Shifter’s Dance
The Wiccan Haus Book Six
Vanessa North
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An Imprint of
Musa Publishing
The Wiccan Haus: Shifter’s Dance
By Vanessa North
Copyright © Vanessa North, 2012
Smashwords Edition
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All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.MusaPublishing.com
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Published by Musa Publishing, November 2012
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-Book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-61937-442-3
Published in the United States of America
Editor: Elizabeth Silver
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Warning
This e-book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your e-books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.
To the former dancers who keep a pair of battered pointe shoes,
even after all these years.
Chapter One
She stood with one hand on the railing, listening to the music pouring through her earbuds and counting steps she’d never take. Her brain catalogued the beats and her feet twitched, but she didn’t move; instead, she stood still and let the mist tickle her burning eyes as they approached an island she couldn’t see.
Romy Lewis, former principal ballerina for Ballet Americana, was blind.
When the ferry docked, she felt the vibrations, the movements of the other passengers. She reached for her earbuds, tucking them and her ever-present iPod into her coat pocket. One hand groped for her rolling suitcase, the other for the cane she was still learning to use. When she dropped her hand from the railing, she was adrift. She let the other passengers go first, not wanting to be in the way. When the ferry stopped shaking, she took a deep breath and tapped her cane on the floor in front of her.
“Let me help you, Romy.” A male voice spoke from somewhere over her head, a hand gripping her elbow, another taking her suitcase. “I’m Cemil.”
“Thank you, Cemil.” She tapped awkwardly again. “I haven’t been blind long enough to be good at this.” She took a hesitant step.
“I’m sure practice will make perfect.” His voice was soothing, reassuring, as if he sensed her embarrassment and wanted to put her at ease. “We’re going to take three steps to your left.” He directed her, guiding her with the hand on her elbow. “Now sweep your cane forward, feel that? That’s where the steps lead to the dock. I’ll carry your suitcase down and come back for you.”
Her nose stung; if her tear ducts still worked, they’d be generating some liquid right about now. She’d been smothered under pity for the last eight weeks, but this stranger was offering her kindness without pity and her brain didn’t quite know how to process it.
“I’m on the steps now, Romy. Take a step forward and reach for my hand.” Cemil called to her. She smiled as she realized he trusted her to walk forward on her own, and that little bit of trust was enough to propel her forward. One hesitant step, then another, and a warm, firm hand grasped hers.
“Three steps down, and you’ll be on the dock.” He guided her down the steps and with another tentative tap she felt wood beneath her feet.
“Welcome to Wiccan Haus, Romy Lewis.” He squeezed her hand.
“What does it look like?” she asked as he led her toward the Haus, still holding her hand. She tapped absently with the cane, but she wasn’t really relying on it—she trusted Cemil. His description of a half-timbered house with red shingles reminded her of the European tour the company had taken last year, and the sight-seeing she’d done in Bavaria. Sight-seeing. Something she’d never do again. Romy could travel all she wanted, but she’d be limited to her other senses and the lesser awe they provided. She pushed away at the sense of loss, tried to stifle it. Wishing for what she couldn’t have was a weakness she couldn’t afford now that she was blind.
“Don’t be afraid to mourn the loss of your eyesight.” His voice was as gentle as it was chiding. “It doesn’t make you weak.”
Before she could snark on his uncanny observation, she felt the rush of air that meant a door was opening, and Cemil ushered her inside the building.
“Is this the Lewis girl?” She heard a rough, growly voice a few feet away. She didn’t think she was supposed to hear it, but since she was blinded, her other senses seemed to be working overtime to compensate.
“Yes, Rekkus. And she’s the last one in; we’re a full house now,” Cemil answered the other man, who seemed to say something affirmative before brushing past her.
“I’m Myron.” A female voice to her right called out, distracting her from the masculine scent and sound that had just brushed past. This was Romy’s first time meeting strangers since she’d left the hospital. Awkwardly, wondering what the protocol was for this, Romy turned and held out her right hand as steadily as possible for a shake.
“Romy Lewis.” Relieved to feel the other woman clasp her hand and shake back, she smiled.
“I’m going to take you upstairs to your room now, okay, Romy?” The other woman chatted at her, something about the elevators and how she should always make sure she was getting on the third one, but Romy started to tune her out, her feet twitching and her brain filling in the opening strains of Coppelia.
“Romy? Did you hear me?” Myron’s voice seemed half-teasing, half-exasperated.
“I’m sorry; I’m tired. I just drifted away a bit.”
“You don’t know braille yet, do you?” Myron asked.
Romy barely knew how to use her cane; learning to read would have to wait. She shook her head.
“Just count doors then, okay? Yours is second on the right.” The whoosh of moving air and the gentle scents of lavender and night blooming jasmine tickled her nose; Myron led her around the room. Twice, Romy counted steps from the door to the bed, from the bed to the bathroom, and finally she nodded in the direction of where she thought the other woman would be standing.
“Thank you, Myron.”
“You’re welcome. Go ahead and take a nap if you’re still feeling tired. Come down to dinner at seven—just let us know if you need help.”
She heard the door close behind Myron and she stepped toward the bed. Finally she felt it brush the front of her legs, and she crawled into it, pulling her iPod from her coat as she pushed it to the floor. Earbuds in place, Romy pulled her knees to her chest and let the music carry her back to the stage and the dances she could still perform in her dreams.
Chapter Two
“Why is that human staring at me? Do I have something in my beard?” Stephen Bonsaint snarled under his breath to the male vampire ne
xt to him before taking another bite of his dinner. Vamps didn’t eat during dinner, but they were quieter company than the quartet of rambunctious adolescent wolves at the next table over. The vampire looked up and across the room where the human was sitting.
“She’s not staring at you.” The vamp leaned close and sniffed him. “I’ve never tasted bear before.” A touch of longing tinged his voice.
“And you won’t tonight, either. Find someone else to suck on.”
Stephen looked up at the woman again. He had been doing intelligence gathering work for too long to trust anyone easily. She was a pretty little bit of a thing, sitting ramrod straight in her chair and speaking occasionally when someone would say something to her, but mostly eating quietly and tapping her feet to an imaginary tune. She was definitely alone.
And staring at him.
There was something unnerving about the way her blue eyes seemed to see right through him. Was his cover blown?
“She’s really not staring at you.” The vamp pointed one pale finger. “She’s blind.”
Then he saw the cane. Blind. He studied her more openly now, knowing she couldn’t see him. She moved smoothly, elegantly, as if measuring each movement of her hands. Meanwhile, under the table, her feet tapped hungrily, as though demanding that she feed them also. When she pushed back her chair and reached for her cane, he found himself standing too. He made his way across the room, ignoring the snickering of the wolves as he went.
“Hi, I’m Stephen,” he said, falling into step beside her. She paused, turned toward him, and then her scent hit him and the sleepy beast inside chose that moment to give up on hibernating.
“I’m Romy.” She held out a hand for a handshake.
He had to know. He took the hand in his and lifted it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles and breathing deep.
The fantasy crashed over him like one of the waves slapping the shoreline. Romy in his arms, in his bed, gasping and shouting his name in a voice husky from hours of lovemaking. His body was saying “take her,” but the bear was saying “mate her.”
Oh, hell.
“It’s nice to meet you, Stephen.” She pulled her hand back gently, smiling. “Very brave of you to come make conversation with the blind girl. What’s the matter, do I have something on my face?” Her defenses were up, and it twisted him up inside to see.
“Not that I noticed—you look great. I also noticed you were sitting alone. I’m traveling alone too. I thought it might be nice to get to know you.”
“Oh.” She blushed then, and it stirred him up inside. If he didn’t stop staring at her, he was going to embarrass himself. Already some of the other Paras were starting to smirk in his direction. Get it together, Bonsaint. He’d always expected the Fates to pick out a nice sturdy mama bear-type for him. This little bit of a human…? No.
“Are you taking an evening class?” he asked, looking for a polite way to end the conversation and go hide.
“Nighttime yoga.”
Shit. He’d signed up for that one too. The funny little woman at the desk wearing a nametag that read “Bob” had recommended it.
“Me too.” He let out a grumpy snarl.
“Excuse me?” Her unblinking blue eyes had widened at the indelicate noise. He looked down at her, trying to force his body not to react. Yeah, right. He tried to tell himself that her brown hair was mousy, her blue eyes weird, the freckles dotting her nose were not adorable, and those lips, which were pursed up in annoyance, did not look like they needed to be kissed and right now.
He failed.
“Let me walk with you?”
“Okay. I have to get my yoga mat from my room.” She tapped the cane as they made their way toward the bank of elevators. He moved toward the second, but she surprised him by moving to the third, her hand finding the button after a couple of half-hearted swipes at the wall.
“Coming?” she called over her shoulder.
He wished.
Once inside the elevator, Stephen became claustrophobic, trying to stand in that small space and not touch her. He leaned toward her, breathing her scent again and letting it wash over him. Night blooming jasmine and warm female body, but what was that?
“You smell funny.” He blurted out the words before he could stop them. And he thought the teen wolves downstairs had poor impulse control.
Surprisingly, she laughed. Her face brightened, her nose wrinkled, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Well, aren’t you refreshing?” She stepped off the elevator and he followed, admiring the way she moved, each step so elegant. “It’s an ointment the doctors gave me for my eyes after I was blinded. It stinks.”
Surprise slapped him hard. After she was blinded?
“You weren’t born this way?”
“No, I wasn’t.” Her voice was bitter as she pushed open a door. She must have forgotten that she’d left a suitcase standing next to the bed, because she walked into it and tripped, sprawling forward onto the bed.
“Are you okay?” He was at her side in an instant, reaching to help her. She rolled over, an angry red blush filling her cheeks.
“Hey.” He sat down next to her on the bed, his heart breaking for her. How strange it must be to have to learn everything all over again. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay.” He tilted her chin up with one finger. Sitting this close, he couldn’t fight back the desire to touch her. Cursing himself for the damned fool he was, he leaned forward and kissed her. He meant it to be a simple gesture of friendship, but then—
She tasted sweet, like the wine they’d served with dinner. At first she stiffened in his arms and then she relaxed, one hand coming up to stroke tentatively at his face as he nudged and nibbled, teasing and tempting until her lips parted and oh, hell. The whimpering sound she made went straight to his cock, and the southern rush of blood left him lightheaded. He tugged her into his lap, pulling her legs around his waist as he deepened the kiss. He couldn’t get enough of her, and it was crazy, but she seemed to feel exactly the same way. Her athletic body undulated against his and her teeth grazed his lower lip. He was quickly skipping over the “Let’s get to know each other” part of the evening and moving straight on to the “If I don’t see you naked I’m gonna die” part.
“Yoga.” He pulled away from the temptation of her mouth, groaning as she snuggled her face into the place where his neck and shoulder met, sucking on the tendon there.
“Mmm.” The noise she made sounded…happy. Content. No way should she be making that noise. She wasn’t a shifter; she wouldn’t get the whole “mate” thing.
It was as if she realized it too in that next moment.
“What the fuck?” She sat up and pushed away from him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t do that again.” She stood on trembling legs.
“I promise I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He was babbling. He had to say something other than I’m sorry. “Romy, I didn’t mean to assault you. I just wanted to comfort you and it got out of hand. You’re a beautiful woman, but that’s no excuse for groping you like that.”
“You didn’t assault me.” She shook her head. “No, I wanted that as much as you did—it just surprised me. It’s not like me. Heck I don’t even know what you look like.”
* * * *
“Give me your hand.”
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. This man filled her senses. He was big and his body was hard-muscled and when he’d tugged her onto his lap, she’d felt alive and achy—full of need. His voice was rough and growly, and sent shivers down her spine. And the way he smelled and tasted, like he’d been custom-ordered off the dessert menu just for her? Divine.
She gave him her hand. She heard and felt his chuckle as he laid it against his cheek.
“This is how they do it in movies.”
She explored his face with h
er hands. A thick beard, soft under her fingers, framing the full lips that moments ago had been stoking her desire to a fever pitch. An elegant, aquiline nose. Attached earlobes. Long eyelashes. Soft hair that slipped like silk through her fingers. Well, that was a surprise.
“What color is your hair?”
“Brown.”
“Brown like chocolate? Brown like honey? Brown like chestnuts?”
“It’s just brown, Romy.”
“Stephen.” She didn’t even attempt to keep the frustration out of her voice. “I can’t see, but I remember seeing. There is no ‘just brown.’ Tell me.” She was trying to picture him in her mind, and the possibilities were endless.
“Brown like a cup of tea, and my beard has a little red in it.”
She could see it then.
“And your eyes?”
“Darker brown. Trade the tea for a black coffee.”
“You’re handsome.” She took her hand back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, and thank you for the compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s not like I can see or anything.”
He laughed then, and she wondered what it looked like. It sounded warm and lush, the crackling air before a storm, and desire coiled low at the base of her spine as her lips twitched up in response. This was the first time she’d joked about her blindness, and the freedom went straight to her head. For the first time in eight weeks, she had someone on her side, the shared joke making a friend out of him.
“We should go to the yoga class.” She reached, feeling around for his hand. When she found it, she gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. She extracted the yoga mat from its place in her suitcase and turned back to the door, but when she heard a rough noise behind her, she turned back.
“Stephen?”
“I’m moving your suitcase up against the wall next to the bed. It’s still close, but hopefully it won’t trip you later.”
Oh. The moment stretched between them as her emotions took up sides in her head.
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
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