Kings of Midnight: Book One of The Midnight Saga

by J Q Anderson

  The morning dragged, and it was difficult to concentrate or ignore the growing pain in my ankle. I had underestimated the injury, and after three hours en pointe, it was throbbing. I was behind on my tempo, and Madame snapped at me, making it clear she was about to lose the last of her fragile patience. I promised myself I wouldn’t give her another chance to lash out at me, but whenever I put my full weight on my left foot, I inevitably screwed up. Again. Fuck! Had I sprained it? Please, no.

  “Navarro, if you can’t keep up, I may have to replace you. I don’t have time to waste. You are slow this morning and disrupting the other dancers.”

  “I can do it,” I blurted, panting. Her intense eyes narrowed a fraction, and I swallowed, my mouth dry. She took a step closer.

  “You are well aware,” she said in that controlled tone that froze most dancers into place, “that I don’t share Federico’s view of your ‘potential’ and ‘the magic of genes.’ What I see is a sloppy dancer in the corps who has a lot to work to do. The fire may be in you. But even if it is, you haven’t learned how to manage it. A principal is always in charge of her emotions and her body. Your mind is not here today because you are injured.”

  “Madame, I apologize,” I said with my face burning. “I will give today all my focus, I promise. It’s just… my ankle. I may have pushed it too hard.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “Can you continue?”

  “Um, yes,” I said, shakily. Could I? Madame shook her head slowly, the deep sage background darkening.

  “Getting ahead is not only a matter of physical discipline. It requires maturity, a mental and emotional commitment. Your passion in here is raw and inconsistent. Until you learn how to own it and care properly for your body, you will be at best worthy of a spot in the last line of the corps.”

  Anger burned furiously within me. I said nothing, holding her gaze defiantly. Drawing in a slow breath, I took my place in the line, ready to prove her wrong.

  “What’s up with you today, Navarro?” a dancer behind me said. There was no malice in her tone.

  “Old injury,” I said.

  “Madame’s in a mood too. I swear, we need to find that woman a boyfriend. Can you keep going?”

  Frustration swelled in my throat. “I’ll try.”

  The music started again. I followed the variation diligently, coaxing my body into cooperation as I concentrated on each note of the Adam’s motif for the Wilis. One, two, up, two. I cringed through the pain, focusing every cell into keeping up with the tempo. I managed to do it without losing the pace or fucking it up. Then, as we held the final arabesque, time stopped. My ankle screamed with pain as it balanced my body’s full weight. The seconds passed excruciatingly slowly. One, two, three…How much longer? Sweat beaded my forehead. A spear of fire stabbed my ankle and it gave abruptly. I dropped to the floor. Fuck. Fuck! My eyes flew up to Madame, and her scathing look delivered the speech I didn’t need to hear. Turning away, she whispered something to her assistant’s ear, then went on with the rehearsal, directing her attention to the other dancers. Her assistant approached me diligently, her face drawn in concern.

  “Camila,” she said. And for a second, it was comforting to hear someone call me by my first name. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off? Madame tells me your ankle’s injured. Maybe go see the physical therapist downstairs?”

  “What? No, I’m okay. I just need to ice it.” I panted, wiping the sweat of my face. She gave me a small, empathetic smile.

  “Go rest.”

  Tears rushed to my eyes and I swallowed them. Her expression softened.

  “Look,” she said in a lower voice. “The corps will be working on act one for the rest of today. That’s a small part for you. We’re finished with the Wilis choreography, and rehearsals for Myrta don’t start till tomorrow. Go take care of that ankle before it gets worse.”

  I looked at her for a few silent seconds. Shit. Shit. I was being kicked out? I darted a skeptical look at Madame. I was no quitter, but she had a point. I hated that I had proven her right. So much was at stake for me, and the lack of sleep and this injury weren’t helping. But I couldn’t leave. What if she demoted me?

  “Camila, sweetheart,” the assistant pressed, “go get well.”

  “She’ll replace me.”

  “She hasn’t done that yet. Come back ready tomorrow.”

  With the weight of my teacher’s rejection pressing on my shoulders, I stepped out into the blinding sun. It was slightly past noon and I felt out of place. I had never walked out of a rehearsal in the middle of the day before, and it was disorienting. My head was heavy and my ankle throbbed with every step. I didn’t want to go see the physical therapist on staff. What if he said to stay off of it for a few days? That would immediately get to Madame, and I would lose my role as Myrta before even dancing a single step. No, I would take care of this on my own.

  Putting as little weight on my foot as possible, I slowly made my way to the corner to hail a cab to go home, nurse my ankle, and bury myself under the covers to erase all memories of the morning. Madame’s cold green eyes barged in my thoughts. Why was she so hard on me? Would I always live under the shadow of Mamá? My phone startled me when it buzzed in my pocket. I frowned at the screen. Papá never called in the middle of the day.

  “Papá, what’s up?”

  “Oh…honey. I was going to leave you a message. I hope I didn’t interrupt class.”

  “No, you didn’t. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes. I just need a favor. I’m getting on a plane to give a conference in Córdoba in two hours, and your mother left her laptop in my car. I would leave it with my secretary, but she’s at home sick and I’ll close up here when I leave. I was hoping to bring it to you during lunch? I’m sorry to bother you, honey. I know how busy you are.”

  “It’s fine, Papá…” I said. “I’m actually leaving work right now. My ankle is bothering me, and I need to ice it before it gets worse.”

  “Oh…” he said, taken back. “I have a few things to finish up, but I can come by on the way to the airport.”

  “No, I’m getting in a cab right now. I’ll swing by your office on my way home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine, Papá. You need to leave and I just want to get home and rest.”

  Papá’s office was in Puerto Madero, a contemporary neighborhood bordering the Rio de la Plata. An oasis where the top architects and cutting-edge designers in the city lined up for a chance to recycle old warehouses into ultramodern offices and lofts. New restaurants popped up weekly, competing for the eclectic tastes of wealthy investors claiming a share in one of the most iconic areas in town.

  The Universidad Católica Argentina stretched along three consecutive lofts overlooking the river. I paid the cab driver and inched toward Papá’s office in the Bioethics Department, my sour mood slightly lifting in anticipation to see my father. He was on the phone and waved me in from the other side of the glass door. Ending his call, he rounded the desk to wrap me in his arms. For an instant I was seven years old again.

  “Camila, honey. It’s good to see you.” He pulled back and his eyes studied me with concern. “Are you all right?”

  I squeezed my arms around him, swallowing the tears as I pressed my face to his crisp cotton shirt. “Bad day. It’s good to see you, too, Papá.”

  “Things getting tough at the theater?” His endearing tone made it harder to keep my emotions in check. As the husband of a famous prima, Papá more than understood the struggles of a dancer.

  “Yeah.” I smirked. “Madame’s not much of a cheerleader. You know.”

  He nodded. “Let me look at that ankle.” He pulled out two chairs, and I sat on one while resting my foot on the other. Papá examined my ankle, probing here and there carefully, asking me if this and that hurt. “It’s not swollen. Looks like a minor sprain. I can get you in for an MRI if you want to be sure. Regardless, you’ll need to ice it, take something for
the pain, and stay put for the day. Take these,” he said, reaching into his briefcase and handing me a small container of painkillers. “Anti-inflammatory, for the pain. You know the drill. No more than one every five hours, always with food.”

  “Okay, but I just want to go home. I don’t need an MRI.”

  Worry settled on his face. “Call the office if you change your mind. They’ll schedule it for you. Take care of yourself.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  He kissed my head and reached over to the desk for the laptop. Mamá would stop by my apartment later if she needed it.

  Outside, I hugged him good-bye, lingering for a few long seconds. He helped me to a bench where I could rest and call a cab. I urged him to go so he wouldn’t be late for his flight.

  Papá left and I pulled my phone out, relaxing on my bench on the boulevard that lined the coast. The morning had been a ghost ride through a nightmare, and I hoped the second half of the day wouldn’t suck as much as the first. Papá had a magic theory that no matter how badly your day had started, your luck was sure to turn around at noon. A clean start. I desperately hoped that was the case. I hated sulking and refused to open the door to my insecurities. My temples pulsed painfully. Had last night really happened, or had it all been a dream? The images thrashed around in my head: Irina, the Brazilians, me in Marcos’s arms, dancing, Nata and her new guy, then that creep following me…and Sebastián…

  I put my foot up and lay back, turning my face to the kaleidoscope of sunlight rippling on the golden surface of the river. My mind drifted to the hypnotic patterns, and my shoulders relaxed for the first time that morning. A stubborn breeze brushed the surface of the Rio de la Plata, curling ripples that melted into amber foam at the shore. Pungent scents of fall spiced the air. I loved watching the river, massive, peaceful, unapologetically stretching for miles. On a clear day you could even make out the Uruguayan coast. Letting the cool air fill my lungs, I stared at the fishing ships on the horizon, gray smudges on a perfect canvas.

  “I don’t believe it,” a low familiar voice behind me said. I turned my head, shielding the glare off my eyes, and there He was again. Sebastián. My heart woke with a jolt of disbelief. But there he stood, just like I remembered him from my non-dream, deliciously glorious in jeans and a white linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves.

  “Hi. What …are you doing here?” I said with a mix of thrill and apprehension. These coincidences were starting to get a bit weird.

  “I work right over there.” He nodded at a glass building. “And you? How’s that ankle?”

  “Sore,” I said, my mind still reeling. “But nothing serious. I came to pick up something from my dad. He teaches bioethics at the university.”

  “And here I thought I had a stalker.” He flashed a smile.

  “Hey, I could say the same about you.”

  “I’m innocent, I promise.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “I was on my way to get lunch. Want to come with?” He squinted through those endless eyelashes, and a warm sensation pooled in my belly. “It would be awesome to have a conversation with you that doesn’t require me scooping you off the street first.” He stifled a smile.

  “Hey!”

  A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “So, what do you say?”

  I debated for a moment. Then my conscience stepped up. No. I was injured. Besides, I needed to reflect on the morning and work on a plan to impress Madame. Biting my lip, I nodded at my ankle.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to get home and ice this.”

  “But you haven’t eaten?”

  “No, but—”

  “I was heading to that place right over there, and what do you know? They have ice. It’s five steps, and yes, fine.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “Since you insist, I will carry you one more time.”

  “As if!” I shook my head. “Thanks, but I better get going.”

  “It’s just lunch, Camila. Not a marriage proposal.” He smiled smugly.

  Weightless wings fluttered inside my chest at the way he said my name. It was only lunch. I would have the rest of the day to hatch my plan and wouldn’t have to even think about food or eat one of Nata’s carb-free meals. I glanced at the small restaurant, a quaint place with just a few tables overlooking the river, literally steps away. And I could take my painkillers now.

  “Okay, something quick.”

  His answering smile made my insides swirl, and I pretended I wasn't breathing faster. It was so strange, the effect he had on me. The most puzzling part was I wanted to be there, with him. I craved how good and relaxed I felt in his presence. Safe. He helped me up and insisted I hold on to him so I wouldn’t put any weight on my foot. He smelled divine, and the muscles in his arm were as hard as stone. Desire rippled through me as he pressed me against him, the heat of his body expanding to me. I let out a small gasp of surprise.

  “This place is simple, but the food’s good,” he said. We made our way slowly while he held me with unnecessary care.

  “So,” I said. “You’re an architect. You have an actual job. Saving girls in the middle of the night is just a hobby then?”

  “Hard to believe, I know.” He opened the door with one hand and held it while helping me in.

  The restaurant was an understated, tranquil spot. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect place. He signaled to the hostess, indicating we would take a small table outside overlooking the water. After pulling out my chair and arranging another one so I could rest my foot, he sat across from me. I told him to choose the food and surprise me. When the hostess approached, he ordered a salad and a pizza to share without even looking at the menu. I smiled. I was used to Marcos eating three times as much as I did, never wanting to share a morsel. A guy willing to share his food scored points in my book. Jesus, what points? What book?

  We waited for the food in comfortable silence, and I gazed at the water behind him to distract myself from staring at his face. On the river surface, the sun shimmered in a blanket of sparks. A warm breeze whirled my hair, and suddenly it was as if the heaviness from the morning had left with it. I smiled inwardly at Papá’s magic theory.

  The waitress was back with our drinks and food. When I pulled out my painkillers, Sebastián poured mineral water in my glass.

  “So how are you feeling this morning?” he said in that low, seductive voice that did naughty things to my insides. “I mean, aside from your ankle. You must’ve not slept much.”

  I let out a long, defeated sigh. “I didn’t. I just can’t go out like my friends do. I always pay for the sleep I lose. And last night. What a nightmare.” I looked down at my lap.

  “It’s over. You’re fine.” He reached over for my hand and gently squeezed it. A chemical frenzy sparked and traveled up my arm. I looked up at him. Did he feel it too?

  “I should’ve gotten a cab at the door.” I frowned, eager to explain that I wasn’t a complete idiot. “But there were still a bunch of people trying to go in, and I just wanted to go to bed. It was stupid to leave on my own.”

  The muscles in his jaw tensed, and he let go of my hand. “The doorman should’ve taken care of the cab instead of flirting with the girls at the entrance. I’ll have a word with him.” His tone was harsh. A word with him? “I’m glad I was able to help.” I looked back up at him and was once again stricken by the pale color of his eyes. I wondered how the women in his office managed to get anything done.

  “I’m glad too.” I picked up my fork and slowly started on my food. “What were the odds? I mean, that you’d be at the Roxy last night?”

  “I’m one of the owners.”

  I swallowed one big bite. “One of the owners? Of the Roxy?” Holy shit.

  “I actually don’t go there much. I’m just an investor and my partners manage it, but both are away this week and I had to take care of some business.”

  “How did you find me in the street?”

  “I was leaving and I saw you head out. I figured your friends were outside, but when I got
to the door, you were already turning the corner, alone.” He shook his head. “I thought, what the hell.” He darted me a fiery look that sent a heat wave through my body. He was so goddamn sexy. I stared down at my plate, desperate to grip the whirlwind of sensations inside me. Jesus, what was happening?

  The waitress interrupted us to refill our drinks and told Sebastián how glad she was to see him again. Before she left, she gave him a longing look. He seemed unaffected. I watched her leave, swaying her hips as she turned.

  “So how is it? Owning a place like the Roxy?”

  “I’m only a silent partner. I want to know about you.” He smiled playfully and bit into his pizza.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You mentioned work. What do you do?”

  “I’m a dancer?” Why did that come out as a question? I blamed those eyes.

  “Right. The shoe. How could I forget.” He chuckled. “Where do you dance?”

  “Um, at the Colón Theater. I’m part of the permanent ballet company.”

  “That’s impressive.” He frowned, assessing me with curiosity. “You must be an incredible dancer.”

  Incredible! “And that is so hard to believe?” I suppressed a smile.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” He smiled shyly and it was adorable. “I’ve heard it’s almost impossible to get into the Colón.”

  I nodded. The fact that he showed such appreciation for what I did made my heart expand. I grinned like an idiot. “I'm lucky. My life revolves around dancing, every day, all day. I love it. Right now, I don’t do much else.”

  “I’m very impressed.”

  “Your turn. Tell me more about you.”

  He looked away for a second, then sipped his drink. Our eyes met, and a fleeting spark of hesitation flashed through the pale background of his. Then it was gone.

  “Like I said, I'm an architect. My partner and I own that studio back there.”