Bite of Cinder

Chapter 1 CynthiaI listened to the music as Miranda, my stepmother, droned on and on about her startup. Sure, fashionable clothes for plus-size women were great, but only if those women actually cared about fashion. Just because my hips had filled out over the last four years I've been going to college didn't mean I wanted to hear about flower prints and polka dots. Not even Miranda could ruin my mood when I listened to my favorite band, though. Timeless Chains had me in their t****l from the first time I heard them. The four band members were the male versions of sirens, but no one had tied me to the mast or clogged my ears to save me from their seductive voices. And that's just their voices. The four men looked like every one of my fantasies wrapped into one. Or into four. The front door swung open, and my best and only friend in this city strolled in. Liatris definitely never got the plus-size fashion talk. She was thin as a twig and graceful as a swan. She also never blurted out anything embarrassing every time she got flustered, mainly because she never got flustered. In other words, she was my exact opposite. "Hello there," she said loud enough to make Miranda stop her blabbering. "Guess who comes bearing gifts?" Miranda narrowed her eyes in suspicion. She never liked my friend, and the feeling was mutual. "Hello to you, too, the bringer of gifts." I paused the music and took off the headset. Liatris sat on the very edge of the couch and pulled out two concert tickets with an invitation to the afterparty, and not just any concert and any party but the Timeless Chains one. A very unladylike scream bubbled up inside me, but I managed to kill it before it turned into anything more than a strangled gasp. "How did you get them? They were all sold out," I said, shocked at my own luck. I had the best friend ever. She was a miracle maker. "I got my wicked ways," she answered. Wicked indeed. The concert was in two hours, and I had nothing to wear. Well, not unless Miranda let me wear one of her dresses. What would be the chance of her using her fashion skills for anything other than t*****e? "You're not going," Miranda said, her arms folded, her face pinched in disapproval, like it always was when Liatris was around. So, no dress from Miranda. That sucked. I'd go in jeans and a t-shirt if I had to. "I definitely am," I answered and ran upstairs to change before she said anything else. I've heard it all millions of times. Liatris followed me. As soon as we were in my room, I flung the closet open and looked through my choices. "I have nothing to wear," I mumbled. "You do." Liatris handed me a bag with the skimpiest dress I had ever seen. I could've sworn she didn't have the bag two seconds ago. I was probably momentarily blinded by the concert tickets. That was a more logical explanation than the bag appearing out of thin air. Either way, I didn't have time to consider where it all came from. All I could do at this point was to put the dress on. For a moment there, it felt like it was going to split on my back, but then Liatris pulled the fabric around and got it to fit me perfectly. The blue fabric barely covered my chest, but hey, if any of the guys from the Timeless Chains got an eyeful of my boobs, I'd die a happy woman. I checked myself out in the mirror, not recognizing the woman reflecting in it. This couldn't be me. Not unless the dress somehow made me lose twenty pounds. Or unless Liatris was a magician. "And I got you this," she said as she pulled out a pair of pale blue shoes that looked like they were carved out of precious stones. There was exactly zero chance of them being comfortable. I knew that. And I still stuck my feet in because, holy cow, they looked gorgeous. After a quick look in the mirror, I decided that the t*****e would be worth it. My legs and butt look good enough to eat. Not that anyone would see either at the concert with the size of the crowd that would be there, but maybe at the after party... Did my butt look smaller all of a sudden? I must've been imagining things. It was an illusion brought forth by a nice dress, cute shoes, and my own excitement. And yet, when Liatris stood next to me, our reflections looked almost the same size, which was crazy talk. I was half a foot shorter. Good thing magic wasn't real, or I'd think Liatris was my fairy godmother who had pulled a magical liposuction and a leg extension. "I still don't know how you managed to get tickets at the last minute. You're officially my fairy godmother because this can only be magic." "I just know people who know people," she answered. Well, I wasn't complaining about that. Not wasting any more time because this was seriously last minute, I grabbed my makeup bag and sprinted downstairs. Liatris followed, but unlike me, she floated gracefully, as if her feet didn't need to touch the stairs. Miranda met us at the door with another glare at Liatris and a stern "be home by twelve" for me. I didn't bother answering her. First, it was useless. Miranda thought I was an unruly teenager, not a twenty-two-year-old adult. Telling her I'm not a kid would only make me sound like a kid. And second, I knew why she told me to be back by twelve. The rational part of my mind told me I should listen. Timeless Chains had gained their notoriety through the mystery that surrounded their afterparties. No one knew what exactly happened there after midnight. Each time, their guests could remember the wild party, the dancing, the music, but only until the clock struck twelve. After midnight, no one remembered a thing. I had done my best to c***k the mystery, just like every other fan, but I came up with more questions than answers. The most popular theory was that everyone attending these parties must've signed a confidentiality agreement and only pretended not to remember. One big flaw with this theory was that it would require thousands of randos to be excellent actors. The second most popular theory was drugs. At midnight, everyone must drink the magic Kool Aid, except instead of poison, it had some crazy concoctions that wiped your memory. This would be slightly more believable if there hadn't been toxicology reports showing absolutely nothing. Besides, the chances of drugs working the same ‌way on everyone were slim to none. There would've been someone resistant to their effect. Whatever it was, I was tempted to stay there past midnight and find out. A crazy idea and one I probably shouldn't entertain. No, I definitely shouldn't entertain it. I had finals next week. The last thing I needed was memory loss. This was my last year. If everything went well, I'd be moving out and would never have to hear another word about fashion. Go to the party and scram right before midnight. That way, I could have my fun and remember it, too. Yeah. That was the smart thing to do. By the time I got to the concert, my resolve to leave the party early solidified. I was ready for this thing. Almost. Seeing my favorite band on stage wasn’t something I could’ve prepared myself for. The four stunning men owned the crowd. The music blared in my ears. Arms flailed all around me. Some scrawny guy elbowed me in the arm. It was worth it, though. The four members of the band, Blister, Roan, Golden, and Nick "The Drum Blaster" Hart were magnificent. Roan's voice took my breath away as he lifted his head to the ceiling and sang his heart out. His long black hair billowed behind him and probably made some producer of shampoo commercials jealous. I wasn't even producing hair product commercials, and I was already jealous. It just looked so soft and silky. As his long lashes fluttered open and his gaze swept over the crowd, our eyes met. For a fraction of a second, the world stopped, then the music picked up again and Roan began to sing, his eyes still on me, as if he were singing to me, not to hundreds of people crowding the place. "Oh. My. God. He's looking right at me," some girl shrieked behind me. Wait, was he? I looked behind me to find a gorgeous blond with a giant rack. Yeah, Roan was probably looking at her, and I was delusional. Completely. Why would I ever think someone like Roan would look at my ugly a*s? Ugh. I wasn't ugly, I had to remind myself. I just wasn't as pretty as that girl. When I looked back on the stage, Roan had already moved back a few steps, and Blister was coming forward with a guitar solo. His stage name was my only complaint about Timeless Chains. Sure, John was too lame of a first name for a rockstar, but the s*x god with rippling muscles and fingers made for loving could've come up with something better than Blister. He could've called himself a bear with how wide and tall he was. Screams from adoring fans, one of whom was right next to my ear trying to take out my eardrum with her high-pitched "Bliiiiiiisssteeeeeeeer", let me know I had to get in line. Everyone wanted him. The moment Bister's guitar solo was done, the stage light moved back until it found Golden. Now that was the man who knew how to have a great stage name and work it, too. The guy must've bathed in bronzer, making his skin glow. His strawberry blond hair turned metallic as he played bass guitar. Nick "The Drum Blaster" Hart sat in the back like a terrifying shadow if shadows had bright red mohawks. For a moment, I could've sworn he looked at me, but unlike Roan, who made me feel like the center of the universe, Hart's glare made me feel small and want to become even smaller. Oh well. You win some—you lose some. By the time the concert ended, my feet hurt, my eardrums were eviscerated, and I was covered in Golden’s glittery sweat. The guy knew how to work his hair, but damn, someone needed to get a better AC to blow on the stage. You know what? Screw the AC. I had Golden’s sweat on me. That’s more than most girls could say, even if it was kinda gross. Gross was good. I was never going to bathe again just so I could keep the rock-god’s sweat on me.