The One Voice

Jaxen moved away from the door, prowling toward the wet bar in the corner. He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass but didn't offer her any.

"Do you know why I wrote 'Prophecy'?" he asked, taking a sip.

Mira’s heart hammered. It was her favorite song. The ballad about the *One Voice* that would heal the broken king.

"Because you're looking for a connection," Mira recited the theory she had written on her fan blog a hundred times. "Because you're lonely at the top, and you need someone who understands the music as deeply as you do."

Jaxen chuckled. It was a low, dry sound, devoid of humor. "Lonely. Yes. That's one word for it. Another word is *famished*."

He set the glass down and approached her. The room felt smaller now. The scent of musk was overpowering, stinging her nose.

"My voice," Jaxen whispered, stepping into her personal space. "It fades. Did you hear it tonight? On the high note of 'Midnight Howl'? I cracked."

"No," Mira lied quickly, desperate to comfort him. "You were perfect."

"I was decaying," Jaxen corrected. "Every century, the spark dims. The power runs out. I have to... recharge."

He reached out. His fingers were long, calloused from guitar strings, and freezing cold. He touched her throat.

Mira gasped. The contact was electric. This was it. The intimacy she had dreamed of. He wasn't looking at her body; he was looking at her throat, tracing the line of her trachea with his thumb.

"You have a strong instrument, Mira," he murmured. "I can feel the pulse. Strong. Vital. Young."

"I practice every day," Mira breathed, tilting her head back, baring her neck to him. She trusted him completely. He was her god; why would a god hurt his believer? "I want to sing with you, Jaxen. I want to help you."

"Help me," Jaxen repeated, testing the words. His pupils expanded, swallowing the blue. "Yes. You can help me. The Prophecy... it wasn't about a partner, Mira."

He stepped closer, his hips pinning her against the vanity table. The bright lights of the mirror haloed his head, casting his face in shadow.

"It was about a battery."

Mira blinked, the spell faltering slightly. "A... battery?"

"I don't write the songs, little mouse," Jaxen whispered, his hand tightening slightly on her windpipe. "I steal them. I take the souls that burn the brightest, and I swallow them whole. That's what keeps the crowd screaming. That's what keeps me immortal."

Mira tried to laugh, thinking it was a dark joke, a rock star's morbid sense of humor. But then she saw his nails.

They were lengthening. The manicured black polish cracked as thick, curved claws pushed through the skin.

"And you," Jaxen purred, leaning down so his lips brushed her ear. "You are going to be my greatest hit."

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