Heaven's Ballroom

by Aiden Bates

  “I should’ve known better,” I countered, feeling that old self-loathing raise its ugly head again.

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s over now,” Anders said with a little laugh. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “Glad I didn’t kill you,” I grumbled.

  “You couldn’t if you tried. I still feel safe around you, Blake, okay? I promise.” His lips pulled into a slow, teasing grin. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m a pretty difficult man to—”

  We both paused, ears perking up at a strange jiggling sound from across the room. It sounded again, even louder this time. More insistent. More clear. I could hear metal clicking against metal, the soft thump of the dinner chair wiggling back and forth between the doorknob and the door.

  “Kill,” Anders finished softly—and when I looked into the depths of his pale blue eyes again, I finally saw the fear.

  6

  Anders

  The only thing I could do was watch that doorknob turn, turn, turn. Left, right, left, right. A little shake as whoever was behind it rattled the door in its jamb, jiggling the chair that Blake had set up to barricade us in. I’d scoffed at him when he’d done it. Rolled my eyes and acted like he was overreacting—because at the time, I’d wanted to believe that he had been.

  It was so much easier, to pretend that all of this wasn’t happening. To pretend that the Alpha who’d been following me, sending me threatening notes, watching my every move and hovering over even the most intimate moments of my life wasn’t actually any real kind of threat. That he hadn’t wrecked my love life. Ruined the way I looked at any Alpha who gave me so much as a second glance. Trashed the feelings of freedom that had come with shaking my eating disorder, my mother’s overbearingness, the pressures of my ballet career. Burned any sense of security I built up around myself right to the ground.

  I found myself envying the three little pigs in the bedtime stories my father had once told me, back before work got too busy and he didn’t have time for them anymore. At least a brick house had kept their hungry wolf at bay. I couldn’t even be safe in my own brownstone.

  But while I stayed put, frozen and tense and terrified, Blake moved like a panther stalking prey in the night.

  “You got anything in here to defend yourself with?” he asked in a deep whisper.

  “I…I don’t do guns,” I stammered, so quietly I could barely even hear myself.

  “Not guns. Messy. Loud. Not a good idea. Pepper spray, though. Mace. A heavy flashlight will do in a pinch.”

  “Baseball bat,” I choked out, nodding down the hall toward my bedroom door. “Right next to my bed.”

  Blake nodded, moving for it without a sound. It was incredible, the way a man as big and bulky and well-muscled as him could tiptoe so quickly, so quietly. I’d been trained until my soles bled to be light on my feet, but even I couldn’t avoid the creaks and groans of my apartment’s old floorboards. At first, they’d been a point of shame for me. That I weighed so much that I could hear the way the floor shifted beneath my feet. But soon, they’d come to be a comfort. Proof that I existed. That I was solid.

  That I could hear anyone prowling through my apartment who might’ve been trying to sneak up on me while I slept.

  But Blake was something else. Those combats of his weren’t just for show—as I watched him go for the bat, I could see exactly how he’d earned all those medals and honors he’d told me about. A man like him could be lethal. Deadly. I had proof enough of that from the way my throat still ached, a slight bruise forming from where he’d grabbed my neck.

  Maybe, if I was lucky, even more deadly than whoever was trying to force their way in through my front door.

  But as Blake returned with the bat, gripping it in his fists like he already knew exactly how to use it, the turning at the doorknob stopped. His eyes met mine, flashing towards me as if to say, Stay put. I’ll handle this.

  Then, a pang shot through my heart as he charged the door, throwing the chair back and swinging it open to give chase to whoever had just given up on their failed infiltration technique.

  Part of me wished I hadn’t listened to Blake. That I would have chased after him. Seen him catch the would-be trespasser. Maybe even catch a glimpse of what a man like him could really do with a baseball bat. But even if I’d really wanted to, there was no way I could have. As I waited for Blake to return, I could barely even move the necessary muscles to take in a single fucking breath.

  The seconds stretched out into minutes. The minutes into more. For a moment, I worried that maybe something had gone wrong—that Blake had managed to catch the guy, but that he hadn’t come out on the winning side of whatever fight had ensued after. It would’ve wrecked me, knowing that Blake had gotten hurt trying to protect me, I realized. As I watched the door, my teeth sinking so deep into my lower lip that I could almost taste the iron of my own blood, I felt my fear for my own safety shift into fear for Blake’s.

  But finally, I heard it. The characteristic heavy footfalls of Blake’s bare feet against the hallway floor outside, the ones that meant he was out of stealth mode and coming back to me—unharmed, I was relieved to see, but otherwise empty-handed.

  “Fucker got away,” he swore, shaking his head apologetically. “That’ll teach me not to sleep with my boots on.”

  “Blake. Fuck.” Something clicked in my head, and suddenly my muscles were working again. I picked myself up off the floor, rushing toward him and throwing my arms around his neck. “I was so fucking worried, I thought—”

  “Hey. Hey, shhh. It’s all right.” His muscles tensed at my initial touch, flexing uncomfortably against my hug. But then, he wrapped his arms around me as well, dropping the bat to the floor as his body relaxed. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  “It’s not me that I was worried about, you asshole.” I let my body lean against his, exhausted and near-limp. The adrenaline that had been shooting through me was quickly abating. In its aftermath, I felt more tired than ever. Worn-out, burned out, spent.

  Blake’s chest shook gently against mine, a rumble of laughter in his ribs. “Yeah, well, I’m all right too. Look. No harm done.”

  He drew away from me just enough that I could see him properly. Not bleeding, beaten, stabbed or bruised. Completely whole, still dressed in the tight black t-shirt and blue jeans he’d arrived in.

  It took me a moment of staring to realize that my fingers were still intertwined, my wrists on his shoulders as my palms rested against the back of his neck.

  “Ah. Right,” I said lamely, quickly dropping my arms back down to my sides. I hadn’t realized how intimate I’d made my hug of relief. It was only in its absence that I realized how close we’d really been. Chest to chest, my cheek against his. The closest I’d been to an Alpha in a long fucking time. It embarrassed me, the way I’d pretty much thrown myself at him. Embarrassed me even more when I realized that I was half-hard, practically excited just to see him in my doorway again. “Well…yeah. Good, then.”

  Blake’s shoulders heaved with a sigh as he closed the door behind him, replacing the chair beneath the knob to jam it shut once more. “Doesn’t seem so silly now, does it?”

  “Oh, rub it in, why don’t you?” I scoffed, crossing my arms and flexing my thighs beneath my boxers to try and get my erection down before he noticed it.

  “I will, yeah, thanks.” He offered me a reassuring smile as he turned, but I noticed the way it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “First thing tomorrow, I’m fixing all this. Think we’ll both sleep a little more sound then.”

  I glanced at the clock on my wall, which was already ticking away toward five in the morning. “Looks like tomorrow’s already come.”

  “Good. Then second thing tomorrow, I’m taking you down to the police station so we can file a report.”

  I groaned. “They’re sick of me around there by now, Blake. I’ve already filed way too many. Without anything to go on…”

  “Ah, but that’s the thing.” Blake�
��s grin widened. “I think we might actually have something for them this time.”

  “On another attempted breaking and entering?” I raised an eyebrow, shaking my head. I didn’t want to crush Blake’s hopes or anything, but I’d already been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt and lost it in the packing when I moved across town. “They won’t care, Blake. They need something they can actually go off of—fingerprints, which he never leaves or—”

  “How about a physical description? Think that’s something they might be able to use?”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Blake…you mean, you saw…”

  “Oh, very much so. Caught a glimpse of his face just before he slipped into the subway.” Blake shrugged apologetically. “Lost him after that, but—oof!”

  I launched myself at him all over again, throwing my arms around his neck and caution to the wind. My lips crushed against his, startling him for a moment—but slowly, he eased into the kiss just as I realized how fucking inappropriate I was being. Again. I shouldn’t have been kissing him at all. I knew that. He must have known it just the same. Just a few moments ago, he’d had me pinned to the floor of my living room by my neck, so deep in a nightmare that he didn’t even realize he was crushing my windpipe. It should have scared me. It had obviously scared him.

  But what was that compared to the fear I’d felt under the watchful gaze of my stalker for all these years? What was one moment, one mistake, compared to what Blake had just done for me?

  “Sorry,” I breathed softly as I pulled myself away from his lips. They were firm. Warm. Addictive. Even after the connection had been broken, I had to stop myself from diving in for more.

  “No. Don’t apologize.” But even as he said it, Blake took hold of my wrists and gently pulled them away from his body. “It’s late, and it’s been such a hell of a night…”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “That…that must be it.”

  “Just got caught up in the moment,” Blake added.

  “Completely,” I said with a little nod, taking a step back and still trying to catch my breath. “Just a…relieved little accident.”

  “Of course. Yeah. Think nothing of it.” Blake waved my explanation away. “I shouldn’t have kissed you back, but—”

  “An accident on both our parts,” I said with a laugh. “We’re both so tired and—”

  “And that was so intense, and—”

  “It won’t happen again,” I reassured him. “I’m just, yeah. Really grateful that you were here.”

  “Me too. Yeah, me too.” Blake nodded gently for a moment, staring at me with a softness in his gaze. “You must be exhausted, Anders. First I went and woke you up with my bullshit, and then…”

  “I’m glad you did,” I said, forcing another laugh. The tension between us still felt unreal. Like a rubber band pulled back until it was damn near ready to snap. But if we were in agreement—that it had been an accident, a mistake, something that wouldn’t happen again—then I knew that tension would relax over time. By morning, it’d be gone. A forgotten detail in an already action-packed night. “You should get some rest, Blake. You’ve earned it.”

  He gave me a soft little smile. “Yeah. Yeah, so have you.”

  We eased away from each other, each of us moving with precision to only increase the space between us. Blake moved back to the couch, and I backed my way down the hall again, pausing only to say a small, inconsequential, “Goodnight.”

  “Sweet dreams, Anders,” Blake called out in response, the couch creaking beneath his weight as he laid himself back down on it.

  “Thanks, Blake. You too.”

  But all night, every dream I had only had room for him in it. The heat of his body, held tight against mine. The taste of his lips, firm like the skin of a peach, just short of ripe. And when I woke up the next morning, I could feel my cock stiff beneath my sheets. Throbbing, erect—achingly hard, with Blake’s name still on my lips.

  7

  Blake

  “A little more weaselly looking,” I said over the shoulder of the police sketch artist, nodding as he sharpened the nose and closed in the gap between the eyes of the face on his computer screen. Finally, it came together like a car crash. A perfect match. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s him.”

  “That’s…that’s him,” Anders repeated softly, the importance of the moment ringing clear in his voice.

  I couldn’t imagine how it must have felt for him, finally seeing the face of the man who’d terrorized him for all these years. When he’d been faceless, he’d been an enigma. A boogeyman, a boggart. Something shapeless, formless, but nonetheless impossible not to fear. On one hand, now that he had the image to go off of—dark hair, a handsome nose, black eyes and a stern, serious brow—that fear must have been suddenly pulled into reality. Grounded, visceral, so much more real.

  On the other hand, seeing the man’s face was like finally seeing the monster in a horror movie. The longer he could look at him, the more he could finally realize that this man was exactly that—just a man. And a man could be stopped. Prevented. Caught, handcuffed, tucked into the back of a police car and put away.

  “We can print out some posters for you if you like,” Rand Davis, my buddy on the NYPD offered as he leaned over the sketch artist, staring the rendering of Anders’ stalker down. I’d had to call in a favor to make this happen, but buying Rand a beer the next time I saw him at our favorite bar was a small price to pay for finally making progress on the case. “I’ll show him around to the other officers in the precinct, too. See if they don’t recognize him from anything else.”

  “We could put them up at the club?” Anders suggested, looking to me to see what I thought of the idea.

  “Yeah, that’d be good,” I agreed. “He can’t lurk in the shadows of the audience if we know what he looks like now. Should be able to stop him at the door.”

  “Thank you,” Anders said, his shoulders slumping gratefully. “All of you. I know this must be a huge pain in the ass, but—”

  “Nah. Think nothing of it.” Rand clapped me on the shoulder, giving me a grin. “Blake here’s saved me from more than one creepy Alpha at Mickey’s in my time. Happy to be able to do the same for a fellow Omega.”

  “Still.” I rose, shaking Rand’s hand and patting him on the side of his buzz cut. “This means a lot to us, bud. Both of us.”

  “All part of the job,” Rand said with a grin. “But yeah, I’ll be sure to treat myself to an extra donut today for the effort.”

  Anders and I left the station in step with each other, shoulder to shoulder with a stack of flyers in both our hands. I hadn’t been sure how much good getting the sketch would actually do for him, but it did feel like something had changed in Anders’ gait. The way he held himself. The confidence he had as we descended the station’s front steps. It reminded me of how he’d been when I first met him all those years ago, when he’d just been a cocky nineteen-year-old and I’d been fresh from Middle East, horny as hell from all my time overseas but just smart enough to know better than to fall for the first hot young thing I laid eyes on. He’d been all sparkle and shine back then, all laughter and charm. Impossible to ignore—which, I supposed, was how he’d attracted such a creep like his stalker to begin with.

  It was strange to think that the first Omega who’d made my cock leap up like it’d been electrified after I left the SEALs was the same Omega who’d kissed me out of pure joy and appreciation last night, but I was trying to put that to the back of my mind now—at least, as much as said cock would allow. I was happier to see a little smile on Anders’s lips as we passed a coffee shop than I was to know that even for a moment, those lips of his had been crushed so perfectly against mine.

  “Wanna stop for a latte?” I asked, nodding to the shop and recalling how backstage at the Ballroom, Starbucks reigned supreme. “I know how you Angels like your caffeine.”

  “Ugh,” Anders groaned. “I’m dying for one, but…” He glanced down at his phone and pouted. “I’m la
te for rehearsal already. And considering that the line-up for tonight is going to be whoever Foster and Noah poached from that disaster of an amateur’s night…”

  “Go,” I offered, cocking my head down the sidewalk in the direction of the subway stop we’d need to take to get to the Ballroom. “I’ll grab you one and meet you at rehearsal with it.”

  “You working tonight?” Anders asked, arching an eyebrow.

  I chuckled. “No, I’m going all the way across town just to bring you a coffee for the hell of it.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny, Blake.”

  “I’ll be on the door all night,” I admitted. “Meet you there in half an hour or so with some caffeine. …Unless you don’t feel safe walking alone?”

  Anders opened his mouth, then closed it suddenly and shook his head. “No, no, of course I do. I know what the guy looks like now at least, thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to Rand and the NYPD’s facial sketch software, you mean,” I corrected.

  “Right. Of course. But also… Come on, Blake.” Anders’ fingers curled around the collar of my shirt, pulling me close to him with a little tug that left my cock absolutely aching. “If you hadn’t spotted my Big Bad Wolf last night…”

  I glanced down at his lips just in time to see that he was watching mine. Last night’s kiss came roaring back to me all over again, blasted back into reality and expanded threefold. But as much as I wanted to feel that kiss replay all over again—feel Anders’ lips against mine, his heat, taste his tongue and relish the intensity of him—it wasn’t right and I knew it

  Anders was at a vulnerable place right now. Mentally. Physically. If he was going to be kissing me again, it was going to be because he wanted to. Because he wanted me. Not because his brain was too confused from all the chaos, too horny from all those years of celibacy and too grateful that I didn’t let some psychopath murder him last night.