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I'm exhausted. I spend every free second on the phone with various supernaturals in the community trying to see what they've heard or seen. I've hired every top supernatural private eye that I've ever heard of, but so far there hasn't been a trace of her found. Everything is a dead-end.
I exit the hotel. The paparazzi in England are vicious and there's a thousand cameras flashing around me just to watch me get into the limo that's waiting to take me to the arena. Normally I would be annoyed, but not even the flashing lights can faze me. I'm numb. The next stop was supposed to be Paris tomorrow, but I've cancelled that one. There's no way that I could visit the 'City of Love' when Eva was supposed to meet me there. If I ever find her I'll reschedule it and take her with me, but my fans will have to be disappointed for now.
I'm so hungry. It paws at me. Sometimes I curse her memory thinking of how settled and full I always felt around her. The concerts give me bites of energy that allow me to not wither away, but without sex I feel like my insides are going to eat themselves. I was so happy about Eva when I left on tour that I distracted myself from what a few months without sex actually meant. I can get energy from the craziness that the band partakes in, but it still doesn't fully take the edge off the pain.
I scroll through my phone checking the reports from the investigators to see if they've had any leads and immediately want to break my phone when I see that they still haven't found anything. I spend the rest of the drive looking at the pictures I managed to take of Eva during my time with her, tracing the perfection of her face softly with my hand. Her beauty takes my breath away, even in pictures, and it's a helpful distraction from the pain I'm experiencing in both my stomach and my heart.
We drive around to the back of the stadium where the artist's entrance is, and I watch the thousands of people flock in through the doors as we drive by. It still amazes me that this many people want to hear me sing. A flicker of doubt passes over me not for the first time. Is it all a sham? Would I have any talent if I weren't an incubus? I can't separate myself from the demon inside of me, but even if I could, I wonder if anything about my life would be the same. Would Eva still want me?
I shake off the negative thoughts as I walk through the doors and head to my dressing room. I laugh when I walk in and see how differently my life is now that I have Eva. Before Eva there would have been groupies filling the room, on hand to give me a blow job or a quickie before a show. Now, there's bowls of candy as I try to ravage my aching sex drive with sugar instead. I wish Eva could see me now. I scroll through my phone again to see if there have been any updates. I also send Beckham and Damon my millionth text for the day. Damon doesn't bother to answer me very often, but Beckham usually gives me some kind of update, which often is that they've found nothing since it seems she disappeared into thin air.
I change out of my jeans into tight leather pants that squeeze my dick a little too much for my liking. I find myself wondering if Eva would like how I look in them, and then want to slap myself for being a lovesick idiot. My phone buzzes, signaling an incoming text message, but there's a knock on my door before I can reach my phone.
"Come in," I bark loudly. 'Surly' would probably be the nicest way to describe how I've treated people lately, but asshole would probably be a more apt description. A red-nailed claw is the first thing I see before the rest of the monster that is my ex-girlfriend makes an appearance. I groan, and not in a sexual way. Courtney had been stalking me across my European tour, making up excuses that she had various photoshoots or promotional appearances to do that all happened to line up with my tour stops.
"Get the fuck out," I tell her turning back to look at my still buzzing phone. Just then another head pops into my dressing room. It's Kevin, mystilldouchebag manager.
"Mason," he barks. "You're way late man. You need to get out there. The opening act finished an hour ago."
I give a sigh. The only rush I get from performing on this tour is that I get to feed, otherwise it all sucks. I leave the room, pushing past Courtney who is still standing in my dressing room, trying to look seductive, and walk out to the hallway onto the stage. It's only after I'm walking onto the stage, with the roar of the crowd filling my ears, that I realize that I never got to my phone. I start to walk back to go check it, worrying it might have something to do with Eva, but Kevin is barring the way, sternly motioning for me to start the show.
Reluctantly, I walk to the microphone at the front of the stage, the roar of the enormous crowd failing to elicit any of the normal emotions that I used to feel when I performed. I wave halfheartedly at the crowd and open myself up to start feeding on the crowd's energy. There's a lot of them tonight and it gives me the energy boost I need to start the show.
"How are you tonight, London?" I yell at the crowd. They roar back at me and I find myself looking through the fans in the first couple of rows. I've done it every show, I can't seem to stop myself. Sometimes I imagine I see flashes of gold hair, or a hint of crystalline eyes, but it's never her. I remember everything about that first time I saw her. Every time she laughed, the seductive way she swayed her hips, the way her eyes seemed to look straight through to my soul…the strum of Lane's guitar pushes me out of my reverie. She's not there. She never is. But it's time for the show.
The show drags on. I do my best to give it my all, but I know it falls flat. The band's concerned about me. Lane's upped his pot intake due to the stress of watching me fall apart. They can tell I'm just going through the motions, something they've never seen from me before. I'm still better than all the other singers out there obviously thanks to my incubus status, but it's a far cry from my usual perfection.
The crowd's still entranced though. Still giving out that delicious energy that takes a little of the edge off my hunger. The night drags on. I'm a masochist and even do a cover of the same Taking Back Sunday song I did for Eva that first night. It's the only time I actually shine, the emotion leaking through my voice. I choke up at the end and have to turn my back to the crowd and pretend I just need a drink. I steadfastly avoid the looks from the band and turn back around when I've collected myself. I hurry through the rest of our set and practically run off the stage, the urge to look at that text message spurring me forward. The rest of the band follows behind me. I'm sure to finally confront me for how the tour has been going. I get to my dressing room, throw open the door, and stop short. Lane bumps into me but I barely notice because Courtney and Kevin are fucking on my couch. Courtney obviously wanted me to see.
She's riding him reverse cowgirl style, her fake breasts bouncing as she moves on top of him and she screams with fake delight. I know it's fake, because I know what noises she makes when she's actually turned on. The scene makes me want to hurl, but it's also enough to push me over the edge.
"Derek!" I yell to my bodyguard. He comes ambling over. He's huge, towering over my 6'3 form. I would think he had giant in him if I couldn't sense his energy.
"Ya boss?" he says when he gets to the doorway. He gets an eyeful when he looks in the room and sees Courtney and Kevin staring back at him, Courtney covering her tits in false modesty.
"Get these assholes out of my room and away from the tour. Make sure they aren't ever allowed back in."
Derek nods and moves forward towards the couple who are now scrambling for their clothes. Kevin's yelling at me that he thought that Courtney and I were done, and Courtney is screaming obscenities at me. I grab my phone and walk back out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. There's a pause as I think about what I just saw, and then I burst into laughter. It's a crazy laughter, the kind that you get when life is so overwhelmingly bad that it's impossible to handle. Lane walks over to me, my black leather jacket and some jeans in his arms.
"Here," he says, throwing them at me.
I look at him questioningly.
"Go get your girl," he says, the most serious I've seen him in a while. "We can claim exhaustion and postpone the rest of the tour. The label can go to hell. They wouldn't dare actually axe us and lose their money train. You're miserable without her. You don't have to be all noble and shit and keep playing. It's going to drive you mad… or at least crazier than you already are. Get out of here."
I stare at him, feeling torn, but also feeling desperate to join the search for Eva in any way I can. I look at the rest of the band and they all nod their head in agreement, little smirks on their face. The first real smile I've had since Eva disappeared flashes across my face and I give each of them some sort of bro hug or whatever weird shit we do as guys. I then grab my clothes from Lane and jog out the back entrance to where my driver is waiting. It's only when I'm settled and on the way to the airport that I finally look at the text messages waiting for me. There's just one, and it's from Damon.
"I think we know where she is."
A wave of euphoria rushes over me and I spur my driver to go faster, the inkling of hope reenergizing me. It's time to get my girl.
Chapter 4
Eva
"Good morning Your Majesty," comes a cheery voice that reminds me strangely of warm tea.
I blink my eyes groggily, looking around, trying to get my bearings. There's a gauzy purple curtain around the large, four poster bed I apparently have been sleeping in. It looks…extremely unfamiliar.
