Chapter 1: Collision in the Crowd
The air was thick with the aftermath of raw energy, the kind that only a Sleep Token show could ignite. The crowd pulsed around me, a sea of sweat-soaked bodies still buzzing from the haunting melodies and primal beats. I wasn’t in a rush to leave; the echoes of the music clung to my skin like a lover’s touch. I weaved through the throng, my boots sticking slightly to the beer-slicked floor, when I collided with a solid frame.
“Shit, sorry,” I muttered, steadying myself. My gaze flicked up, and I froze. A hood shadowed his face, but those eyes—stormy, intense, and unmistakably familiar—pierced through the dim light. It was him. Rhys, or IV as the world knew him, the guitarist whose riffs had just shredded my soul on stage. Out here, in the crowd, blending in like a ghost. My breath hitched as recognition sparked in his stare.
“You alright?” His voice was low, gravelly, barely audible over the post-show chaos. He stepped closer, the scent of leather and sweat rolling off him. My pulse quickened. I nodded, words caught in my throat. He smirked, a flash of mischief in those stormy depths. “Didn’t mean to knock you off your feet. Yet.”
I arched a brow, refusing to let my awe show. “Takes more than a bump to throw me off balance, rockstar. Shouldn’t you be backstage, basking in glory?”
His laugh was a dark, delicious rumble. “Sometimes the crowd’s where the real show is. And those eyes of yours…” He tilted his head, studying me like I was a riff he couldn’t quite figure out. “They’re fucking dangerous.”
Heat crept up my neck, but I held his gaze, unflinching. “Good thing I know how to wield them, then. What’s your excuse for staring?”
He grinned, a predator’s edge to it, and leaned in. The noise around us was deafening, a wall of sound, but his presence cut through it like a blade. “Too loud to talk here,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. Then, a finger pressed to his lips, a silent ‘shh’ that sent a shiver down my spine. “Follow me.”
No hesitation. I didn’t care where we were going; the pull was magnetic, undeniable. He led me through the crowd, his broad shoulders parting the sea of bodies with ease, until we slipped into a narrow hallway behind the venue. The noise dulled to a distant thrum, and the air grew heavy with something else—anticipation.
He turned, backing me against the cool brick wall, his hood still low but his eyes burning. “Better,” he said, voice rough. “Now I can hear every smart-ass thing you’ve got to say.”
I smirked, crossing my arms, though my heart was pounding. “Oh, I’ve got plenty. But I’m more curious about what a guy like you does after a show. Hide in the crowd? Or hunt for trouble?”
His hand braced against the wall beside my head, caging me in without touching. Yet. “Depends on the trouble,” he drawled, his gaze dropping to my lips. “You look like the kind I’d enjoy chasing.”
My skin prickled, a mix of challenge and desire flaring hot in my chest. “I’m not the running type, Rhys. If you want something, you’d better come get it.”
His eyes darkened, a low growl escaping him as he closed the distance. “Careful what you wish for, darling.” His lips hovered over mine, teasing, testing, the heat of him already making me ache. I could feel the tension coiling, ready to snap, my body humming with the promise of what was coming—hard, fast, and unrelenting.
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