Come, Wolf said again, this time with his sexy growl. The sound used to scare her, but now it excited. He knew her in ways that no other man could; he knew that her passions were hungry, just as he knew that nothing on earth could satisfy them.
She belonged in the Shadowlands, dancing forever.
But…She glanced out into the audience—all the people were enthralled, spellbound, as if they collectively held their breath. The illumination of the stage lit their faces and had their eyes shining.
Just one more thing…one more moment, here…
Annabella wanted her applause. She’d worked hard enough for it. Seventeen years of breaking her body for ballet. She wanted the first bows with the company, then the curtain calls, the standing ovation, her arms full of roses. She wanted these people on their feet, shouting “brava.” If that made her a diva, so be it. If she were crossing to the Shadowlands, this was the only time her work would be recognized.
The orchestra sang the last strains of the love song. Albrecht was supposed to collapse center stage as Giselle disappeared into her grave, but Wolf stood, holding out his hand to draw Annabella into his world in a strange reversal of the story.
A happily-ever-after would have them exiting together, bound for the Shadowlands, but Giselle was a tragedy.
And Annabella wanted to take her bows.
Come, he said a third time, angry.
The ballet doesn’t end that way. Annabella ignored his outstretched hand—she imagined the audience interpreted his reach as Albrecht’s last hope, his longing.
The curtain fell. The audience was utterly silent. Then they broke into thunderous applause and shouts, no single word intelligible in the sudden storm of approval. The stage floor vibrated with their calls, thrilling through her body. It was…beyond wonderful. Worth the delay.
Venroy strode onto the stage, tears streaming down his face. He gripped her hands, saying, “Sublime, Annabella! Jasper! Perfection!”
Exquisite pleasure filled Annabella’s chest, almost too much to bear. The Thomas Venroy. Crying. For her.
“Child,” Venroy continued. “A bravura performance. You have exceeded all my expect—”
“Get back!” Wolf snapped, wrenching Annabella away by her elbow.
Venroy faltered. He swallowed his outpouring of emotion as if slapped.
Annabella frowned at Wolf. There was no call for that. And besides, she really wanted Venroy to finish.
“Of course,” Venroy said, regrouping. “There will be time for this later. So much to do, to plan for…” He tapered off, waving for the corps of wilis to form a half circle upstage.
“I want my bows,” Annabella said to Wolf, obstinate. It had taken years of willpower to bring her to this point; she was not giving them up.
Wolf glowered, his discontent rumbling in his chest, but he stepped forward to clasp her hand. Tightly.
The curtain rose. The audience clamored with approbation.
Annabella shook off Wolf’s clasp and swept into a grande révérence, a prima ballerina’s thank-you to the audience. Every ballet class she’d ever taken had ended with a grande révérence, as was custom, but every performance until now she’d had to settle for the simple curtsey of the corps. Not anymore. She bowed deeply to the audience.
The applause was a gale wind through the Shadowlands. She could feel it caressing her skin, making her glow. The best of both worlds.
She rose and bowed again to the other side. How many times had she fantasized about this moment? Too many to count. She’d practiced in front of any mirror—studio, dressing room, bathroom, department store, even carnival fun house. Thank you, thank you…and all you over there, thanks to you as well. And how could I forget the ones in the balconies? Thank you. This was way better than she’d ever imagined. She could get used to this.
She glanced side to side to join the full company, and all together they bowed again. She gestured grandly to her partner to acknowledge his part; Wolf stared back at her, shadows a potent throb in his gaze.
Yeah, yeah. He’d just have to wait.
The curtain dropped again, but the shouts from the audience did not diminish. If anything the Shadow wind blew stronger. That meant curtain calls.
Sure enough, a stage tech signaled from side stage that he was about to stagger the curtains so that she and Wolf could step out and take another drink of the applause drug. Thank you. Flowers for me? A bouquet of two dozen long-stemmed roses, blood-scarlet against the wili white of her arm. Another deep dip. Thank you.
Annabella and Wolf backed up, and the curtain closed. She listened intently to the applause of the audience. Would there be another curtain call? And if so, how many? She’d bow all night if the audience would let her.
Annabella looked at the stage tech, waiting for a signal, ready, but Wolf grabbed her from behind, his hands digging into her shoulders. Those stupid Segue men rushed onto the stage. What did they possibly hope to do?
Besides, she needed a few more minutes. Can’t you hear them? The audience wanted more.
But Wolf dragged her backward a few paces, his breath hot on her neck, the line of the corps breaking as he pulled her into the trees.
“Annabella!” a rough male voice called above the roar beyond the curtain.
Her attention snapped to Custo, emerging from the side of the stage. He stumbled forward, his chest heaving, his face white, blood smeared across his forehead.
Wolf growled at her back, his clutch on her shoulders increasingly painful.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” Annabella breathed over her shoulder. She sent a pained look to the confused stage tech.
“We must go,” Wolf said at her ear. “Now.”
“You can’t have her,” Custo said. His gaze fell to her left, on Wolf.
Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad. Maybe it was time to cross…
“It’s okay,” Annabella answered Custo. “I want to go. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. This is what I want.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Custo said as he stalked closer. He opened his arms wide as if to both tame and catch at the same time. “You can’t trust him.”
Wolf yanked her back against him, hard.
“He didn’t know he was hurting anyone,” Annabella reasoned. “He’s not from here. He’d definitely never harm me.”
“He’s using you as a shield right now.”
“You just don’t understand.” She looked at the gap in the curtain. The audience was louder now, expecting her appearance any second. Maybe just one more, if Custo would shut up and get out of the way.
“I do understand. I’ve been there.” Custo’s voice lowered with conviction. His body hunched forward unnaturally, as if he were in pain. But how could that be? He was an angel. Lines of strain formed at his eyes and around his mouth. “You can’t trust anything about the Shadowlands, especially yourself.”
Why was Custo ruining everything for her? It was her choice. Her life.
“Annabella?” Venroy said sharply. “What is the meaning of this?”
All the dancers were looking at her, too.
Come, Wolf said.
She had to cross now. It was the only way. Shame about her bows, though.
She gave Custo a look of apology—maybe he’d understand one day—and reached a hand back to Wolf.
“Where’s Jasper?” Custo asked.
Jasper? Annabella felt him take her hand. No, that was Wolf. But it was Jasper’s body pressed against hers; Jasper’s voice asking her to come away with him. That wasn’t right either. Jasper was gay and in love with his partner; he’d never want her. Had to be Wolf. But Wolf said he hadn’t harmed anyone else. So the hand holding hers had to be Jasper’s. But he growled like Wolf. So where was Jasper? Holding her hand—
Annabella’s head hurt. She couldn’t think. This had to stop.
Venroy looked wildly at the three of them and ushered Myrtha out for the applause of the audience. “What is going on?”
Custo made a sharp cutting gesture in the air to shut him up. Venroy said something about security and stepped out of sight.
“That’s right, Annabella,” Custo said, tone insistent. “Where’s Jasper, that pretty boy who likes to strut around with his package out there for everyone to see?”
An image of Jasper flashed in her mind—he stood in his signature stance, hip cocked to show off his body, a shameless and funny leer on his face whenever he wanted to make her laugh or put her at ease. The real Jasper—the one who’d stayed extra hours rehearsing with her to get the pas de deux perfect. The one who talked about hot, promiscuous sex, but had been a devoted boyfriend for over three years. Where was he?
If she could just think straight for one moment, maybe she could work it all out. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t identify what. All she knew was that her dreams were real in the Shadowlands, dance was real, but what kind of person would she be to think only of herself? What about Jasper?
She wrenched herself away from Wolf. The movement was like tearing herself in half.
Custo darted forward, shoving her out of the way, and leaped onto Wolf, who yelped.
Annabella fell as the acrid funk of burning flesh hit her nose, the smell beyond nauseating. The impact jarred her body into painful awareness, sweeping the glimmering magic of the Shadowlands from her eyes. Some Segue thug had his hands on her, keeping her back.
“No, not yet, Annabella! Hold the magic!” Custo yelled.
But her muscles seized, bones aching, and something was wrong with her neck. Her full-body euphoria dissipated in an excruciating hiss as she crashed brutally down from her faerie high. She felt tired and…and…old. What was wrong with her?
A panting brawl in front of her brought her eyes up. Custo grappled with Wolf, but in Jasper’s form. The smell turned to bitter burning hair. The pair rolled toward the curtain, and pinned the velvet with their heaving bodies.
Myrtha almost tripped over them as she stumbled back to the stage from her bows.
“Anna,” Custo gasped, “bring it back! We need the Shadows!”
How? It hurt to breathe. She’d be weeping if she had the energy. There was no magic left in her. Annabella saw the corps dancers chattering excitedly, but she couldn’t hear them. What did Custo expect her to do—get up and dance again? She didn’t think she could stand.
And besides, a sneaky little voice inside of her pointed out, if she helped to banish Wolf, there wouldn’t be a second chance for her to cross.
Struggling violently, Custo and Wolf rolled out in plain view of the audience. The audience audibly gasped. A sudden rise of shouts told her that they’d fallen into the orchestra pit. A metallic crash had her wincing, her ears ringing.
She bowed her head and the tears came. The Segue man pulled her to her feet and was dragging her offstage when Adam arrived.
“Orchestra pit,” the guy holding her up said, as a second Segue person yelled, “Clear the way.” But what he was talking about, and what they were doing, she had no idea. And she really didn’t care. She was trying very, very hard to get a grip, but her reality kept slipping from her fingers.
Shadowlands out of her reach. Custo pummeling the wolf in view of the audience. And Jasper gone. Both her life and her dreams were disintegrating around her.
Annabella didn’t trust mood swings. She’d just had the performance of her life. She knew as high and as happy as she’d been not ten minutes before, the opposite low was not far off. What had she been thinking? She was an idiot to believe she could’ve sustained that kind of euphoria forever. And she knew her low had not yet reached bottom. Not nearly. Bottom would be when they found Jasper’s body.
***
“Where is she?” Custo said, shoving a Segue soldier out of his way. The idiot was rummaging through a first-aid kit to patch him up. He didn’t need medical care. His body was on fire, healing on its own.
He wanted Annabella. He had to see her before Luca dragged him to who-knows-where.
Was she okay? Had she been hurt? Had she realized how close she’d come to disaster? His mind swept the theater but he was too keyed up to concentrate on individual people.
The sight of that…that thing…with Annabella in his clutches made Custo want to tear apart the wolf-turned-Jasper. At least Custo had hurt him, burned him bad, if the smell were any indication. Custo’s touch had the same effect as Talia’s voice—forcing the wolf back into the shadows. One moment solid, the next evaporating into absent light. What he would give to drive him all the way into Shadow itself.
He found Annabella in her dressing room, her expression stricken. Thin tracks of pink through her white makeup and twin flush-colored smudges under her eyes told him she’d been crying.
Stay back, she thought, but didn’t voice, when she saw him. Don’t get near me.
So Custo stayed by the door, while Adam sat next to her, a little beat up and bloody himself.
Adam rose and approached Custo. “The director, Venroy, has been by. He had some words about the ‘lovers’ quarrel’ that took place onstage during the bows. There will be some repercussions for that, but he still wants Annabella and Jasper to attend the reception tomorrow night.”
“Jasper’s been found? Alive?” Custo couldn’t believe it.
“He was out cold in his dressing room, but he will be fine. I told him that he had an amazing performance in spite of the drugs he was taking.” Adam shrugged. “It was the best I could come up with, but he’s taking congratulations now so I guess he’s decided to believe it. There’s a considerable ego on that one.”
Custo flicked a probing glance at Annabella. Her head was full of my-fault grief. “But someone died,” he said. “Who?”
Adam’s expression grew serious. “A man named Peter Wells, Annabella’s neighbor. I got a call from a contact in the NYPD, which is why I was late tonight. The police want to question her in conjunction with his murder.”
“Coincidence?”
“No,” Adam said, “I don’t think so. I’ve started a Segue inquiry, heard the preliminaries from the police report at the scene. We’re going to blame it on the wraiths and hush it up quick.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Annabella broke in. She made a grab for the garbage bin at her feet and dry-heaved.
Custo moved forward and stroked the column of her neck with the back of his fingers, then rested his palm on her shoulder and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Not for Peter it isn’t,” she said and shrugged off his hand. Don’t touch me, she thought as she turned away and started to pack her makeup in her tackle box. With her hands trembling as bad as they were, she wasn’t making much progress.
“You have a team at your disposal to get her back to Segue,” Adam continued. “I’ll do the cleanup here.”
If only it were that easy. Custo backed Adam into the hallway. “Adam, I don’t know if I can. Someone is here to collect me, to drag me back where I came from. I’ll try to reason with him, but I don’t think he’ll listen. This is probably it for me.” He hated to ask, but he forced the words out anyway. “I may need you to take care of Annabella the best you can until Talia can destroy the wolf.”
Talia wouldn’t deliver for weeks. What protection could Segue possibly afford Annabella from a creature who could stalk her in the shadows?
Adam’s frown deepened. “Your…cousin?”
Here it comes. Custo braced and nodded. Luca was a relation of some sort. Probably great uncle a couple times removed or some such.
“He asked me to give you this.” Adam handed over a crisp white business card, smeared at the corner with blood. In small lettering, it read the white tower. “He said to meet him there tomorrow morning, nine a.m.”
“Luca’s gone?” Custo couldn’t believe it. No address on the card. Probably wasn’t in the phone book either. “And the rest of them?”
Adam shrugged. “They took off as soon as the last wraith was put down. Wouldn’t answer my question
s. Wouldn’t acknowledge me beyond giving me the card.”
Just hours ago Custo had begged Luca for one more night, and Luca was giving it to him. Should he have begged for a week? A year? A hundred years? Would it have mattered? What an excruciating, horrible thought.
And an irrelevant one.
Custo had a single night, but no way to track the wolf. Annabella was well beyond her strength, emotionally and physically. And he couldn’t even lend his immortality to the wraith war, because he needed to be by her side in case the wolf returned.
He looked at the pristine, yet tainted card again. The White Tower. What kind of pompous name for a congregation of angels was that? This was exactly the reason he wanted nothing to do with them. Absolutely nothing.
Well, screw ’em. He wasn’t going. He had a number of strikes against him already, what was one more? He’d lied a million times before; they should be prepared for it. He’d been a thief in his past life, too, always looking for an advantage. Well, he was going to steal every single moment he could. If he had to leave Annabella, she would know that he fought the sky to stay with her.
“He’s like you, isn’t he?” Adam asked, his intensity growing. “He and the others with him?”
“Yeah,” Custo answered. But he didn’t know what privilege permitted them to exist on earth. To exist on earth. He didn’t know how to apply, or if his escape from Heaven (or the circumstances thereof) made him ineligible. As always, his decisions were tainted with regret.
“I’d like to go with you tomorrow,” Adam said.
Of course he did. Big brother Adam always had to see things through.
“If nothing else,” Adam continued, “I’d like to see if they’d be willing to cooperate with Segue to fight the wraiths. I’d give anything for Talia to be relieved of that duty.”
Custo went cold. Talia. How could he have forgotten her? Talia had been saddled with an unimaginable horror. A life of rending the boundary between the worlds to force the crossing of the reeking dead.
He’d been too self-absorbed to track the direction of Adam’s thoughts, but it wasn’t so hard to guess their path. Adam had witnessed firsthand the ability of the angels to destroy wraiths without any threat to themselves.
Bad Boys of the Night: Eight Sizzling Paranormal Romances: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 30