Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1

by Gayle Parness

  "Don't make excuses for her. She's jealous of Ingrid,” Gene said.

  "She doesn't even know me," Ingrid protested quietly.

  Gene shook his head. "She's read the e-mags, seen the pictures. You're the top Ingrid in the US." To make his point he grabbed Sass, moving his fingers through the air in a blur of motion. "Just look."

  Before them spun a holo of Ingrid in all her glory, dressed to the nines for a premiere in a turquoise gown that matched her eyes. She was smiling and waving. Underneath the image was a running feed, the headline in capitals.

  NUMBER ONE INGRID TO JOIN NEW YORK'S TOP THETA TROUPE

  Rising from the ashes of her recent tragedy, the former Ingrid Stone will now be delighting audiences as the newest Ingrid Hudson. Her first performance is coming up in a few days and you can bet those lucky wolves are licking their fangs in anticipation. Word is out the ticket price has risen to fifty thousand dollars. Looks like business is good for New York wolves, or maybe they're feeding on a wealthier clientele? It's hard to say no to a handsome alpha, isn't it ladies and gents?

  The feed continued to loop around as all eyes in the room turned in Ingrid’s direction. "The press writes what The Director tells them to write. It means nothing,” Ingrid said with a frown.

  Staci whispered, "Diane's always been nervous about keeping her position in the troupe, especially since she handed over her ingénue role to the last Ingrid. We try to reassure her, but there's only so much we can do or say."

  Ingrid frowned. "I remember her from when I was a kid in the training institute. She was a top ingénue then and now she's a top diva. The Director would never delete her.”

  “She’s afraid.” Sam said.

  "Delete her? You mean retire her, right?" Alan asked.

  "Means the same thing, kid."

  He scowled. "I'm not a kid. I'm eighteen."

  "Okay, sorry." Ingrid tried to look contrite.

  "You look like you're my age," Alan scanned her face, curious.

  "Nope. Twenty-three." She glanced at Gene, arching an eyebrow.

  "Plus one," he grinned, shoving a huge forkful of blueberry pancakes into his mouth.

  Alan distributed his pancakes to the three who'd placed their orders. He laughed as he plunked down a fourth plate in front of Mack, who playfully placed his hand over his heart in appreciation.

  "I might have to get those tomorrow.” Ingrid said, eyeing the pancakes with interest. “They look great.”

  Alan's smile grew a whole lot wider. "Thanks."

  Mack stretched out his arm, holding a forkful of the dripping-with-butter-and-syrup confection. "Here, open up."

  She hesitated, but everyone was watching her reaction, looking as surprised by Mack's offer as she did. She decided to be a good sport and not worry about the possibility of everything spilling into her lap. Of course, touching him was out of the question. Another connection episode would be disastrous.

  She opened her mouth slowly, hoping for the best. He took his time reaching across the final few inches with the food, but she managed to take in the full forkful without incident. As she chewed, Mack's gaze never left her mouth and when she swallowed, he seemed to watch the food travel down her throat.

  It was almost as if he was touching her neck with feathery fingers, the two of them alone in the room, the world around them silent except for their beating hearts.

  Ingrid looked down at her plate, embarrassed. "That was delicious. Thank you."

  Gene was glancing from Mack to Ingrid and back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I never would have believed it.”

  “What?” Mack’s eyes had narrowed.

  “Oh, nothin’.” He went back to eating, the grin now hidden but still present.

  "You’ve been an ingénue in four troupes, but you’re only twenty three? You must have been assigned too young." Staci seemed to be the opposite of Diane, her expression full of concern, her voice soothing.

  Ingrid shook her head and glanced out the window. The azalea bushes were in full bloom, the white and salmon buds brightening up the yard. "To the public I'm a fragile innocent. It makes the fantasy more fun for the rapists in the audience."

  Again, the room was silent. Alan slid into the chair at the end of the table as Gene closed the holo program, sliding Sass across the table to Ingrid. "You sure know how to quiet a room."

  Which confused the heck out of her. "Sorry. Could there actually be someone here who’s fond of the snake that’s wrapped his body around our race, squeezing the life out of each of us?"

  "We do what we have to do. None of us likes it."

  "But none of us does anything to change it either." She stood and brought her plate to the sink. Maybe this wasn't the troupe she'd hoped for, but she wasn't giving up yet. At the rehearsal, she'd show them more. Ingrid put her hand on Alan’s shoulder. “Thank you, for breakfast. It was perfect.” Even though Alan replied with a “You’re welcome,” the rest of the room remained quiet.

  She showered and changed into her rehearsal clothes, throwing a coat over the outfit. There was a knock on her door.

  "Ready, sugar?"

  "Why do you only pull out the southern accent around me? Do you have a dual personality?” she teased.

  "'Cause you like it." Gene winked as he swept his hand in an after you gesture. Still playing the gentleman when they got to the car, he held the front passenger door open for her, despite Diane's dark-eyed scowl. "I'm driving. My choice," he smirked in Diane's direction.

  Sam and Alan had left early to pick up some food and set up the rehearsal space. Mack had his own small shuttle, and would leave from his own house. That left five of them to follow in the one remaining vehicle.

  "I don't mind sitting in the back seat," Ingrid offered.

  "We have orders to get to know each other." Giving up, Ingrid obeyed, settling into the passenger seat while Gene closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. Diane nudged Staci into the back, while Dave got in on the driver's side, leaving the two divas on opposite ends with Staci wedged between them.

  Dave spoke angrily to his partner, Diane, apparently picking up an argument where they'd left off earlier. “You can’t tell me you weren’t checking out that blonde waiter at the restaurant the other night.” Dave, the male diva, was a great looking guy, with light blue eyes and wavy dark brown hair—probably one of those men who improved with age. He had an enormous fan base who had remained loyal even after he and Diane had moved to diva and turned the ingénue positions over to Gene and the former Ingrid.

  “Did you see his ass?” Diane teased with a snarky grin, her darker blue eyes glittering with humor. She brushed a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear and sighed, pretending to fantasize about the so-called hunk.

  Dave scowled at her. “No, I didn’t notice. I was busy eating the delicious meal I‘d spent a damn fortune on, while you sat there drooling like an idiot over the fucking waiter.”

  “Are you referring to the dive you took me to? I wouldn’t even call it a restaurant. It was more of a truck stop.”

  “I thought you enjoyed slumming. I remember the homeless man you screwed last year.”

  “He wasn’t homeless," she snapped. "Karl was a tug boat captain and actually very distinguished."

  "Yeah, if you're attracted to the biblical look. Unwashed and hairy."

  "He took me to Peter Luger. The steak melted in my mouth.” Her voice was a sexy purr.

  He gave her a scrutinizing glare. “Maybe you should think about eating a little less steak and a little more salad, honey." Diane leaned forward ready to spew out a harsh comment, but Dave continued, unconcerned by her fury. "The restaurant I took you to that night got three stars in Zagat’s.”

  "They must have bribed someone," she growled. After a few more seconds of glaring, Diane leaned back and looked out the window, shifting gears. “I heard that the restaurant around the corner from that dive attracts all kinds of celebrities. That cute weatherman from Channel 3 is seen
there every other night.”

  Gene whispered to Ingrid, “Typhoon warning.”

  “He’s too young for you, Diane.” Dave laughed.

  She scowled back at him across Staci’s lap. “He is not. He’s at least twenty-eight. We’re only five years apart.”

  “Tsunami alert.”

  Ingrid buried her face in her sweater, doing her best to hold in a giggle.

  “Honey, you haven’t seen thirty-three in six years.” Dave replied with a smirk.

  “I wouldn’t talk, darling. You’re going to skip right over the swing position and hit retirement soon.”

  “I think you both look marvelous for your ages.” Staci was trying to help, but she only managed to get angry glares from both of them. She hunkered down farther in her seat.

  As soon as Gene pulled the shuttle into the lot behind the building on Bay Street, Ingrid jumped out.

  "This is typical?" she whispered, still wiping tears from her eyes.

  "Happens a couple days a week, followed by a few makeup days where they get all kissy-kissy," Gene responded.

  After everyone had disembarked, they thumbprint scanned their way through the door and up the narrow stairs to the roof. Ingrid walked behind Gene, enjoying how he moved and wondering how the rehearsal would go between the two of them. If their energy didn't mesh, she'd be looking for another troupe—unless The Director deleted her first.

  Covered in a tinted bubble that only allowed those on the inside to see the spectacular view, the roof of the Bay Street building was the perfect rehearsal space. New York Harbor glistened in the May sunshine, the statue of Liberty still raising her torch to remind them of the humans who had lived free before the steal. From the silver Manhattan skyline to the Verrazano, a lovely suspension bridge connecting Brooklyn and Staten Island with a practical grace, the view was still an inspiration to artists and photographers everywhere.

  Ingrid's gaze met Mack’s, both of them wary. They managed to smile at each other in a friendly way. Whatever was between them, had to be put aside for now, she decided. This was her work and nothing would be accomplished if she alienated the rest of the troupe during today's rehearsal.

  She knew in her gut that Mack was the one she needed in order to get herself free of this life. His axis had connected to hers as if they fit, as if they were meant to be working partners. Gene and Mack seemed to be good friends. If she could convince Gene that there was a way to escape, then they could approach Mack together.

  But Mack had put all of his energy into building the troupe and its world class-reputation. He protected them like family. Her journey toward freedom couldn't jeopardize any of the others unless they chose to leave their comfortable non-lives behind. Could she urge them in that direction?

  "Is there a problem, Ingrid?" Mack had moved beside her as if he knew her thoughts were of him. He was only a few feet away, close enough to touch.

  "N...no. It's lovely here. I've never seen this view in person." What would happen if she took his hand, she wondered. Would he pull away again or was he as curious as she was to find out what this connection meant?

  "Are you ready?" His smile was sexy as hell, sending a wave of pleasant tingles brushing over her skin. Her body responded by leaning a tiny bit closer.

  "Yes, of course." She bit her lip to regain control. This had never happened before.

  "Don't be nervous. You'll do great."

  Alan handed her a script, which she read through in a couple of minutes. It was a typical description of a fantasy that a group of witches and sorcerers had requested—ironic to say the least. She handed back the paper and began to stretch her body and focus her mind.

  They needed no equipment to work their magic, only their bodies, their powers, and a stage or open space where they could dance their visions into existence. During a performance, an audience member's body would feel whatever the character they'd linked to was experiencing. Some enjoyed being the one dishing out the punishments, where others would prefer to link with the romantic characters. If a fantasy couple was hot for each other, the audience would feel the lust, the urgent kisses, embraces, and finally, even the release. If a character was frightened, their heartbeat would quicken and their palms would sweat. Rage, romantic love, pride, even death could be experienced, if that’s what got them off. All their desires would take form because of the skill and the magic of a theta performance.

  Each species knew the script beforehand, so the audience was never shocked by how it unfolded. If they chose, they could see the opaque holographic projections sent to the stage, but most kept their eyes closed, sighing and moaning and laughing—lost in this make-believe world. The audience knew that none of it was real, that when it was over, everything would be as it was, except for the euphoria.

  Theta performances were the ultimate instant high, better than sex, drugs, or winning a ten million dollar poker game. Because thetas used magic amped up to the stars by Mack's boost of power, the buzz from a theta's brand of morphine lasted for months.

  The actors only projected the people who appeared in the fantasy, so the APM, Alan, had to supply the rest. Alan created the scenic backgrounds, the lighting effects, the larger specialty creatures, such as dragons, the weather effects, the sound, and the music. A vision of Druids working a spell at Stonehenge wouldn’t be effective if there were no monoliths of stone surrounding them, or a sacrificial slab stained in blood, or a night sky filled with stars and a full moon.

  Mack was speaking quietly to Alan off to the side. He was shirtless and hot as hell, Ingrid couldn't help but notice, wearing jeans that hung low on his hips, emphasizing that great ass she decided she wanted to squeeze. Having already experienced a taste of his power, she found herself smiling. Today might be the very beginning of everything she’d hoped to achieve.

  "You look like the cat that swallowed the mouse," Gene whispered, his bare chest only inches away and impossible to ignore. He was definitely on the steamy side himself, dressed only in dark dance slacks that hugged his hips in a very sexy way. "What's up?" he asked, scanning her face.

  "Are you always analyzing people?" Ingrid imagined very little got past those green eyes.

  "It keeps me entertained."

  "Not just me, right?"

  He smiled and shook his head. "I'm no stalker. The troupe is my family and you're one of us. Mack does his part. I do mine." Ingrid looked back toward Mack and sighed quietly. To feel she was a part of something—that had been her dream long before she realized there were dreams she should cast aside and others she should strive for with every bit of her energy. She might always be alone, but it would be worth it, if she could find freedom and help to save others.

  Mack looked up suddenly, as if he knew she was watching him. Their gazes met and the world fell away for a breath of time: a perfect moment. His smile was shy, unsure, and she returned it in kind.

  “Places." Alan announced.

  The words snapped the spell as the six actors and two techs got into position, ready to project. Mack began to pull in his power, a steady vibration drawing his stomach and chest muscles taut. Ingrid's breath caught in her throat as ribbons of his warm energy snaked through her skin and muscles, racing through her bloodstream to mesh with the swelling power she held in her central axis.

  With a last look at Gene's encouraging gaze, she laid her hand flat on his chest, centered over his heart, then pushed out from her psycore to create the young virgin sprite, surrounded by darkness, lost and afraid. Gene’s projection of a handsome sorcerer appeared behind a boulder, holding his spells in readiness to battle against the powerful witches who pursued them, all created by Staci. He called out to the graceful sprite, both of them terrified by the approach of the blood drenched ghouls—Sam's creations and the witches’ servants. The Sorcerer King and his mate, the Queen of the Sprites—brought to life by Dave and Di—stood high above on the parapet, calling out to them to run for safety.

  The characters created, they began to dance, adding l
ife to the fantasy. Each moment of the vision was powered by the energy of their minds and the movement of their bodies, synchronized to the energy and music created by the two techs swaying in place, lost in deep concentration.

  The actors didn’t mimic the action of the story. Instead, they projected the images with their minds as they connected to each other with their bodies, many of the dance movements unique to thetas. Running through the forest in terror together, Gene and Ingrid spun and leapt in a frenzied duet. Her struggle to escape her imprisonment was a series of contractions of her abs and powerful thrusts with arms and legs. The deaths were enhanced by the tearful exchange of tender strokes and smooth lifts.

  Although an audience could watch them dancing, most would close their eyes and open their minds to the fantasy the troupe created. There was no dialogue on stage; the normal sounds made while dancing were not heard above the swell of Alan's exquisite music. Each performance took between twenty to thirty minutes, but the audience would imagine they'd been in the fantasy world for days. Some would have to be carried out, but everyone left feeling satisfied.

  When the scene ended, Ingrid was shocked when the troupe formed a circle, their arms around each other’s waists and shoulders. Even Alan and Mack had joined the group, smiling and whacking each other on the back or hugging the girls.

  She ducked out and moved away, not sure what all the fuss was about. This had been a simple scenario. None of them was even close to being depleted. Nothing spectacular had occurred...just the usual...

  Gene swept her up and carted her back to the circle before she could squeak out a protest. Hugs and friendly kisses were distributed, Sam saying, "Great job. Your sprite was quite extraordinary and your energy gels very nicely with ours. We've been nervous about the change." He smiled warmly at Staci, who stepped into his outstretched arms and hugged him around the waist.

  Staci smiled up at her partner. "He's being kind. I was much more concerned than he was.” She looked at Ingrid. “I tend to worry about the health of the troupe, and you... well... you lost three of your troupe members in Atlanta."