The concert hall was silent, the air thick and heavy with anticipation. It was a breath inhaled and held, ready to be released.

Adjusting my uncomfortable suit, I stole a glance at Ayden and Cal seated beside me. My brother and his partner appeared content despite the oppressive hush around us, leaving me the odd one out as their hands entwined across the armrest. 

Ayden saw my discomfort and leaned closer. “It’ll start soon, Chris,” he whispered, but not softly enough.

An aging lady in front of us turned her head and narrowed her eyes. Three years ago I would have given her a similar glare in response, but I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I couldn’t get away with being a brat to distinguished ladies such as herself.

She produced a small huff before turning around once more. I figured she was saying something like ‘wretched youngsters’ in the comfort of her own mind. One had to live for the small amusements in life when everything else was fucked up, so I allowed a smile to tug at the corner of my mouth.

“Looks like you’re in trouble, bro,” I said, slightly louder than Ayden had.

The lady turned again, but this time I refused to acknowledge her annoyed glare. Ayden stifled a chuckle beside me, and we barely had time to settle down before the atmosphere transformed around us.

The lights dimmed, apart from a soft glow focused on the string orchestra seated on the wide stage. They all looked like they wore a tuxedo to breakfast, lunch and dinner. Lifeless dolls with no other purpose than to entertain the rich. I loosened my tie in a small rebellion, trying to accept that I would be trapped in the hall for two more hours.

Ayden had received free tickets to this première and had argued that it was a good opportunity to experience something new. I disagreed.

I wished Mom were here instead of me, but my brother had brought me along to stop me from thinking about her too much. She had made it out of her depression, but someone had decided to snatch her away too early despite all her efforts to remain with us. Cancer is a vicious enemy.

Sinking down into my seat, I tried to dispel the memory of her gentle smile. It didn’t work until a short, graying man in another immaculate tux stole my attention as he entered the stage and breathed life into the entire hall. He didn’t acknowledge the greeting he received but placed the score in front of him and raised his arms into the air. He looked ridiculous as he waved his thin stick like a magic wand.

One, two, three, four.

I wasn’t prepared when the first note struck. Not at all. Waves of sound rolled against the walls, flowing into every crevice then surging back. The tiny hairs on my arms stood in a silent salute, reaching for the hum in the air. I gripped the armrests on both sides of me, but it didn’t help. I was floating in a restless sea, weightless and lost.

Closing my eyes, I fought the current of emotions that tried to break free, but it was a hopeless battle. I shivered as the tones from the string orchestra reached for my core and swept me away. Ten seconds, and I was struggling to breathe. It was too much.

In the late afternoon sun, one full year ago, my last words to Mom’s coffin hadn’t brought out a single tear, but here beneath the glow of a solitary light, my eyes burned.

I wanted to leave. All the pent-up sorrow after Mom’s last months alive seemed to pour out of my heart, latching on to the beautiful lament produced by the violins and cellos. It felt as if I were fighting against a tidal wave of sounds and emotions. It was powerful and haunting, like ghosts whispering past the veil between life and death. No wonder my skin flared alive with apprehension.

As the concert continued, I was torn between the urge to leave and the wish to stay and lose myself in the storm of sounds. It was a useless, exhausting battle, and it didn’t cease until the music faded into a quiet breeze. The lights focused on one individual among all the tuxedos. Someone who stood out in the crowd. I saw it as his fingers danced across the slender neck of the violin—I saw it in his wild eyes and unruly hair. The tresses were black as ink, slightly too long and drenched with sweat. He didn’t belong. He wasn’t one of them.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him no matter how hard I tried. He had me under his spell as his solo caught my soul and kept it hostage. I felt ridiculous, more so than the conductor who waved his arms in the air as if he was fighting an invisible monster. Perhaps this concert was a monster. It seemed cunning and brutal, masking itself behind treacherous melodies and rhythms.

It was time to go before I lost control.

Leaning over to Ayden, I closed in on his ear. “I need to leave.”

Ayden gave me a stern glare that reminded me of our father. My brother would hate the comparison.

This time, I did roll my eyes, but I leaned back in the seat and tried to focus on everything but the guy who played like the devil himself. The fury blazed from his eyes, dark and hostile, yet strangely alluring.

Passion.

* * * *

An hour and a half later, Ayden fixed my tie with nimble fingers. “Try smiling once in a while, Chris. It won’t hurt, you know.”

I sighed and eyed the scene around us. It was some sort of private cocktail party after the concert, gathering the ones who either tried their hardest to climb up the social ladder or tried to keep others from climbing too far.

Cal placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He knew how much I would hate this, in contrast to Ayden, who seemed to ignore that I might actually have feelings, even if I rarely expressed them.

“You’ll be fine, Chris, and we don’t have to stay for long. Your brother just needs to thank Lara for getting the tickets.”

I nodded in reply, still slightly shell-shocked from the intense experience of getting my heart ripped right out of my chest. Far from ready to face others, I wanted to go home, bury myself underneath my comforter and forget everything about the concert.

I needed time to recuperate, but I couldn’t leave until Ayden was ready to go. He knew how important it was to maintain connections within the industry, and he was getting good at it. I sometimes wished I could tell him that he was kissing some serious ass, but I doubted he would appreciate the observation—besides, I knew he wasn’t that kind of guy. He did what he had to in order to keep his career going, and I shouldn’t complain. He was the one paying for my education with the money he earned from modeling. Without him, I wouldn’t have seen the insides of a decent classroom.

“Ayden, how happy I am to see you!” A woman in her late thirties, dressed in a black satin cocktail dress that screamed ‘I’m rich’, kissed the air above Ayden’s cheeks and gave the three of us a too-perfect smile.

“Ms. Demalier, thank you for inviting us.” Ayden made a slight bow and waved his hand at Cal and me. “This is my husband, Callum Sinclair, and my brother, Chris.”

When her hand reached out to find mine, I forced a smile and shook it like I was supposed to do. She had a firm handshake and an intelligent glint in her chocolate-brown eyes.

“Callum, Chris, lovely to meet you.” She smiled again, and I prayed that she was done with us. Of course, I couldn’t have been more wrong. “Ayden, why don’t I steal your brother for a while? He seems to crave a conversation with someone who isn’t past their twenties yet, so I’ll make some introductions.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Ayden’s face lit up in a relieved grin, which made me wonder who this woman was. He hadn’t told me anything about her, apart from her being a friend of his agent. I didn’t know what to make of her, but I knew it would be bad for Ayden if I declined her offer. I clenched my fists behind my back, unclenched them and forced another smile.

“That is very kind of you, Ms. Demalier,” I replied, knowing that it was required of me.

“Oh, no need to be so formal. Come with me and I’ll put a real smile on that handsome face of yours.”

I had no reply to that. None at all.

Cal and Ayden waved me off as Ms. Demalier laced her arm through mine and steered me farther into the room. “So, this place is a den with wolves ready to have a chew at you, but, of course, they’re still not exciting enough to dispel the boredom. But I know just the right cure.”

Again, I was left unable to reply.

The well-dressed crowd parted before Ms. Demalier in an unsettling manner. I felt their curious stares dig into my back as she dragged me toward a table with hundreds of crystal glasses. “Wolves,” she’d said. They didn’t look very wolfish to me. Rather, they reminded me of cats with their self-satisfied smirks and ill-disguised vanity.

“First, champagne.” She swept up two glasses with careful grace and gave me one of them. I studied the small bubbles as they rose through the wine, not quite sure what to make of it. Ms. Demalier must have noticed my odd stare because she let out a soft laughter. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it. It’s impossible not to enjoy this one.” She pointed at a dark green bottle, and I guessed I should have recognized the brand—it was implied that I should—but I wasn’t that kind of guy. I drank beer and the occasional glass of Jack Daniel’s, but certainly not wine of the sparkling kind. Besides, I wasn’t old enough to drink, but she didn’t need to know that little detail.

“Ah, there he is.” Ms. Demalier pointed at someone behind me, and I almost choked on the dry wine. It was the violinist who’d held me entranced throughout his solo. He appeared much the same as he had on stage, but without that entrancing energy. “Dante, come and greet my new friend, Chris.”

No, his eyes weren’t wild anymore—they appeared completely dead as they stared at nothing. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t offer his hand.

“Dante, get over it. The performance was flawless, and here’s someone who probably wants to discuss something that has nothing to do with music.” Ms. Demalier nudged me forward as if to physically attach us to one another.

Dante’s eyes narrowed, but as his gaze shifted to me I saw how his expression transformed into something very different. He appraised me from head to toe with an amused smirk dancing on his lips. Annoyed, I did the same to spite him. He appeared exotic with those pale green eyes paired with his dark, unruly tresses, but the contradiction suited him. His nose would probably have been the most prominent part of any other face, slightly crooked and thin, but his eyes stole all the attention. Girls would swoon, that much was clear.

“Chris, was it?” Dante’s voice was smooth as silk and held a deep timbre that fit well with the rest of him. I shivered just as I’d done when he’d played, and the feeling intensified when his lips curled into a grin.

Before I had collected myself enough to answer, his gaze wandered away. He used his slender fingers to brush the tiny leaves of a bonsai tree displayed next to us as if the ornament was far more intriguing than I was.

“Do you believe we have souls?”

When I didn’t answer right away, he looked up, piercing me with unwavering focus. I blinked, unable to stand the strange intimacy.

“I think so. Maybe.” I wasn’t sure what to answer. The question seemed layered with more than one intention, but I didn’t know him well enough to deflect potential hazards. If he were religious, he might be offended by my evasive answer.

“I’ve always wondered. If the soul leaves the body when we die, can it latch on to anything?” He touched the tree again. “Like this tiny plant. What if there’s a soul hiding in there?”

I thought about Mom. Everyone who had lost someone must wish that the soul lived beyond the years of our frail bodies. But where would they go? I had no clue. I grazed the miniature leaves with the tips of my fingers.

“Don’t think I’d want to be rooted like that,” I said, not exactly sure where the statement came from.

Dante smiled, and this time, it was a soft smile—one that seemed at odds with his overwhelming intensity. It was a dangerous, seductive smile.

A devil. Definitely.