Kings of Midnight: Book One of The Midnight Saga

by J Q Anderson

  I vowed to do research on the Palacios family, but for the moment, my mind surrendered to Morpheus, and I let exhaustion win.

  Chapter 16

  On Monday, I met Marcos at lunch to go over the choreography he had already come up with in his head. I was once again blown away by his talent. Marcos would make a great artistic director someday.

  The upcoming performance for Vladimir Koviesky was a welcome distraction. Marcos taught me the steps and we rehearsed them. Tango routines are difficult because you have to keep your eyes locked on the other dancer’s and can’t check yourself in the mirror. Marcos led with unbelievable ease and passion. His movements were strong and decisive. The choreography he had created was full of dramatic sexual tension between two hotheaded lovers. We tangled our bodies together, entranced by the sensuality of the music. To make it more cutting-edge, Marcos added a few acrobatic moves that required strength and control. After rehearsing a few times, I was breathing hard and my muscles burned.

  We ran through it one more time and ended on the last step with me bent backward over Marcos’s arm and him hovering over me. Our faces were an inch apart, his short breaths kissing my lips, warm and sweet. I looked down at his mouth, the curve of his lips, almost too full, which, to me, made them so much sexier. He inched closer, and for a moment, time stopped. Then he pulled back and grinned, still holding me in his arms. “You’re a helluva dancer. We’re going to kick ass.”

  I smiled and squeezed his shoulder. He seemed so happy it was contagious. Excitement twisted into the familiar knot in my stomach. The number was phenomenal and was sure to impress the highly demanding audience. I hugged Marcos good-bye, picked up my bag, and ran back to my studio to rehearse Act II for Giselle.

  By the time Madame dismissed us for the day, I felt completely drained and sore everywhere. All I could think of was sinking into the tub, then wrapping myself with ice packs in front of the TV. I checked my phone, and there was a text from Sebastián. My heart hiccupped.

  Sebastián: I miss u. How was your day? I’m tired of babysitting these people. Much rather be with you.

  Me: Just finished. I wish u were back. I had a long day with no breaks. Need to ice my ankle now. Call you later? Miss u. X

  Sebastián: Are u hurt?

  Me: No, just watching it. I’ll call you when I get home.

  No mention of the girls or the rescue. My mind raced through the scenarios. How had he done it? Was he safe or was someone after him? Would he tell me if that were the case? I growled inwardly.

  Marcos, Nata, and I shared a cab to the apartment. He browsed through our takeout menus while Nata and I went to our respective bathrooms to shower. When I stepped out, wrapping my hair in a towel, Marcos had covered the countertop with boxes of Chinese food.

  “Oh my God…You are a god.” I hugged his neck and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re totally sucking up and I love it.” I poked his ribs.

  A devilish smile played on his lips. He handed me plates, and we immediately started on our food.

  Nata emerged from her room a few minutes later. She opened her mouth in astonishment, then closed it and exhaled through flared nostrils. “Marcos, you are the devil! But I kind of love you right now. I’m famished.” She sighed.

  We ate in front of the TV with our ankles and knees wrapped in ice packs. Now that Marcos lived with us, there was hardly any room left in the freezer for anything else. It was perfect for us three. Marcos and Nata rehearsed together almost every day. Their schedules were pretty much identical, so it was more than convenient when it came to sharing rides and meals. The only downside was that, when it came to neatness, Nata was screwed big time. She was obsessive, and Marcos and I were…basically pigs. She constantly nagged us. But for the most part, we all took care of each other. It really felt like a family.

  We finished eating, and I left to my room to call Sebastián.

  “There you are. I was wondering what happened to you.” His voice was low and soft. He sounded tired, but I could hear him smile.

  “Sorry it took this long to call you. I’m dog-tired and didn’t eat much today, so I was starving. How are you? I’m dying to know about the girls.”

  “Cami, I’m sorry, but this falls behind one of those boundaries I mentioned.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said like a petulant child.

  “It’s better this way.”

  “Are they safe? All of them? At least tell me that.”

  “They are. Hey, I miss you.” His voice was low and raspy, laced with longing and anticipation.

  “Don’t change the subject. Are you safe? How do you know these people won’t come after you?”

  “Nobody will come after me. When can I see you?”

  Despite my frustration, something beautiful fluttered in my chest. I let out a heavy sigh and my throat tightened. “I’m so busy this week I won’t be able to see you until the party. I’m sorry.” Tears rushed to my eyes. Seriously, I was crying now? I was so exhausted, everything seemed much more dramatic.

  He groaned. “Okay, we can catch up after the party. I have an urgent trip to London and I need to leave on Sunday, but my flight isn’t until later in the afternoon.”

  “Oh, when will you be back?”

  “Tuesday. You sound tired, babe. Get some sleep,” he whispered.

  I yawned as we said good-bye and was immediately asleep.

  The next two days were surreal. I couldn’t tell when they started or ended. It was all a steady string of choreographies without much in between. Marcos and I worked on our variations for Giselle during the day and used lunch breaks and stayed after hours to rehearse the tango. My body complained, but I pushed harder. In the evenings, I wrapped myself in ice packs till I was numb. Marcos did the same, and it was good to share the excruciating routine with someone. We pulled each other forward.

  Bundled up on the sofa, we shared a blanket as we phased out in front of the TV, our feet tangled together. Marcos smiled from his end of the couch, eyelids heavy with the fatigue of the day, and I knew he was content. He had started looking at me differently after we began working on the tango together. He even spoke to me with the same professional respect he used only with the principals. This is what it must be like for a prima, and it was every bit as amazing as I had imagined. It was like a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up.

  Seeing me work with Marcos during lunch fueled Verónica’s venomous rivalry. She wanted to know what was up, and why Marcos, the most sought-after and respected principal in the company, would throw away his precious breaks rehearsing with a lower-rank dancer like me.

  Late one evening, I pushed the door to the dressing room and paused when I heard Verónica’s voice hissing. She couldn’t see me from where I was, and I stayed put when she mentioned my name as she spoke to a group of girls from the corps.

  “She doesn’t come up to scratch! I was shocked they even gave her the understudy. Obviously, a push from her mom. I heard she had a thing with Federico back then. It’s sad how corrupt it all is. And now she’s even using the studios after hours to work on another choreography with Marcos. Vronsky should just put her foot down with Federico and replace her.”

  I took a step forward and leaned against the lockers, watching the change on the girls’ faces when they saw me. Verónica whipped her head around and smirked.

  “Oh, speak of the devil,” she said.

  “So much free time, Verónica. I’m flattered, but it’s a little sad that I’m your best subject.”

  She narrowed her eyes and turned around, letting her towel drop to the floor. She was skinnier. Her pale, skeletal body looked unhealthy and fragile. She slipped into a scarlet thong, the long, satin Victoria’s Secret tag sticking out, almost larger than the garment itself. Even her underwear suited her.

  Nata poked her head in to let me know Alexei was outside. Verónica’s eyes darted to us from the mirror. She envi
ed Nata, and the fact that I had been chosen to be Nata’s roommate only made Verónica more bitter. I winked at her on my way out.

  The next day was the big day. The tango was finally ready. Marcos had compiled several variations together. There was love, hate, jealousy, and redemption all in one dance. The number was a piece of art.

  “It’s incredible.” Nata shook her head after we finished rehearsing it for her. “Camila, I don’t think I would have been able to dance that as well as you.”

  “Right.” I rolled my eyes.

  “No, I mean it. You two are…perfect partners. The fire…the chemistry on stage is electric, and that’s crucial for a tango performance. Shit, now I wish I could go!”

  “Well…” I grinned. “You have better plans. Don’t forget to call me. And Nata, thank you so much for this opportunity. You’re the best.”

  “You’re the ones doing me a favor. Vladimir’s not easy to turn down!”

  We hugged and she left to her rehearsal. She was flying to Brazil in a few hours, so I wouldn’t see her again till Sunday night.

  That evening Marcos and I ate spaghetti in front of the TV and fell asleep on the couch over a pile of our clothes mixed together. I woke up an hour later, turned the TV off, and covered Marcos with a blanket. I was getting used to sharing my space with him. It was nice having him here, and I knew I would miss him when he eventually moved out.

  Dressed in my performance clothes, I blinked at the tango dancer that watched me back from the mirror with a surprised expression. I hardly recognized myself. I looked slick, sexy. Nata’s clothes fit me like a glove. My hair was tightly wrapped in a French twist, my makeup clean but dramatic: pale complexion and bright red lips, fake eyelashes and black eyeliner accentuating my eyes. I totally looked the part.

  Marcos was insanely good-looking in a black suit and tango hat. He had a silk scarf around his neck the way tango dancers wear, and a long overcoat hanging from his shoulders. I smiled and gave a tug on his scarf.

  “You won’t be alone for long tonight looking like this,” I said. “Remember, no girls here. You’ll have to find one with her own place.” I winked.

  He gave me a smug grin. “Damn, Cams. You look incredible.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “You’re so fucking hot in these sexy clothes. Maybe I’ll come home with you.”

  I met those hazel eyes, and a gust of mixed emotions whirled in my stomach.

  “Nah, then it’ll be me again in the morning. Here. For you.” I tucked a red rose in the front pocket of his coat. “Have fun tonight.”

  He watched me secure the rose, glancing back at me with smiling eyes. An uncomfortable silent second went by.

  “You’re very special,” he whispered so close that if I tilted my chin up, our lips would meet.

  I swallowed the boulder in my throat and smiled. “Let’s go.”

  A long line of imported cars filled the driveway to Vladimir’s house. When our cab reached the end, two valets opened the doors in perfect synchronization. We stepped out, and Marcos wrapped his arm around my waist as he addressed one of them.

  “Good evening. We’re here to perform. We were told to ask for Misha.”

  The valet flashed a quick smile. “Of course, right this way. Mr. Misha will be with you in just a second.” He spoke into a wireless microphone on his collar, then excused himself to tend to the next car.

  A tall, slender man in a smart suit appeared behind us.

  “Good evening. I’m Misha, Mr. Vladimir’s personal assistant. He has asked me to show you to the room where you will perform. If you will follow me, please.”

  Misha led us through several rooms, all equally magnificent in size and separated by ornate archways. Vladimir’s home was spectacular, the way I imagined royalty. Enormous, white flower arrangements dressed every table among fine crystal and silver. The party was in full swing as guests poured in through the entrance in a steady flow.

  We followed Misha through the main hall. High ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and polished marble floors adorned the colossal room. French doors opened to the outside, where a famous waltz echoed from an orchestra in the distance. Mesmerized, I paused to admire the view. In the garden, hundreds of tiny lights glinted from inside the trees, bathing the party with a soft glow. It was breathtaking. A playground for the rich.

  Misha opened the door to a mahogany-paneled room with plush couches, silk red curtains, and an ornate chandelier that matched the opulent decorative style of the house. He gestured to a table stocked with drinks, platters with caviar, cheese, and all sorts of elaborate, miniature delicacies.

  “There are refreshments specially prepared for you. Please help yourselves. Through those curtains, you will find the room where you will perform. Please, feel free to get acquainted. If you would like anything else, or if I can be of any further assistance, you may ring the bell by the door. Mr. Vladimir is delighted with your presence and wishes for you to feel welcome.” He nodded politely.

  Marcos handed him a drive with the music for our number and gave him a few directions. Misha nodded and excused himself, disappearing through the door.

  Marcos and I looked at each other and grinned.

  “Fuck, Cams. Look at all this. It’s incredible.” He looked like a kid locked in Disneyland, his eyes wide and bright as he scanned the room. Marcos had never been around money. As the oldest of five brothers raised by a single mother, he grew up with finances always being tight.

  I followed him to the room where we would perform. Countless chairs surrounded the spacious stage raised three feet off the floor to provide an intimate setting between performers and audience.

  We rehearsed a few moves on the stage to get used to the dimensions, then left to get ready.

  A million invisible ants crawled under my skin while I peeked from behind the heavy, velvet curtains separating us from the main room. More guests than I could count already filled the chairs.

  “Marcos, there must be over two hundred people in there!” My stomach twisted in knots. Marcos hugged me from behind and kissed my neck softly. I immediately relaxed.

  “We dance at the Colón, remember? A lot more people watch us perform there.”

  “I know, but with all the lights on my face, I don’t see them. This is different. Look, they’ll be right there. That’s way too close.” I grimaced.

  His warm breath brushed my neck softly as we watched the guests fill the chairs. After a few moments, he unwrapped his arms and took my hand.

  “Let’s fucking do this.” He grinned. His eyes were bright with confidence.

  Misha stepped in to let us know everything was ready. Vladimir would be making the introduction.

  Once all the lights were out, we traveled silently across the room. It was completely dark except for a dimly lit path marking the way. We took our places in the center of the stage and waited for Vladimir’s introduction. Marcos’s confident arms held me in place. My heart pounded with anticipation.

  A single spotlight sliced the darkness from above, focusing only on Marcos and me. We held our position, his arm around my waist and his free hand holding mine up in a typical tango pose. Our eyes were locked on each other’s, our blood surging with excitement. A deep voice with a Russian accent interrupted the low humming of the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure and honor to introduce Camila Navarro and Marcos Sánz, two of the most remarkable soloists in the permanent ballet company of the Colón Theater. Camila and Marcos will present a tango performance that they have created exclusively for us tonight. Let us give them a proper welcome.”

  The crowd responded with a warm, enthusiastic applause. I took a deep breath and smiled to hide my nerves, keeping my eyes on Marcos’s.

  The soft melody of a violin drifted in the air, interlaced with the unmistakable nostalgic sound of a bandoneón. The audience grew completely silent. You could slice the air with a knife.

  “Merde, babe,” Marcos whispered.

>   “Merde,” I mouthed with my eyes on his.

  As soon as we took the first step, my nerves vanished. Marcos’s movements were strong, decisive, dominant. He marked his territory without hesitation, his eyes never leaving mine. My body was liquid around his, our legs intertwining in quick, agile hooks. I followed his every move with flawless synchronization as my character debated whether or not to surrender to her passionate lover, a man she knew was no good, but she couldn't resist. I snaked one leg around Marcos’s waist, and he spun me around as if I weighed nothing. Warm air brushed my face. I landed on one foot, arching my body backward as he pressed me tightly against him. I turned my head away, and he gripped my chin, seductively coercing me back to him. He held my gaze for a frozen moment, his sweet breath blending with mine. I arched my back and closed my eyes as his lips traced a path down my throat to my chest, then back. I could feel everything, each of my nerve endings amplified. His warm, panting breaths sent shivers up my back, fire brushing where his lips touched my skin. He moved slowly, sensually, savoring the proximity of our pumping hearts.

  I tilted my head sideways, exposing my neck, pretending to surrender to his hungry lips, then pushed him away abruptly, my eyes defiant. His arm tightened around my waist, commanding, possessive. His mouth curled up in a wicked smile, our faces an inch apart. I stared into his blazing eyes, and in that moment, we were the only people in the room.

  We continued the banter between our characters, the tension building, the temperature in the air rising. Two young lovers ruled by nothing but raw passion, pouring their hearts into a dance.