Shifter's Dance

by Vanessa North

  “I’m not trying to ‘take care of you.’ I’m just moving your suitcase.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help. I need to do things on my own. I’m going to fall sometimes. Come on, we’re going to be late for yoga.”

  Chapter Three

  They rode the elevator back to the lobby in silence, but when Stephen took her arm to guide her toward the yoga studio, she stiffened and pulled it away, tapping resolutely with her cane. A part of him was angry at being put so firmly in his place, but another part of him admired her independence.

  But good God, what made him think he could stand behind his mate—and there was no doubt in his mind now that she was meant for him—and watch her perform a series of vinyasas that put her ass in the air and showcased a rather exceptional flexibility? It wasn’t like he didn’t have his share of athletic ability; he was strong and pretty fast for a bear, but her balance, her precision, her ability to flow into each pose as if she were born doing them—it was captivating. Delightful. It was poetry and she was writing it with her body, each verse sending him into his own private torment.

  “Stephen, you need to focus inward, find your breath.” Dana, the were-tiger’s mate, was standing beside him, adjusting his pose to help him find his balance.

  “It would be easier if a certain nymph in front of me weren’t stealing it away,” he muttered.

  Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed like Romy teetered for just a moment in her perfect tree pose.

  When the savasana had left them languid and dripping on the floor, he had a feeling that the acute agitation that stirred through him was not the intended result of a yoga class. He tried to relax each muscle group like Dana had said, but in the end, he just found himself anxious to get the hell out of that studio and into a cold shower.

  “Thank you, Dana. That felt fantastic.”

  Romy stood nearby, talking to the other woman as Stephen rolled up his yoga mat. He tried not to eavesdrop, but couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I don’t think I’ve ever had a student as flexible as you. I wasn’t sure it would be challenging enough. You should take one of Trixie’s classes. She’s amazing.”

  “It’s nice to use my body like that again. I’ve missed it. It really helps loosen up some of the sore spots from all the laying around I’ve done the last few weeks. The Wiccan Haus website said there was a hot spring somewhere on the island? Any chance you could give me directions?”

  Stephen’s protective instinct reared up inside. Oh, hell no.

  “You are not swimming alone.” He bit back the growl that threatened to escape as he swung to face her. Her shoulders stiffened and her posture grew even more rigid, but he didn’t care.

  “I know where it is. I’ll take you.”

  “I told you, I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

  “Too bad. Swimming alone is a stupid idea, even if you did have use of your eyes.” This time, he couldn’t stop the growl.

  “And who appointed you my seeing eye dog? Get over yourself.” She couldn’t see him, but damn if she didn’t manage to jab that pointy finger right dead center in his chest. She was magnificent when she was angry; the yoga class had left her shining with exertion, red faced and gorgeous.

  Slowly, silently, he counted to three before speaking.

  “Hey, Romy, I think I’d like to splash around a bit myself. Why don’t we go together?” he suggested in a fake-cheerful voice.

  “Whatever,” she muttered. “Dana, is it okay if I leave my mat here in the studio for the duration of my stay? One less thing to carry around blindly.”

  “Of course, I’ll stash it somewhere safe for you. Enjoy the hot spring.” Dana took the rolled up mat from Romy’s hands, then turned to Stephen.

  “Rekkus needs to talk to you.”

  “And I need to talk to him. Have him come find me tomorrow, whenever it’s convenient.”

  “I will. Have fun swimming.”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was laughing at him.

  Chapter Four

  If she didn’t actually want to relax in the hot spring so badly, she would have told the big chauvinist to go to hell and she’d have gone back to her room. She’d meant every word she’d said. Part of why her agent had encouraged her to come to the Wiccan Haus to unwind was the emphasis the website had put on “spiritual healing.” It wasn’t healing to her spirit to have someone coddling her like this.

  But he’s right. She knew he was. Swimming alone in a strange place was stupid, especially for a blind woman. She couldn’t help that her anger at being blinded in the prime of her life was carrying over to her reactions to this infuriating man. Infuriating, sexy man.

  “Hey.” His voice beside her sounded hesitant, uncertain. She stopped walking and turned halfway, as if she could see still. His hands came down on her shoulders and suddenly the smell of him filled her and she wanted to take the step closer to him that would bring her head to his chest and the comfort of his embrace.

  “I’m sorry, Romy.”

  Well, that was unexpected.

  “For what?”

  “For treating you exactly how you came here not to be treated. I get it, and I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” For a moment, she stood still, trying to find her bearings now that her anger had been effectively deflated.

  “And, I’m not just saying that to get in those amazingly form-fitting yoga pants.”

  She laughed then, the laughter filling her, overfilling her, bubbling out of her.

  “Okay, you’re forgiven.”

  “Good. The spring is about ten feet in front of us, nothing between you and the water. I’m going to take my clothes off, since I don’t have to worry about you peeking.”

  “Are you leering at me?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  And oddly enough, she realized he probably wouldn’t. For all his overbearing efforts to take care of her, he seemed to respect her.

  “Turn your back,” she demanded.

  “Okay…but how do you know I actually did?”

  “I trust you.” She shrugged before she realized he wouldn’t see it, smiled as she realized she did trust him, as much as she trusted anyone right now. Of course, she’d trusted Ashley too, and look where that had gotten her. Not wanting to think on that further, she stripped down to her underwear and sports bra, then gradually walked forward until she felt the warm water on her toes.

  Oh sweet heaven, it feels amazing. Her feet had taken the brunt of her former life’s work, and she suspected if she could examine them, she’d find that there were still yellowed bruises at the tips of some toes. The natural hot spring soothed aches she didn’t realize she had.

  “Can I turn around yet?” His voice interrupted her carnal enjoyment of the water.

  “Go ahead,” she called over her shoulder. She didn’t care if he saw her in her underwear. Hell, she’d spent more than half her life wearing a leotard or less.

  “Oh, hell.” His voice was full of rough admiration, and she grinned.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “What did you do, exactly, Romy, before you were blinded? Fitness coaching?”

  “Hardly. I’d just been cast in the lead for Giselle. I was a damned fine ballet dancer.” It wasn’t bragging. She was twenty-seven years old, had been in the prime of her dancing career, and she’d landed the part of a lifetime. Had she gotten as far as to perform it, she would have been magnificent.

  “God.” His voice sounded shocked. “How did it happen?”

  How did it happen? The answer was easy, but there was so much more to it than a jealous understudy. The dance world was full of impossible beauty, and she’d loved it her whole life. But the competition was fierce, and the dancers fiercer still. The ugly underside was lethal: rampant eating disorders, ferocious competition that led to ugly pranks. She’d never had Nair put in her shampoo bottle, but that one was common enough that she’d always taken a good lo
ng sniff of her shampoo before lathering up. Ashley had been more resourceful than that old prank.

  “My understudy was a damned fine ballet dancer, too. And Giselle is a career-making role. She put something in my contact-lens solution. It blinded me and caused some damage to my tear ducts.”

  A vicious snarl rent the air behind her—he sounded more animal than human. She shuddered—she’d come out here, alone, blind, with a man she didn’t know.

  That was dumb, Romy.

  “She should be in prison.”

  “It was supposed to be a prank. She just wanted to dance opening night and steal all the press. As it is, the police arrested her at dress rehearsal, opening night was delayed while they looked for someone else who knew the steps, I spent a week in the hospital, she pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor, and neither of us will ever perform the role of Giselle.”

  She felt his hands on her shoulders then, and let him turn her to face him. She shuddered again as she remembered her vulnerability, but his hands were gentle and his voice filled with tenderness. Stupid or not, she felt safe with him.

  “How on earth are you okay with this?”

  “I’m not.” It was an easy admission. She might never be okay with what had happened. “But I’m moving on because life doesn’t fucking stop because Romy Lewis had a jealous understudy. I reached has been status a little faster than anyone expected, that’s all.”

  * * * *

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That’s all? The loss of her vision being shrugged off as a casualty of a business so focused on perfection that it shed promising young dancers like a snake sloughing off dead skin?

  Yet, in spite of that…He looked at her, feeling her way through the water in the moonlight. She seemed, at the very least, resigned to her fate, determined to make something beautiful out of it.

  “I wish I could have seen you dance.”

  The words slipped out before he could stifle them. The winsome smile creeping across her lips in response stirred up a longing in him that seeing her in her yoga pants couldn’t touch.

  “I wish you could have, too.”

  She slipped further into the water, a sound of deep appreciation spreading through her. He felt the echo of that sound in his own skin as he followed her. Was this what it was like then, to meet one’s mate? The desire to keep her safe, protect her—that was strong. But something else bubbled under the surface, like the heat that came up from the bottom of the spring. A sense of awe and wonder stirred him as he watched this delicate little human woman wade out into the unknown with a bear shifter at her back and her chin held high.

  Chapter Five

  Rekkus, the island’s head of security, could be an intimidating man. The black were-tiger was a good friend to Cyrus, and the Syndicate had done well to choose him for the man’s bodyguard. He looked at Stephen warily; they weren’t friends, exactly. The Syndicate had Stephen on the lookout because of proximity, nothing more. The property he shared with his brothers in the wilds of Quebec was an unlikely place for a spy, but it was a perfect place for bears to live unmolested, and it was closer to the ferry that led to the Wiccan Haus than most of North America was. There was a fair amount of mutual respect, but he was pretty sure Rekkus didn’t trust him entirely, which was fine with Stephen; he didn’t trust Rekkus entirely either. Just part and parcel of intelligence work. Trust was earned, not given—and he and Rekkus weren’t in that deep. If Stephen had his way, he’d never be in that deep with the guy. But here he was.

  “The Syndicate asked that we make room for you this week. We did. What’s going on?”

  “A couple of months back, we started noticing some chatter—messages in chat rooms and on web forums—all suggestive of a move against Cyrus. The coding was clumsy which makes me think they wanted me to hear it.”

  “You’re compromised?” Rekkus folded his arms across his chest and stared Stephen down.

  “Me? No. But whoever it is knows someone is listening, and so they put out plenty to overhear.”

  “So what did you overhear?”

  “A lot of nothing, trying to sound suspicious. But under the nothing, I’d say that you’ve got unlikely suspects working together—shifters and vamps maybe. I think they’re going to make a move here on the island, but I think they want to fake me out. And by doing that, fake you out.”

  “Here? No way.” Rekkus shook his head. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “For the right price, I think they would. Want me to have my brothers look into your guests?”

  “No. Not now. Probably not ever. They didn’t come here to be spied on.”

  “I’m not really a spy, Rekkus.”

  “Close enough for government work.” Rekkus scrubbed a hand over his eyes before piercing Stephen with a wary glare. “Thank you, for the information. I know you risked your cover to come here.”

  “No thanks necessary.” He stood and held out a hand to shake, but Rekkus wasn’t done with him.

  “The dancer, she’s not involved, is she? That’s not why you’ve taken such a keen interest in her?”

  “No. She’s something else.”

  She’s my mate.

  “What? Is she some sort of threat?”

  Stephen bristled, a low growl rising in his throat, and he fought the urge to get in Rekkus’s face and roar.

  “She’s not a threat to anyone but me.”

  “What—oh. It’s like that.”

  Stephen avoided the other man’s gaze, still trying to calm his protective instincts, but when Rekkus started laughing…?

  “Go to hell.”

  “No, Stephen, I’m sorry.” Rekkus held up his hands in a placating gesture, even though his shoulders still shook. “I shouldn’t laugh. It hasn’t been that long since I was in the same position. I just think maybe you should look at this as a good thing. You know, being mated has some advantages.”

  “I’ve got Ed and Bruno back at home. You really think that bit of a woman would be safe in a house with three bear-sized tempers? Hell. Having cubs would break her in two.”

  “So you’re planning to avoid her then? Tempt fate? Good luck with that.”

  Stephen snarled again. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Chapter Six

  Romy couldn’t quite identify the noise she heard as she stepped off the elevator. Something slapping. It took a moment to realize it was playing cards. Someone playing solitaire?

  “Hi, Romy.” The voice was familiar. What was the woman’s name who showed her to her room yesterday? It was difficult not being able to place faces with names, instead having to try to match a voice. Finally, it came to her. Myron.

  “Hi, Myron,” she answered, sweeping her cane in front of her.

  “Are you going for a walk in the gardens? They smell amazing with all of Sage’s herbs blooming.”

  “I was just going to find someplace to sit and listen to some music. The gardens sound nice actually. Which way do I go?”

  She followed Myron’s directions carefully, using her cane to make sure she didn’t stray off the path. Myron was right, the gardens did smell amazing. She could hear insect noises and the herb smells were heavy in the air, a blanket of scent and sound. She stopped for a moment just to breathe it in and enjoy it. She wondered if she’d enjoy it so much if she could see. You wouldn’t be here if you could see.

  “Are you Romy?”

  She startled at the voice beside her. “How did you know?”

  “The cane. We don’t have blind guests all that frequently. I’m Sage, one of the owners. Don’t worry; you don’t need to shake my hand. Would you like to sit down? I can lead you to the bench.”

  “Please.” She let Sage take her elbow and guide her. The bench was in the shade and was slightly cooler than the air out on the path.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, does that ointment help at all?”

  Romy felt a prickle of annoyance. As if she would choose to put the foul-smelling stuff on her eyes if it didn’t al
leviate some of the burning she felt? Of course it helped. It wouldn’t bring back her eyesight, but at least being blind wasn’t as painful.

  “Sure.” She ground out the word as she fumbled in her pocket for her earbuds.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that I like working with herbs, and I think I might be able to make something that will help and might be more pleasant for you.”

  A lump formed in her throat as the pricking sensation started in her nose and swept over her skin, a thousand needles piercing deep. Everyone wanted to help, and all she wanted was time to learn how to take care of herself. But the thought of not having to choose between burning eyes and that smell? Too much temptation to resist.

  “That’s very nice of you to offer, Sage,” she said at last. “That would be wonderful.”

  “I’ll have it sent up to your room.” Then she heard the other woman’s footsteps as she moved away.

  Earbuds in place, Romy let her feet start moving. The music was an instrumental piece on classical guitar and she could see it as a passionate pas-de-deux. She could almost feel strong hands taking her waist, that moment when her feet would leave the ground and she’d be flying. There was nothing quite as exhilarating as putting your body in another dancer’s hands, that daring intimacy and trust.

  “You listen with your whole body.”

  The observation, loud enough to be heard over her music, startled her again. She yanked the earbuds out and let them fall to her lap.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me—Stephen.”

  A thrill raced through her. Why should this man affect her so deeply? She remembered the way his hands had felt the night before when he’d pulled her into his lap, the softness of his lips and the roughness of his beard against her face. She mumbled something in greeting and then felt him sit next to her on the bench.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” His voice rose up, deep and woodsy like a contra bassoon, staking its claim over the orchestra of sounds around her. His hand found hers on her lap, took the earbuds from her. She felt him smoothing her hair behind the ear closest to him, and then the earbud returned to its place. It didn’t take much guesswork to know that he had put the other in his own ear.