Dance with Darkness
DANCE
with
DARKNESS
Melissa Darnell
Copyright © 2013 Melissa Darnell
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.
Published by Netherfield House Press
www.NetherfieldHousePress.com
ISBN: 978-1-935649-10-6
Cover credits:
Cover design by Melissa Darnell
Cover model photo used with permission from Hanratty @ DeviantArt.com
Forest
photo used with permission from angel1592Stock @ DeviantArt.com
Also by Melissa Darnell:
Adult:
Homecoming
New Adult:
GIRLS SERIES:
Scent of Evil
Scent of Revenge
Scent of Rain
Young Adult:
The Source
The Last Firefly
THE CLANN SERIES:
Crave
Covet
Consume
“Darnell has a unique ability to draw her reader into her world. Her imagery is fantastic. Her characters are so real, it's easy to forget they're imaginary. Their struggles are heartbreaking and their love is toe curling."
—Julie Anne Lindsey, Musings from the Slush Pile review for The Clann Series #2: Covet
“Covet takes you on one big emotional rollercoaster ride. I loved every minute of it! I didn't think it would top Crave, but Darnell pulled it off. Needless to say, Darnell is on auto buy for me and this series is definitely one of my favorites. I have a lot of books that are my favorite, but when asked for recommendations, this series is one that always comes to mind."
—Damaris, Good Choice Reading review for The Clann Series #2: Covet
“Author Melissa Darnell has created characters that are not only like-able, but stay with you well past the pages.”
—Teresa, The Duchess Mommy Reads review for The Clann Series #1: Crave
"Melissa Darnell has a way of making you feel the emotions right along with the characters and it's brilliant.”
—Jenna, Shortie Says review for The Clann Series #1: Crave
Contents
Chapter 1
Lorena
S
he’d never struggled so hard.
Usually Lorena flowed across the stage, her body a finely tuned instrument responsive to her every command. And
always
under her control.
Even while on tour with the Houston Symphonic Ballet Company for the next few months, every stage was her home, and the spotlight was her shield, blocking out the world beyond. As long as she was on stage, she was free to be herself, free to fly and spin as high and fast as her dark abilities allowed. After all, ballerinas were supposed to be pale and as light as air. On stage, the unnatural thing she’d become eight months ago actually looked normal.
But something was off tonight.
They were performing
Romeo and Juliet
, her favorite. And she was getting to perform the lead female role as Juliet. What ballerina in her right mind wouldn’t be thrilled to death?
Regardless, she couldn’t seem to let go, couldn’t manage to block out her thoughts and simply flow like water through the choreography. Something called to her in the audience. She’d felt it as soon as she’d first entered the stage. And yet she used to never pay any attention to the audience, not even after all the other drastic changes in her life. Dancing was for her, not them.
Or it had been until tonight.
Yet again her gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the glare of the lights, as if she could somehow peer into that secretive void and discover the elusive pull that tugged at her. Which was ridiculous, of course. There was nothing in the darkness that she needed or wanted. Only the dance mattered. Only the next step, the next turn, the next cue in the music.
But when she ran up the steps to the balcony, where she was supposed to look down upon her dance partner, her eyes slid sideways instead. Whatever it was that called to her from the audience was relentless, a driving, silent demand that refused to be ignored. Her smile faltered, and she had to swallow as her throat tightened and her teeth ached with the rising, hated need.
The need for blood.
Panic and fury followed on the blood lust’s heels. She shouldn’t be feeling the craving at all tonight. She’d had her weekly transfusion just yesterday, and no amount of dancing should have made her need more blood so soon, even if she was newly turned.
This is all wrong.
Fear clawed at her, making it difficult to focus on the dance.
Make it through this show, Lor,
she told herself.
Then you can call your doctor and find out what to do.
She pushed her smile wider as was required for the performance, then turned and made her way back down the stairs to the stage. As she drew closer to tonight’s Romeo played by her buddy Jon, she gritted her teeth, bracing herself for his human scent that would surely assault her. And she
could
smell him, the salty sweat trickling down his face and neck sharpened with adrenaline and excitement. She could smell everything, even the dust and dirt, earthy and musty, that lurked in the air and the corners of the stage, as well as in visible layers coating unused props in the wings.
She’d expected the bloodlust to drown her as she stepped into Jon’s waiting embrace so he could lift her overhead. But strangely the odor of his sweat was more comforting than anything else, blending with the equally familiar stage smells. No, the problem wasn’t here in the smells of home.
She turned to face the invisible audience in the darkness, and the hunger raked at her stomach again. There. The need came from somewhere out there tonight.
Their pas de deux brought them closer to the edge of the stage, and a hundred smells clamored at her sensitive nose, forming an unseen wall that expanded and contracted before her with every cautious sniff she took. A wafting wall made of a hundred different colognes, perfumes, hairsprays, deodorants, the wines and cheeses served in the community hall next door. Each fragrance was like a different colored thread reaching out to her from the tangled web. But only one had wrapped itself around her and tried to pull her to it. Impossible to unravel that single thread tugging at her from among so many others. And equally impossible to escape it.
She would have to wait until after the show. Maybe then she could walk among the members of the audience while they were more spread out and easier for her senses to separate and identify.
Then again, considering the impact even from this far away…was it really safe for anyone if she managed to track down that smell?
Chapter 2
Conor
“H
ere she comes! Isn’t she wonderful, Dad?” Chrissy whispered, her bright gaze locked upon a graceful figure prancing into view on the stage.
With a sigh, Conor Blake sat up straighter. Damn, he’d really been hoping to sneak in a nap.
“Which one are you talking about?” A single pinpoint pricked the back of his neck, as if a mosquito had stung him beneath the collar of his dress shirt. Damn
East Texas
insects. He reached up to rub his neck.
Too enraptured with the ballet, Chrissy didn’t even look his way as she swatted his forearm. “Oh Dad, you know who I’m talking about. Lorena Childs, the dancer who just came on stage. She’s the best dancer I’ve ever seen.” Her whisper dropped lower. “And someday I’m going to be just like her.”
“Aren’t twelve year olds supposed to want to be pop stars or actresses or something?” he whispered.
“That was last year,” she whispered back with a grin, though her gaze never wavered from the action on the stage.
I wonder how much this dream’s going to cost me,
he wondered as he settled into his chair and stared up at the ceiling’s ornate molding. Oh well. Chrissy had stuck with ballet longer than any of the other hundred and one activities she’d tried. Just the smile on her face right now was worth the cost of the dance lessons. And having to sit through another boring ballet. Since her mother had died four years ago, those smiles had grown increasingly rarer and all the more precious.
“Dad, you’re missing it!” Chrissy hissed, tugging at his sleeve.
With a long sigh, he lowered his chin to his chest, flicking his bored gaze up to the stage. And felt the air in his lungs go still.
The woman gliding through the air over the stage was beautiful. But more than that, she was…unreal. Otherworldly. Definitely like nothing he’d ever seen before, that was for sure. After a solid week of hearing nothing but “Miss Childs this…and Miss Childs that…”, he hadn’t known what to expect from the professional ballerina who had so enamored his daughter after guest teaching at Miss Catherine’s Academy of Dance.
But he hadn’t expected this…
She wasn’t as skinny as he’d assumed all ballerinas were. Lorena seemed more like sculpted marble, with an actual hint of strength in the lean muscling of her arms and legs. He couldn’t make out much of her face from here and hadn’t seen a need to bring binoculars for eighth row seating. But there was something in the line that curved from her ear to her shoulder…something in the way she held her head as she pretended to stare with adoration at her Romeo.
Intriguing.
She performed a series of turns, aided by her dance partner’s hands at her waist, then stopped and faced the audience. Her costume was more like a filmy white nightgown, tight at the chest, then falling in loose folds to swirl around her calves. Heat shot through him, followed closely by something else. Another pricking pain at the back of his neck. Then another, and another, until the stings rippled outward over his shoulders and down his arms like a swarm of bees on the attack.
What the hell? Was someone using power here tonight?
They had to be. The only time he’d ever felt this prickling sensation was when a fellow descendant of The Clann used power within a few hundred yards of him. Except this feeling couldn’t be coming from a fellow descendant. He’d already scanned the audience before the house lights had dimmed at the start of the ballet. He knew every member of The Clann, and he and his daughter were the only ones in attendance tonight. He also would have heard if any of them were helping out with the show. Chrissy’s powers wouldn’t kick in until she hit puberty in a year or two. And no woman, no matter how stunningly beautiful, had ever made him lose control over his own power. So if it wasn’t Chrissy and it wasn’t him…
He sat up, hands gripping his knees, his gaze unmoving from the female dancer spinning like a top within her partner’s grasp. The prickling had begun as soon as she’d taken the stage. For a brief second when she stopped turning, he could have sworn she looked right back at him. Her wide eyes shown a pale silver just before her partner sank to his knees and lifted her into the air, forcing her to look away.
Could this Lorena Childs somehow be an unknown descendant of The Clann?
He’d always believed The Clann’s elders had full knowledge of the identities and whereabouts of every descendant. After all, knowing who had their families’ power-laced blood was crucial to ensure that every descendant knew how to control those abilities and protect their secrets. The ability to use real magic was only acceptable in the movies. No one really wanted to worry about whether they were under someone else’s magical control. And here in
Taylorsville
, a small city big on its Bible belt beginnings, if the descendants’ ability to use power was ever revealed by even one person, every member of The Clann would be in trouble. They all had to keep track of their fellow descendants.
But what if the elders had missed identifying one?
Once again upon her toes, Lorena spun away then returned to her Romeo’s embrace. Conor couldn’t take his gaze off of her hands and the way they caressed her partner’s cheek and shoulder.
Hands that looked so graceful yet must be casting a spell right now.
The prickling sensation spread over the backs of his hands, drawing a scowl across his face. Lorena was impressive, he’d give her that. It had to take some kind of focus to use power and dance on stage before an audience of hundreds at the same time. But why was she doing it? So she could dance better? And what kind of descendant had the strength to use this amount of power for so long? The feeling should have begun to fade or at least grow in intensity to signal the nearing climax of the spell. Yet it continued to swarm over his skin at a steady level.
His fingers literally itched to rub at his skin. Instead, he gripped his thighs even as fury welled up to burn his throat. His gut told him the prima ballerina was the cause of this prickling sensation, but he would have to stick around after the show to be sure. If Miss Lorena Childs was the one so blatantly using power before an audience of hundreds, he would be personally escorting her to the elders himself.
