Carpathian 12 - Dark Melody

a round O as she recognized him. She swung her head toward the tall blonde who accompanied her. The other woman laughed and hugged her, led the way through the crowd to a booth in a dark corner of the club. He heard the soft murmur of her voice, and at once his world changed. Where before the club had been visible to him only in shades of gray, it was now brilliantly alive with vivid, dazzling color.
    Emotions were crowding in on him fast and hard, so many he couldn't sort them out. He could only sit very still with his fingers flashing over his beloved guitar. He felt that. His guitar. It amazed him so much, he was aware of tears burning behind his eyes. Dayan was almost paralyzed by the different stimuli bombarding him. The music. Hunger. Colors. Lust. It was a volcano, molten hot, adding to his edgy feeling. And there was jealousy. Dark. Dangerous. He realized he didn't like to see the men crowding around her booth, leaning over to talk to her.
    At once that thought triggered the rising of the beast in him and he had to crush it down. He was very dangerous in this state. The music poured out of him, through him; wild emotion almost choked him; he was blinded by a myriad of colors. He took a deep, calming breath, fought for control and won.
    What was wrong with her heart?
    He kept his head bent over his guitar, but his empty black eyes were fixed on his prey, the only woman who mattered to him. He played to her, poured his heart out to her, allowed the beauty of his music to speak to her. He wanted her to see the poet in him, not the predator. Not the darkness. All the while he played, he listened to the conversation she was having, listened for the sound of her voice.
    "I can't believe it's really him, Lisa. That's Dayan, of the Dark Troubadours. He's practically a god among musicians. I've never heard anyone play like him. What in the world is he doing with this band?"
    That was her voice, soft and feminine. She spoke in a reverent tone.

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    Her fingers were tapping out a rhythm on the table, following his guitar riff.
    Lisa leaned across the booth to be heard over the noise in the bar. "I heard he was vacationing nearby. I guess he's just jamming here tonight, Corinne. I know how much you love music, and I wanted to give you a surprise."
    That was her name. Corinne. Even her name fit the music in Dayan's mind. He unashamedly eavesdropped to learn what he could. She was listening to his music, her body responding naturally, but she wasn't staring at him in rapt adoration the way the other women in the bar were staring. The way he would have liked.
    "But how did you know? He's not just anyone, Lisa. He's a genius when he's playing. How did you know he'd be here tonight?"
    "Bruce – you remember Bruce, Corinne – he works for my photographer. Bruce knows you're a huge music fan. He stopped in for a drink and called to tell me a member of the Dark Troubadours was jamming here tonight. Bruce said that man at the bar is supposedly a friend of the lead guitarist's and that he travels with the Dark Troubadours." Lisa indicated Cullen. "Everyone's hoping it means the Troubadours are looking for new places to play."
    "Well, they do prefer the smaller, more intimate clubs, but who would have ever thought they would play here?" Corinne said. Her gaze strayed to Dayan, their eyes met, and she hastily looked away.
    The impact shook him. His fingers nearly lost their rhythm; his stomach gave a funny lurch and his very breath slammed out of his lungs.
    "Is he really that famous?" Lisa asked, grinning at Corinne.
    "He's absolutely famous, you heathen." Corinne's laughter was affectionate, teasing. "His band doesn't have a contract with any label. Some people try to tape their music when they go to concerts. The tapes are worth a fortune."
    "You have an old record and several tapes, don't you?" Lisa asked.
    Color swept up Corinne's face. "Ssh! For heaven's sake, Lisa, those tapes are black-market. What if someone hears you?" Guilt was in her voice. "The band travels and plays mostly in small places, like old-fashioned troubadours. That's probably how they came up with the name."
    Lisa leaned her chin on her hand. "He's looking this way. I swear, Rina, I really think he's noticed us."
    "He's gorgeous. I had no idea." Corinne had never been one to fall for men in the spotlight, whether actor, musician or athlete. It wasn't her style; she was too