.

I glanced at our ever quiet drummer, taking note of his closed eyes, crossed tattooed arms, his forever straight mouth with a labret lip ring, and wavy brown hair tousled on top of his head. Coldin leaned against the wall closest to the doorway like he was ready to leave even though they’d just gotten here.

Out of all demons, his kind was the worst of us all. He was a Letum, and just the title alone made my blood run cold. They were a dangerous breed, even among other demons, and because of their drive to kill anything and everything, they were kept under constant lock and key in Hell, only being brought out when they were assigned to a task.

Humans believed the thick black bands of ink on his wrists were simple tattoos, but they were a sign of why he was here, why he was allowed to roam freely right now. Unlike my black collar that faded into my skin, his mark was always visible. It served as a warning and sign for any who found themselves face to face with him.

Run.

Coldin had always been pleasant enough to us when we passed him in his cell in Hell—never yelling profanities at us or making threats to disembowel us like the other Letums—and I’d heard him drumming listlessly on the stone walls of his prison. So when we formed a band, we took pity on the quiet demon.

We struck a contract—a job—with him, allowing him to run around the human world with us as our drummer, but he had to act as humanly as possible. The contract kept him in check, which meant he couldn’t go around killing people at the drop of a hat. Still, we let him have his fun every so often since his contract only permitted him to kill once a month and when we gave him permission. The guy was only demon. We didn’t feel right, not allowing him his monthly kill, and it was only when his hands and teeth were smeared in blood that he ever smiled.

But that was to be expected of a Letum. They were killers.

“Yes, yes, keep your guards up,” Xander chuckled, and I turned to look at him again. “Wouldn’t want to have only one partner for the next 70 years or however long the bitch lives.” Xander met my gaze with a smirk. “I hope you like the taste of her pleasure since she’s all you get for the foreseeable future.”

Coldin’s eyes opened then, and the human green that he usually wore as a disguise burned away into an endless black with vivid orange flames roaring in the void. “I can kill her for you.”

I held my hand up, my stomach bottoming out with those eyes focused on me. “No need, Coldin. She and I have an arrangement that’s working for now. Plus, we don’t want another suspicious disappearance associated with us. We all know how much riskier it is to kill off humans these days with cameras everywhere and shit. If things change, though, I’ll let you know.”

Coldin sneered, and slowly, the black and orange flames in his eyes swirled and changed back to green.

I rubbed my forehead, getting more annoyed with everything. My lack of inspiration. My new bond. Xander’s forever irritating personality. I was over it all. “If you guys have seen the house, you can leave the same way you came.”

“Zagan,” Dante said, sitting next to me on the couch. He clapped a dark hand on my shoulder. “That’s not all we’re here for, man.”

I glared at him. “I know what you’re really here for. The song isn’t ready.”

“Clearly,” Coldin said, staring blandly at the ash on the ground.

“Leo wanted us to talk to you as your fellow bandmates,” Dante said.

Bandmates. Because none of us were actually friends. Demons didn’t have those, or rather, we didn’t really understand them. Still, out of everyone here, I was admittedly closest with Dante and Perseus. Maybe that was because we were the only Incubi in the group, so we understood each other. Xander and Coldin joined us in our sexual exploits, because what idiot wouldn’t, but they didn’t need sex like the three of us did. It was that sort of understanding that let the three of us get as close as non-friends could be. It was also the only thing that kept me from ripping Dante’s arm out of its socket for touching my damn shoulder.

“We’re not trying to rush you,” Dante continued, “but we need at least one new song. It’s been six months since we’ve put out anything new. We can’t keep performing the same shit. Our fans are loyal as fuck, but we can’t gain more fans or hold onto the hype without something new.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I growled before heaving a defeated sigh. “I’ve been trying, but nothing I write is good these days.”

“Says who?” Perseus asked. “You haven’t even played anything for us.”

“Nothing’s been good enough to even bother showing you.”

“Zagan,” Dante said, squeezing my shoulder. His dark eyes stared right into mine like he was imploring me to listen. “It doesn’t need to be ground breaking. It doesn’t need to be anything but a song that people can enjoy listening to. Stop overthinking and write something.”

Yeah, cause it was that easy to just “write something.” I didn’t half-ass shit. If I was writing a song, I wanted every single one to be my new best. Expectations for myself were already high, and they just seemed to get harder and harder to meet. How could I continue to outdo myself? At some point, there had to be a cap. At least, that’s what everyone else here seemed to believe. They thought we’d given our best songs and now just needed to put out stuff that entertained. Not touched minds. Not spoke to the inner human soul. Just entertained .

That wasn’t good enough for me. Not when music was everything to me. Not when my songs were my mark on this world. Incubi were low ranking demons, and the odds of us having any profound impact on lives was wishful thinking.

I was made to seduce. To fuck. To corrupt people into sinning and doing wicked deeds, all in an effort to lure them to “the dark side.”

At least, that’s what people liked to think of demons. In reality, we were just here for the balance system, to give the impression of right versus wrong, good versus evil, light versus dark. We were the ones who got slapped with the label of “evil” in the coin toss between the higher ups, so that’s what we embraced.

Debauchery.

Chaos.

Living .

I personally didn’t care much about the whole saints and sinners bullshit. It wasn’t important to Incubi and Succubi. We were just tools, kind of like a gateway demon, to aid Hell in meeting their souls quota. Once a human got involved with us, other demons followed, swooping in and drawing them into our darkness. And humans loved it.

After all, people had more fun in the dark.

“Babette’s been asking about you,” Perseus hedged slowly, breaking the tense silence and flicking at the upholstery of the couch. His eyes refused to meet mine, and for good reason. He knew he’d find me glaring at him just for mentioning the Bargainer demon’s name.

“If you’re about to suggest I make a deal with that Bargainer demon, you’re fucking insane,” I bit out through clenched teeth.

Babette. She was a Bargainer demon, and I didn’t fuck with Bargainer demons. They were sly, deceiving little shits, and that particular one had been breathing down my neck about showing her a good time for centuries. I didn’t refuse many partners—especially ones that were as gorgeous as that curvy red-head—but I always refused her. Nothing good could come from getting involved with the likes of her, and Perseus knew this.

His green eyes met mine again, and he shrugged. “She could help with whatever is going on with you. You’ve been off for a while as far as our music goes. Just make a little bargain with her. She can fix whatever the issue is, and we know all she’ll want in return is you .”

Perseus’s suggestion just made the coiled ball of frustration grow inside me. Not only could I not be with Babette the way she’d want due to my being bound to Iyla now, but more than that, I just didn’t want to make a deal with her. I wanted to fix my issues my way. Music was my world. I wasn’t about to take some goddamn shortcut to deal with it.

Dante grabbed some blank music sheets and handed them to me. He jabbed his finger at them and ordered, “Forget what Perseus said. Getting back in your zone isn’t worth becoming a sex slave to that woman. Just write something, and don’t fucking burn it this time. Let us see it first. We’ll go from there. Okay?”

I stared at the empty page as they finally left, and I waited to feel the spark of excitement that used to fill me when faced with the chance to make something new, to litter a blank page with notes and lyrics. But that rush never came. I stayed as empty inside as the page in my hands.