by RJ Blain
“Lycanthropes are barred; we have an unfair advantage. I’d get my ass kicked in a lycanthrope-on-lycanthrope competition, though. I’ve thought about it. Do yourself a favor. Do not look into who won the last competition. It’s horrific.”
“Good to know. What else should I be on the watch for?”
“I should be asking that of you. I’m pretty sure Ma was joking. She wouldn’t actually sell me.”
“I think she was assuming you’d go along with the idea without her actually selling you. I was being bribed to accept your advances.”
I’d need a lot more bacon to deal with this conversation, but I needed to also conquer my pancakes and waffles before I raised pork prices in Colorado. “What advances?”
“This is going to be more difficult than your parents anticipated, I expect. In our case, I’m sure you could accomplish your goals with strategic use of your bikini and strolling around the suite.”
I snorted. “That doesn’t sound very difficult.”
“I understand when there are battles I won’t win. In case you weren’t aware, you looked lovely in your bikini.”
“Mom suggested it.”
“She gave you impeccable advice. She also gave you very skimpy advice.”
“There really isn’t much to that bikini. My leotards aren’t much better.”
“I’ve definitely noticed your leotard fits you very well. I’m concerned. Your father expects me to protect you for unwanted attention.”
“I’m sure he was yanking your chain, Kenneth. I’m not completely helpless.”
“Only when hopped up on pixie dust?”
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Not a chance, jail bird.”
“I’m not completely helpless. I just have three overprotective parents. The last time I tried to take self-defense courses, I came home covered in bruises. Dad flipped.”
“That tells me you’re helpless, jail bird. In other news, I insist you take self-defense courses, and I’ll take them with you to verify you’ve properly earned your bruises.”
That told me one thing: Kenneth was a chip off my father’s block, and unless I was careful, I’d be stuck with a fourth overprotective idiot.
Chapter Six
I should’ve stolen a pillow from our room so I could nap through the explanation on the various forms of dances and what we’d be learning, which included a smattering of everything. I looked forward to the flamenco. Unlike ballet, which focused on grace, beauty, and art, flamenco focused on the passion and love of dance with a flare I loved.
Some days, I regretted there was so little flamenco in my life.
At the forty-minute mark, the primary instructor, Danny Woolwright, picked up two ceramic jars and set them on a display table at the front of the room. “Partner assignments will be done by random draw. You will work with the same partner for the entirety of the week. This is an excellent chance to get used to working with someone new. I will draw a name from a jar. When I do, the person I name will come to the front and draw from the other jar. This way, no one can accuse me of rigging the pairings. You choose your own fate. Any questions?”
Silence.
“This is going to be a disaster,” Kenneth predicted in a whisper. “Whoever does the drawing will probably be blamed for poor partnerships.”
Considering how many beauties were in the room, at least thirty who outshined me in all ways possible, it’d be a recipe for competition and strife. Even if I pulled out all the stops and wore makeup and tried to be more of a swan, I’d resemble a goose next to the other participants, Kenneth included. Being the daughter of a succubus hadn’t graced me with beauty. I fell in around average, which was all I needed. Makeup could hide my imperfections when needed. “You’re probably right.”
Mr. Woolwright dipped his hand into the first jar, pulled out a slip of paper, and called the name of a prima ballerina from a Russian company so out of my league I slouched in my seat. I’d heard rumors about Polina Romanovna Lebedintseva, and I pitied the man partnered with her.
Her standards went far beyond the sane, which factored into why she was a prima ballerina. I wasn’t.
She glided to the front of the room, and at the instructor’s nod, she dipped her hand into the other jar, pulled out a name, and announced, “Branko Herceg.”
I hadn’t heard of the young man, but I bet every other woman in the room envied Polina; he wore a black leotard, and he’d forgone the traditional codpiece.
Kenneth leaned towards me. “No one told me this was a pornography audition.”
I clamped my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh.
“You two will be partnered together, so please sit together and introduce yourselves.”
The pair picked seats near the front, and Polina wasted no time chatting with her new partner.
Mr. Woolwright plucked a piece of paper from the men’s jar and called Kenneth’s name.
I wished him the best of luck. He’d need it, especially if he partnered with someone like Polina, who could dance circles around everyone else in the room.
He took his sweet time strolling to the front, and a woman slid into the seat he’d just left. “You know that man?”
As I wasn’t ready to tell anyone the truth about him, I faked a laugh and shrugged. “He’s an acquaintance who works with my father.”
“He’s not your partner?”
“Nope.”
Kenneth dipped his hand into the women’s jar and plucked out a piece of paper. He chuckled and said, “Emma Sansaul.”
I bowed my head, groaned, and wondered how the hell he could’ve drawn my name when there was still twenty to thirty other women in the room. “Damn it.”
Rising to my feet, I exhaled and strode to the front of the room, wondering how it was possible I’d have to dance with him and share his room for a week. The first person I’d blame would be Ma. Angels could manipulate random draws, I bet. They could teleport, become invisible at will, and ran around without a head.
Manipulating a few sheets of paper wasn’t beyond Ma’s abilities.
“Go introduce yourselves and have a seat,” our instructor ordered.
Kenneth smirked. “After you.”
As his seat was still occupied by the dark-haired woman who’d asked me about Kenneth, I nodded towards the pair who’d already been selected. “I think you have a fan.”
“Oh?”
“That woman came over and asked how I knew you. I told her you were an acquaintance who worked with my father.”
“I like your use of the truth.”
Of course. He was an FBI agent. Like angels, they probably hated when people lied to them. I bet it happened all the time in his line of work. “I just thought you’d like to know.”
“Well, I do. I know her.”
I hated reality sometimes. “Jealous girlfriend?”
“She’s a drug addict and dealer I busted a few years back. She landed in rehab for six months. I’m surprised she picked up something like dancing.”
“It’s good exercise.”
“Cathy was pretty vocal about why she got into dealing. She was too lazy to get a real job and liked getting people hooked on what only she could provide. Don’t let her trick you. She’s the type of predator that doesn’t stop being a predator because she got caught.”
“Wonderful. You know the most charming people.”
“It’s not all bad. I got to bust you, jail bird.”
“Just be glad I didn’t have to go to court. My dad would’ve eaten you and Mom alive. Then again, I’m regretting that the case didn’t. I bet you would’ve run away when you found out who my father was.”
“I find that unlikely. He enjoys every chance he gets to spank me in court. It’s one of his joys in life, I’m convinced of it. And anyway, you didn’t have to go to court because you wisely asked for an angel to confirm you had no idea it was an illegal substance. You just thought it was standard-grade pixie dust. That angel wasn’t your ma, right?”
“No, it wasn’t. Mom told me to deal with it myself without crying to Ma.” The truth was a little harsher, and it involved being grounded for life if I took shortcuts trying to figure out how to get myself out of jail because I needed to be an adult without relying on my parents.
I’d been in law school long enough to learn exactly how to get myself out of such situations, and I’d done so without batting an eye. The pixie dust had factored in getting myself out of solitary with only a minimal desire to murder my own mother for landing me in prison for a night.
Had the neutralizer worked on the first dose, I would’ve been home within a few hours of arrest.
“Most parents would just make them pay the bills and get a job.”
“I figured that part out fine on my own. Mom decided Dad’s methods were too tame.”
“Well, she is a succubus. They love causing trouble whenever possible, and since she can’t cause the sort of trouble she’d normally cause, I bet she used you as an outlet.”
“Or it was part of some elaborate scheme to hook me up with someone in law enforcement to make Dad happy,” I muttered.
“That would be quite the scheme. I busted you years ago. Would she really try to hook you up with a random law enforcement officer?”
“Yes. She tried to bring home an incubus for me so I would miss my flight here. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t planning on me keeping the incubus, but she’s a firm believer in a woman’s right to sleep with however many men she wants, when she wants, and how she wants. She keeps forgetting I’m infected with lycanthropy.”
“Or she recognizes you’d have to go to extreme lengths to infect someone.”
“True.” I shrugged. “Welcome to my life.”
“What was the deal with that Polina woman, anyway? He called her name, and you deflated.”
“She’s a Russian prima ballerina, one of the best in the industry. There are a lot of big league dancers here, and I’m in the minors comparatively.”
“But you’re a professional dancer.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m in the same class as they are.”
“I have trouble believing that.”
I arched a brow at him, shook my head, and watched the instructor partner dancers together for the rest of the week. The process took less than ten minutes, leaving us with a short window to head to the grand hall, where we’d spend the vast majority of our time learning new dance techniques. Inevitably, the prima ballerinas would compete among each other to be considered the best dancer of the retreat, something I viewed as idiotic.
I rose from my seat and stretched, waiting for the other pairs to file out of the room. Kenneth followed my lead.
Sharing a flight with him had been one thing. Cohabiting in the same suite had been another.
A week of him putting his hands all over me while we figured out how to perform new dance techniques as a pairing went above and beyond. He tested me in more ways than I liked.
Of all the shitty things to happen, why had I been busted by a handsome law enforcement officer? Had Mom not sabotaged my foray into pixie dust usage with the highest-grade stuff she could get her filthy hands on and brought him home instead of an incubus, I might’ve been tempted into doing the sorts of things she wanted me to do. Under no circumstances could I let my parents learn about that.
They’d join forces and take it further than Ma’s attempts to bribe him with a dowry.
I could be a professional. I’d done it many times before. Part of my job as a dancer was to deal with my partner handling me so we could get through the performance. Some of the men overly enjoyed some of the more sexual elements of dancing, but most just did their job and worried about getting through the performance without making mistakes.
Applying the same professionalism to the retreat would get me through it.
Him testing my restraint hadn’t been in the cards. Him being at the retreat at all hadn’t been in the cards.
What had happened to my relaxing vacation? All I’d wanted was to have a good time and learn something while I did it.
Cathy dragged her new partner over to us before we had a chance to escape, and the poor man already looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “You have all the luck, Emma,” she announced with a glare promising I’d landed right on her shit list for something I hadn’t even done.
I needed to stop thinking things couldn’t get worse. They could always somehow get worse. One day, I would learn this most important lesson. I pointed at Kenneth. “He did the picking. I’m just the poor bastard stuck with him.”
That caught her off guard. “Stuck with him?”
“He’s my father’s unpaid babysitter, and I’m willing to bet he’ll report every single one of my sins to my family, resulting in hell for the next six months if I stumble once during a routine.” To make it clear what I thought of the situation, I rolled my eyes and turned my worst glare on Kenneth. “In case you’ve forgotten, sir, I am an adult.”
He played along, arched a brow, and matched me glare for glare. “I’m sure you think you’re an adult.”
“You really aren’t with him?” Something in Cathy’s tone changed, and her expression softened. “I thought you were a couple. I’m Cathy.”
“We’re not a couple.”
Yet. If Ma had her way, we would be, and Mom would join in because she was itching for another child. Dad would follow my mothers’ lead, as he was a lycanthrope and lived to add more chicks to the family. That my mothers had quelled his desire for more chicks with baby chickens would forever amuse me.
Had I gotten a say in the matter, I’d have at least two younger siblings to torture and use as distractions, yet another secret Ma likely knew because she couldn’t help but poke her nose into my business at her whim.
Damned angels.
When I was honest with myself, I’d probably side with my mothers in the whole Kenneth fiasco.
“Huh. I thought you were older.” Cathy beamed at Kenneth. “It’s been a while.”
“Cathy,” he greeted.
I’d been around him long enough to catch a hint of wariness in his tone. Wouldn’t someone who’d gone through rehab be the type of person he admired? Why would she, who looked unhealthily thin but nothing outside the realm of normal for a dancer, make him wary?
I suspected it had something to do with his work.
“I didn’t think you were a dancer.”
“It’s a hobby. I needed to take some time off work, and this looked interesting, so I signed up. I passed the minimum requirements, so here I am. As I’m not a professional, I had to meet with Mr. Woolwright privately for an evaluation and work on some skills.”
“Huh. Didn’t know they let the amateurs in here.”
“When did you become a professional?”
Cathy flushed. “I joined a troupe earlier this year.”
“Good for you. I thought it’d take a lot longer for your knees and ankles to handle strenuous workouts.”
Cooked lobsters had nothing on Cathy’s face. “It’s wasn’t like that. I blitzed through physical therapy.”
I’d seen enough dancers cave to anorexia attempting to fit society’s standards. Some of the women still fought it years later, their bones too brittle to keep dancing despite intensive physical therapy aided with magic. I’d stood in for a prima ballerina once; she’d been in traction for a terrifying period of time trying to preserve her knee so she could keep dancing.
It’d taken her a year and a half to recover enough to return to the stage. I doubted I’d ever stand-in for another prima ballerina in my career, such as it was, but the incident had taught me a few important lessons:
everyone had secrets, everyone had challenges and hardships, and everyone fell.
“Congratulations.”
“Do you think we’ll really be stuck with the same partner for the entire week?”
“It seems likely to me.” Kenneth shrugged, turning to Cathy’s partner and holding out his hand. �
�I’m Kenneth.”
I’d seen plenty of men exchange handshakes in my life, but I got the sense of mutual suffering from the pair. I wanted to join them in solidarity, expecting Cathy would go out of her way to make my life miserable because Kenneth had drawn my name instead of hers.
So much for my nice vacation.
“We better get to the main hall before we’re late,” I said, and without waiting to see if they listened, headed for the door, thinking curses Ma would clean my mouth out over if she heard them.
She took me wishing anyone a quick trip to hell seriously, probably because I had enough demonic blood in me to make such a thing feasible. It wasn’t like I was the devil’s daughter. That honor fell to some other poor bastard, and I wished her the best of luck dealing with her adoptive parents.
I marched towards the main hall, chin lifted high and determined to salvage something of my week, even if it meant allowing myself to enjoy every single flub while dancing with Kenneth—another thought I couldn’t afford to let Ma hear.
I needed to figure out how to safeguard my thoughts from an angel before my own mother killed me in retribution for having a smidgeon too much of Mom in me. The crowd ahead in the hallway ensured I’d be late getting to my destination, yet another black mark on my day, but then I realized they were all dancers, and something ahead held their attention.
Sometimes, I enjoyed being tall, willowy, and light on my feet; it made it easier to stand on my toes and peek over the heads of those in front of me.
A woman’s body hung from the ceiling, her body spinning in a slow circle. She looked a lot like me and had been dead long enough her eyes were clouded over. A sickly sweet stench hung in the air, and something dripped from dark plastic dangling from the broken ceiling tiles overhead.
I covered my mouth with my hands and hoped I wouldn’t throw up.
Kenneth touched my elbow, and I pointed at the woman, my hand shaking.
“Another one,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing. He reached into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and sent a text message to someone. “She’s at least a day old judging from the state of decomposition, probably closer to two. Depends on what temperature she was stored at before she was put there.”