Page 11 of Hidden Fates

Eight years ago, I was in a different band. My first band. Hollow Anchors was a project she and I started together. Her whimsical, sultry voice paired well with my alto. We quickly grew a small following and landed a contract. Everything changed slowly—shows in neighboring cities, recording real albums, selling merch. Skye and I were over the moon at that small taste of success.

It helped us realize we were meant to do this forever. To stand on the stage and perform for crowds with a band behind us.

A year into our journey, we presented. Things got messy for a bit while we worked to balance our mandatory academy attendance and our budding music careers, but we made it work.

We were determined to live on that stage together forever.

Until we weren’t.

Until I wasn’t.

For the longest time, I thought Skye was it for me.

My perfect match.

Fate had other ideas.

At twenty-one, everyone has a chance to gain a Fated connection. A path that leads them to their true mates. When Skye and I never manifested one, we tried everything we could think of. Writing on our skin. Taking sleeping pills to put us into a deep sleep so we could try to enter each other’s dreams. We even hurt ourselves to check if we had a shared pain connection.

Our attempts led nowhere, and we soon had to face the reality that we weren’t meant to be together. At least not by Fate’s standards.

Around that time, my music profile changed. Metal called to me, while Skye’s soulful sound grew whimsier by the day. As we sang together, my chest ached with the realization that we weren’t just incompatible in Fate’s eyes, but in music.

Deciding to go our separate ways is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I lost a part of myself that day. Something that I don’t think I’ll ever get back.

Skye leaped to stardom and never looked back. Winning awards, selling out stadiums, releasing platinum records—she’s living the life she always dreamed of.

And she isn’t doing it alone. She has a pack, having bonded to the members of Shattered Horizons three years ago.

I’m happy for her. I am. But being happy for her doesn’t make it hurt any less to know she’s moved on without me.

Especially when I’m stuck here.

Lost without the person who could mend my broken pieces.

Now she’s here. In the same Fatesdamned venue.

Would I be a coward if I ran before I could bump into her? My instincts say yes, but I stopped following them years ago. If I had, I would have hunted Skye down and begged her to take me back as soon as I left.

The green room door opens and Bea steps in, looking badass in her pink pantsuit and towering heels. “Whatever fire was lit under your asses tonight, let’s make sure it never goes out. I’m so fucking proud, I could cry.”

In the seven months since we met, Bea has pushed us hard. Working us to the bone and demanding more. While it felt like hell at points, she’s shaped us into something our new fans are eating up.

Before she can fill us in on the plans for the rest of the show, someone knocks on the door. Every nerve ending in my body flares, almost painfully, and I know who it is. The breath knocks from my lungs as Bea glances at me, silently asking if I want her here.

Nodding is a mindless action because my mind stopped functioning the moment I caught her incredible scent in the air. Sweet, floral, and spicy. Soft but also smoky, like her voice when she sings. My spent cock instantly hardens in my jeans, raging with a need I’ve spent years denying.

A lump blocks my throat, and my face goes blank as she steps into the room, hiding the fear and longing plaguing me.

Silvery-white hair hangs to her shoulders, a few shades lighter than when we performed together. She’s still tiny, barely reaching Bea’s shoulder as they stand next to each other. A floral peach dress hugs her chest, cascading around her, creating the illusion that she’s a princess in a fairytale instead of a pop singer at a metal concert.

“Hi Caleb.”

Hearing my name from her perfectly shaped lips sends error codes firing through my brain, leaving me speechless and struggling to reboot. I can’t process anything she says as words leave her mouth in a flurry of nervous rambling.

Fuck, she’s cute. I’ve always loved how fast she talks when she’s excited, eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles through every word.

Suddenly, she holds her arm out, and I tune back in. The tips of her ears burn bright red beneath her platinum hair. Whatever just happened, she’s embarrassed by it.