On the Prowl by Kate Rudolph

2

Em wasthe kind of tired that only happened when she went on tour. Bone deep exhaustion made all of her limbs heavy, and the strenuous workout that was every performance made her muscles ache. She was only a few weeks into this US tour and her body hadn't yet adjusted. Give it another week and she'd be fine.

She hoped.

But she couldn't help the nagging sensation that there was something off about this tour. Something didn't feel right.

Or maybe it was her. Em was hiding out in a closet hoping to snag five minutes of privacy before someone came searching for her so that they could shepherd her to her next task. Sound check, she was pretty sure.

At least she had five whole days in the city, even if three days were already gone. She wasn't actually sure what city it was. Little details like that fell by the wayside when she bounced from place to place on a daily basis.

Touring had seemed glamorous when she was a young star. It was a way to experience the kind of life she never imagined she could have.

No, that was a lie. She was a Selby. She could have any kind of life she wanted. Jet setting didn't need to come attached to a grueling schedule.

But this was the life she'd chosen.

Em groaned and leaned back against the wall. She was nestled in beside several shelves which were stacked high with cleaning products. If one of the reporters following the tour spotted her in here, they would probably think she was getting high and have the story up online in the hour. It wouldn't get far before her publicist had the counter narrative ready to go. That kind of life had never really been her MO.

But she didn't want the rumors. With the new album just out and not doing as well as expected, she couldn't afford bad press, no matter how good her publicist. Though her record label would probably say that any press was good press.

She had a hell of a story for them. How would they take it if she told them that her sister was a werewolf?

The thought startled a laugh out of her. Yeah, she wasn't going to be telling anybody about Stasia's new condition. That would definitely have people thinking she was on drugs.

If Em wasn't in her dressing room, she might have to face annoying questions. She was supposed to be in charge. That was what everybody thought when they thought of a rock star on tour. But Melinda and her army of very efficient assistants had way more say in what was going on than Em did.

She pressed her ear against the door and listened carefully for a moment. But the door was thick and she couldn't hear anything. Rather than wait any longer, Em slipped out of the closet and headed toward her dressing room.

She was thankful that they were staying in the hotel that was connected to the convention center where she was performing. It meant that fans were swarming the place, but at least she didn't need to leave the building for anything. It made her feel safer than normal.

Not that she ever really dealt with danger. She had screaming fans, a few obsessed ones, and there was a lot of fanfiction out there. But her security kept her safe, and she'd never felt like the fans were a danger to her.

She was lucky in that regard. She had heard horror stories of some of her friends who appealed to a slightly younger and more rabid audience. But Em had made the decision to be a rock star, not a pop star, and that came with a slightly different fan base.

At least that was what the record company said.

There were dozens of people milling around in the hallways doing their best to get the stage prepared for the concert. They'd had the luxury of letting the stage stay up between shows, which meant everyone was a bit more relaxed than usual. Stopovers like these were sort of like mini vacations. But Em would be expected to do meet and greets and other events when she wasn't busy performing.

She'd chosen this life, she reminded herself. She didn't get to complain.

At least, not out loud. But it was about time to give Stasia a call and let all of her complaints fall on her older sister's ears. Besides, she wanted to hear how werewolf life was going. If she thought being a rock star was special, Stasia had blown her out of the water.

Em slipped into her dressing room. It wouldn't be long before her makeup artists and costume people showed up to get her ready for the night. But Em had three more minutes to herself. She sank into her chair and looked at the table in front of the mirror. At first she didn't know what she was looking at.

It should have been covered with makeup and jewelry and all of the things that she would need to become her alter ego Mercy, the international rock sensation.

But the table was empty. Empty, and covered in deep gouges. Em reached out to touch, her fingers digging deep into the pulp of the wood. This wasn't some decoration. It looked like a wild animal had gotten in and attacked the table.

Werewolf.

The thought whispered in the back of her mind. It would have been crazy if she hadn't just met a pack of them a few weeks before. Her heart rate kicked up and she spun around, eyes darting madly trying to find the threat.

But she was alone in her dressing room.

Was this some kind of prank? Was somebody having fun at her expense? They couldn't know about Stasia. Not about Owen or Andre or Rowe or any of the rest of them. She hadn't said a word. Though maybe one of the assistants or one of the band members had caught her looking up the Wikipedia page to try and learn more about wolves.

No.

One of her costumes was on the ground, and Em bent to pick it up. Shredded. Some of her costumes had artfully gaping holes that let people see her skin or a mesh approximation of her skin tone, but this wasn't anything done by design. She set the top down on the desk, and the rip in the clothing matched the gouges in the desk.

Wicked claws. She could imagine them.

Her hands shook and there was a scream caught in her throat, but she couldn't articulate it. She was too aware of all of the people outside of the dressing room who would come running if she made a noise.

And she couldn't let this information end up in the tabloids.

With shaking hands, she reached for her cell phone and brought up Stasia's number, dialing and praying and hoping that her sister picked up. It took several rings before she did.

"Hey! Are you supposed to be on stage?" Stasia asked, a smile clear in her voice.

"I need your help." Em didn't waste time with small talk. "I think I have a werewolf problem."