Resisting Velocity
Resisting Velocity
(High Velocity #1)
By Trinity Evans and Xoe Xanders
As frontman of up-and-coming rock band, High Velocity, werewolf Zane Alexander has everything a man could want: Fame, fortune, friendship, and a pack to call home. Well, almost everything. Despite being able to take his pick of pretty much any woman, he wants the one girl he can’t have—the one girl who’s eluded his every advance.
Charlie Banks has always had a thing for Zane, but being the band’s head of security, she knows firsthand just the sort of guy he is. She’s determined not to become just another notch on his bedpost, but if doesn’t stop the want for a mate curling in her gut. It’ll happen, someday—it just won’t be Zane. She’s decided that it’s time to leave High Velocity, to find a nice little home and settle down to live the rest of her life, away from sexy smiles and ripped bodies of rock stars.
But when someone threatens Zane’s life, she’s the only one he wants to protect him. Except, Zane has a hidden agenda. One that involves claiming Charlie as his mate, once and for all.
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2012 Trinity Evans and Xoe Xanders
Excerpt of Bending Steele Copyright 2012 Sadie Hart
Excerpt of Wolfsong Copyright 2011 Kodilynn Calhoun
Cover Art Designed by Xoe Xanders
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the writers’ imaginations or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
Resisting Velocity
Table of Contents
Excerpt: Bending Steele by Sadie Hart
Excerpt: Wolfsong by Kodilynn Calhoun
Chapter One
He lived for this, the roar of the crowd, girls screaming their names, holding up huge poster board signs with bold letters and glitter. The pulse of Micah’s drums behind him, all staccato beats and the crash of the cymbals. The rock-steady rhythm of the bass, strings plucked by Benji’s deft fingers. And the weight of the Fender in his grip, fingers pressing against frets as he spiraled into a solo that would’ve given Lucifer himself a run for his money—if the devil was the frontman of a rock band.
The lyrics leapt forward like powerful horses, led by the siren’s call of the music, and somewhere in his throat they went from simple words to something beautiful, his voice husky and soft in the echo of the microphone. He crooned the words and he could’ve sworn a woman in the front row fainted. Cocky, sure, but it was true.
Zane Alexander knew how to sing, and sing well. The music thundered around him, shooting straight through to his veins, stronger than any street drug. His nostrils flared at the tinge of sweat dripping from the crowd, wolf senses heightened by adrenaline. In that moment, he was a sponge, absorbing the pulse of body heat and the zing of excitement. Their band—his beautiful brain child—was selling, and selling well. High Velocity’s second album had gone double platinum in a matter of days. Their Kiss and Tell tour was sold out.
His heartbeat was a steady thump-thump in his chest, a blend of pride and excitement nearly burning him alive. His spirit was floating around somewhere up on cloud nine. It was amazing, being the top dog—something Zane had only ever achieved in his dreams.
Their final song dwindled down to gentle acoustics before ending with the shrill of an electric guitar, loud enough to make his ears ring. The crowd screamed as the lights dimmed and a haze of fog spread across the stage like ghostly fingers, reaching for them. Under the mask of darkness, the members of High Velocity bounded backstage, adrenaline still riding them hard.
“You kicked ass tonight, man.” Micah Tate’s beefy hand slapped down on Zane’s shoulder, drawing a grin and a chuckle out of the other man. Zane handed his guitar off to the only assistant he trusted to take care of the custom Fender.
“We
all
did. We really blew them away. Another damn-near perfect performance, if I do say so myself.”
“Cocky.”
“True.” Zane’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin. He ran a hand through his hair and spun around in a tight circle. Excitement burned through him and he yearned for a run, yearned for release. He set his jaw and shook it off.
Not yet. Be patient.
The beast that slumbered deep within his soul, a beautiful white wolf that was his second half, twisted beneath his skin.
Patience is a virtue.
But one look around his band mates—his fellow pack mates—told Zane that the other werewolves were just as eager to stretch their legs as he was.
“Whaddaya say, Zane?” Parker Wilde’s voice made him glance up. The keyboardist’s long fingers tapped impatiently on the edge of a Coke can and Zane tilted his head. Parker sighed, as if exasperated. “Expensive booze and cheap girls after the big romp tonight? Let loose and celebrate a little?”
“Like we don’t do it enough?” Benji gave a hoot and pumped his fist, his bass still slung around his neck. He was a little paranoid in that regard. He always put his instrument away himself; he didn’t even trust Zane with it. “I’m in.”
“In,” agreed Micah.
The three of them turned to look at Zane, expectant, waiting. They looked up to him, followed his lead. Maybe it was the fact that his parents were the alphas of Elysium Pack, that Zane himself was their named heir to the throne whenever he was ready to step up and take it. Even if he had no desire to lead anything besides leading High Velocity to fame and fortune.
But how could he say no to good alcohol and beautiful women? A slow grin spread across his face. “In,” he said and the guys crowed. Zane held up a hand. “And I’ll even buy, how’s that?” Another round of cheers.
“Besides, I heard Lola was looking for you.” Parker winked in an exaggerated way.
Oh, Lola… Innocent flair, blonde ringlet curls, and all that smooth, pale skin. No man could forget a face like Lola’s, but while she had him locked in her sights, he was interested in someone else. He’d always been interested in someone else.
Women were Zane’s not-so-secret pleasure. He loved them. All shapes and sizes, all colors and races; black hair, brown hair—it didn’t matter. If they had curves and a nice ass, they were fair game, and the best part of being a rock star was that the women loved him just as much as he loved them. It was win-win.
Except that none of them filled the spot that Charlie did, with those baby-blue eyes, cool and confident, and that mane of thick black curls, always stuffed up in a prim little bun, always daring him to tug at it, stroke it… He shook his head, warring with his thoughts.
As the guys turned to go off in different directions, amped about the following evening, Zane moved to do the same. Yet…something stopped him. A whiff of the air, and over the smell of the fog maker and the sweat lingering there, he breathed her in. Wildflowers and blueberries, she was beautiful, unique, wolf…
And oh so untouchable. She’d made that part clear as day.
He craned his neck, his wolf suddenly alert and aware, and his nostrils flared. “Wait.” The one word rumbled from him as he raised a hand. Parker stopped first, but then they turned, looking to him. He took another breath in, want making him damn near crazy. She’d appear, any minute now.
Zane was content to wait.
***
Just one night.
Just one blessed night without having to listen to the screams of the crowd, of raging fans and groupies alike, shouting the guys’ names like it would make a difference this time, like it would make High Velocity look their way. It was driving her damn near crazy.
Once this tour ended, so did she. Figuring out how to tell the band wasn’t something that she particularly looked forward to, but it had to be done. Tonight.
Charlie Banks stood and surveyed the area, enjoying the slow decline in volume around her. She had to be vigilant until the final member of the crew reported that they were clear for the night. Having been with High Velocity since they’d started climbing the ladder of fame, she knew the guys in and out and knew
almost
all the tricks that fans would try to get in close with “their idol.”
Her normal schedule was to stand guard backstage, keeping up communication with the other members of security detail, to just ensure that everything ran smoothly. But something about tonight had taken its toll on her. Her feet ached, her head hurt. She just wanted to go home and take a long, luxurious soak in the tub. She could almost smell the flowery scent of her favorite bath salts…
While Zane, Micah, Parker, and Benji had had their fun on stage as usual, she’d spent the evening flashing her badge and foiling the groupies’ plots. People attempted just about anything in desperation to get a single touch from one of the guys. Some nights it seemed like five hundred pizza delivery girls showed up to give a specialty pie to whichever band member they deemed the most worthy of laying them. Ha—the little hussies would screw any of the guys if given half a chance. Fans weren’t exceptionally picky.
Charlie’s mental tirade ended on an abrupt note when her ear piece buzzed with a message. “Touchdown, Char. Stadium clear.” Her shoulders nearly drooped with exhaustion, but instead she straightened, braced herself, and headed to her next task—to be briefed by the boys as to where they were going, with who, and when they’d be back. She was the shepherd and they were her sheep.
God, she was only twenty-seven years old and she played babysitter to a group of rich brats. Okay, so she actually liked them—most of the time—but after a show, when their adrenaline ran rampant and the voices screaming for more still echoed in their eardrums, she loathed every one of them.
Shrewd blue eyes scanned the crowd and zeroed in on the quartet, still coiled together in a little pack. Good, they were gonna make it easy on her. The wolf inside of her tensed and tugged for freedom. More and more often, she’d been having a hard time fighting the animal down until she could shapeshift and have a little relief. The physical pain was punishment as well as motivation to give her notice to quit, to go live her own quiet life, away from sexy smiles and ripped bodies that she’d love to spend licking every inch of—
Whoa. Back up the lick-train, what was wrong with her? Why, all of a sudden, did the very idea of screwing Mr. “I’m Sexy and I Know It” appeal like nothing ever else had?
“Hey, Lieutenant Uptight! Come give us our orders. I’ve gotta go get my party on!” came Parker’s catcall from across the room, his hands cupped around his mouth.
Charlie felt her wolf bristle and bunch up. She wanted so badly to snarl and assert her dominance over the snot-nosed little wolf egging her on. With copper curls and an ever-present smirk, Parker Wilde was the youngest member of the group and took joy in annoying her in more ways than one. Charlie allowed it because he was part of the reason for her paycheck.
As she marched towards them, the once-crisp double polyester suit she wore now clung to her curves in an irritating, itchy manner. She was hot, sweaty, and ready to go home. Well, as “home” as a trailer could be while travelling through the states on tour.
“Hello Parker, it’s nice to see you too.”