Read Online The Devil's Metal by Karina Halle - Free Book Online

boy meets man appeal. His hair was a shiny and thick
chestnut, the kind you’d see in shampoo commercials. It fell blunt
across his forehead and longer in the back and nicely framed his
sparkling blue eyes and dimples. He was somehow cute and sexy at
the same time, and the sexiness came from three—the fact that he
could sing the panties off of anyone. Any woman, anyway, and I was
sure any man. Robbie Oliver was the man Mel waxed on about when we
were going through the rock stars we’d like to shag list (I should
not have to point out that the list was her idea and my only
contribution was to nod and listen to her). She didn’t like
Hybrid’s downtuned guitars, but she did love Robbie’s soaring
voice.
    And here he was, shirtless except for an
open sky blue vest that matched his eyes. And he was looking at me.
Smiling.
    It took all my energy to look away, and when
I did, my eyes rested on Graham Freed. He was sitting at the front
of a long couch, closest to me. Graham was an amazing drummer and
one of the key aspects to Hybrid’s success (in my opinion, anyway)
but he certainly wasn’t the most charismatic. Oh, he wasn’t bad
looking by a long shot—none of the guys in the band were anyone
you’d find fault with. He had shoulder-length black hair and a thin
beard and was covered in tattoos and strange piercings that made
him look like a tribesman. He loved to admit his fascination with
the occult, never really refuted the fact that he had ties to a
Satanic church, and was just a general oddball. Of course, everyone
knew the whole thing was bunk and it was just for show, but his
opinions made him annoying. To me, Graham was always the
disgruntled drummer of the band constantly vying for attention.
    Except in this case, Graham looked like he
didn’t want any attention from me. In fact, I could have sworn he
shuddered at my presence and his brows were knit in confusion.
    I kept my eyes moving and settled on the
last person on the bus. The person sitting at the end of the long
couch.
    Sage Knightly.
    He was leaning against the wall with a book
in hand, his long, black-jean clad legs sprawled in front of him.
On his feet were his trademark flip-flops, his wide upper body in a
wide-collared black shirt that was unbuttoned halfway, a peek of
his scruffy firm chest popping through. Tattoos drifted out of the
sleeves and onto his forearms. He was looking at me with all the
intensity in the world, and in my numb state I couldn’t read any
expression on his face. His gray-green eyes were clear and
piercing, framed dramatically by his low, strong brows. Black curly
hair fell softly on his forehead and onto the sides. His dimpled
chin was strong, his bottom lip was full with an upper lip that
curved sweetly. His skin was bronzed and looked more exotic in
person, alluding to his rumored Hispanic ancestry.
    He was the man on my wall.
    My musical hero.
    My musical crush.
    And he was on the bus, sitting there, right
in front of me.
    No, wait…he was leaving.
    With a slight narrowing of the eyes, he
finally stopped staring, and after giving everyone what seemed to
be a disgusted look, got up and marched down the aisle toward me.
He was so tall he almost had to duck down as went by. I leaned
against Chip to get out of his way—Sage was built like a brick
house and probably would have clipped my shoulder.
    “We have your beer!” Chip yelled after him
as Sage pushed past me and stomped off the bus. He didn’t even
throw us a backward glance.
    I looked back at Chip, my heart racing, the
urge to vomit teasing me. What the hell just happened there? Did I
piss him off somehow? Already?
    Also: Holy smokes, Sage Knightly just
touched me.
    Chip grinned. “Welcome to the band,
Rusty!”
    “You’re not the guy from Rolling Stone,”
Graham said to me, sounding accusatory.
    I looked at him, surprised. “Rolling Stone?
No, Creem.”
    “I thought I asked for someone from Rolling
Stone,” he mumbled angrily. Wait, the drummer arranged