Heavy Metal Heart Read Online Free Page A

it was the hunger, but the hollow ache had an unfamiliar darkness around it, black as thick blood.
    Lee took a pull from his beer and sat up, flashing that smile that got all the groupies melting. “Your Muse, she’s got green eyes.”
    “Fuck off.”
    “Dude, I’ve been listening to your songs almost every night for centuries. So many songs about the mysterious woman with green eyes.” Lee toasted him and Trevor didn’t return it. “My Muse is going to have a big round ass.”
    “That’s why I don’t let you write the songs.”
    “And Wolfgang’s Muse—” Lee gestured toward the hallway where their drummer talked up a couple of local girls, “—she’ll probably be an uptight librarian, just to fuck with him.”
    Trevor had lived countless lives, reinventing himself and his appearance to trend with the times. There had been women through all those years and miles of road. But the one ? She didn’t exist. She couldn’t. Not after all this searching.
    “You keep looking,” he told Lee. “I’ll keep booking shows to feed us.”
    “Like tonight’s last-minute gig in this palace?” He poured a little beer on the floor and swirled the grime with his cowboy boot.
    Trevor dripped some of his own beer on his bassist’s boot. “Don’t pretend to be disappointed, asshole. We were all getting hungry, and you know how tight a small venue feels.”
    Lee’s smile broadened. “Snug.”
    “And I’m not that reckless ass, Kent Gaol, destroying tour buses and lighting hotels on fire.”
    The smile on Lee’s face faded and he ran his hand through his long dark hair. “What the hell’s with that guy? It’s like he wants the Philosophers to take him out.”
    “Easier than doing it himself. Then he can blame them for his inevitable flameout.”
    “Son of a bitch’s making it harder for all of us.”
    “It’s never easy, brother.” Another reason they were always touring: a moving target is hard to hit.
    “Philosophers get more zealous all the time. I thought that dick on the TV show with you this morning was one of them.”
    “It crossed my mind, for a second. But that joker was as tough as a wet newspaper. Just pulp, no bite.” He finished his beer and retrieved three fresh ones from the fridge. “But that doesn’t mean the Philosophers aren’t out there.”
    Lee took his beer. “Let ’em try.”
    Trevor called toward the hallway, “Wolfgang, quit pumping, we got a set list to go over.”
    Wolfgang muttered something and the girls giggled. Then he opened the door and sauntered into the room. “I don’t give a shit about a set list. You call it out and I start drumming.” He took the beer Trevor offered and slammed the door shut with his bare foot. Now that it was just the three of them, he dropped his voice conspiratorially. “After the gig, I got to get some ink. The tats are starting to fade again.”
    He held out his arm, showing how the intricate scrollwork from his wrist to his shoulder was dimming on his dark brown skin. Trevor and Lee checked their own tattoos. Along Trevor’s forearm was a flintlock pistol. It was less than a year old and already looked as washed out as an ancient fresco.
    Trevor clinked his bottle against his drummer’s. “There are a few artists around here we can hit.”
    Wolfgang took a long drink. “And kebab. The girls say they know a couple good places.”
    Girls. Kebab. Beer. Music. Simple. But the thunder still rang through Trevor’s mind, distant warning. Something was coming. Death perhaps, by the hands of the Philosophers. Or something other than death. The unknown. The one with green eyes. Impossible. Thousands of years had shown Trevor that there was no more unknown. That truth sank deep, a worn ax through the heart. He felt more alone than ever. And starving.
    An hour and a half later, he and the rest of the band prepared to feed. The hunger always peaked highest right before a show. Trevor was hollow and eager. Like Lee and Wolfgang, he only