Shifter's Dance (9 page)

Laughter poured out of her as she scrambled to get
dressed, pulling on her clothes in a record time that would have
passed for fast backstage during a show. A few sharp tugs of
bristles through her hair, teeth brushed, ointment on the eyes.

I’m getting married.

The thought sent another round of giggles through
her, and she fumbled for her cane.

She rode the elevator impatiently down to the lobby,
listened for the sound of Myron’s cards slapping.

Nothing.

“Myron?” she called out tentatively.

“It’s five o’clock in the morning, Romy.” The other
woman’s voice was sleepy, and came from behind her.

“Oh! I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay. I can read your cards for you if you
want.”

“No. I just need to find Stephen. He’s on the second
floor?”

“You can’t go up there. The second floor is not for
humans. Besides, he’s at the lake.”

Myron gave her directions and sent her on her
way.

Cane tapping in front of her, she made slow
progress, but eventually she felt the cane hit water. She fumbled
around until she found a rock to sit on, and she waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Romy?” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver
down her spine.

“Good morning.” She held out a hand. It seemed to
hang in the air interminably before he took it, pressed it to his
wet beard. She relished the feel of the water running between her
fingers and down the backs of her hands. This was real. She was in
love and he was real.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’re okay?” A hint of laughter in his
voice.

“Yes, I’m okay, and yes, I’m yours. I’ll marry you.
I’ll mate with you.”

Suddenly he was pulling her off her backside and
into the water with him, his lips raining kisses over her face. She
laughed again, returning the kisses with equal enthusiasm as he
dragged her down to the ground with him.

“Mine,” he whispered, pulling back. She knew he was
looking at her, looking in her eyes. She nodded, touching his beard
again, feeling the edges of his smile under her fingertips.

His lips came down on hers, and she savored the
taste of him, the feel of him, his body pulsing against hers there
in the shallow water at the edge of the lake. When she reached for
the hem of her T-shirt, he took her hands and pinned them over her
head.

“Oh,
hell.”
His voice was rough, his hands
warm on her skin. She felt his lips close around one nipple,
suckling her right through the cotton, and she arched into his
touch, wanting him so madly she could climb inside him and not be
close enough.

“Please.”

“Yes.” He tore the wet fabric as he pulled the shirt
from her body, letting go of her hands to reach for the snap of her
jeans. Just as she was ready to shove them down her legs, he
stopped. “No, wait.”

His weight disappeared from her body and she felt
cold and alone. He reached down and pulled her to her feet.

“Not like this. I don’t want to do the joining like
this, groping each other on the hard ground because we can’t
control ourselves.”

“But I need you.” She didn’t whine it exactly, but
there wasn’t much dignity in her voice that moment.

“By my life, sweetheart, I need you too. But tonight
is the full moon. I want to bind myself to you as you bind yourself
to me, under the moon and the stars and make everything perfect.
Can’t I give that to you?”

She thought about it, running her hand across the
hair of his chest, her lip slipping between her teeth. Yes, he
could give that to her. After tonight, she’d have her whole life to
jump him.

“I’m going back to the Haus now,” she muttered as
she fumbled for her cane, lust still singing through her body. “You
know, I’m probably going to have to masturbate. And you won’t be
invited to watch.”

His hoot of laughter brought a smile to her face as
she realized how crude and petulant those words must have
sounded.

“Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“I want to marry you
and
your dirty mouth.”
He leaned in and his scent surrounded her as he pressed a kiss to
her lips. “Don’t ever doubt it. Here.” He pressed his clean, dry
shirt into her hands. “Sorry, I ripped your shirt.”

“I’m not.” She grinned, stroking his beard one more
time. “I look forward to you ripping more of them.”

* * * *

Stephen stood in the middle of the garden, fidgeting
while he waited for his mate. What if she changed her mind? When
she approached him, however, he could see the sureness in the set
of her features, in the broad smile on her face. She walked right
up to him, as though she could see him; she was that attuned to his
presence. When she reached up and touched the side of his face, he
knew the moment had arrived.

“What do I do?”

“Your soul, my soul, they’ll bond together. You have
to let your soul come to mine. It might feel like you can’t
breathe, but I’m right here. Trust in us.”

She nodded, and he reached for her hand.

“First, will you dance with me, Romy?” He took her
into his arms, savoring her smile. She laid her head on his chest
and followed his lead.

* * * *

He was amazing. He didn’t lead with the practiced
expertise of a ballroom dancer, nor did he have the seasoned grace
of a trained ballet dancer. But he had the smooth, lithe power of a
bear and the gentlest spirit she’d ever known. As he led her
through a sensual dance, she felt herself relaxing into his arms,
enjoying the contrasts. They didn’t have music; he led to the beat
of their hearts, the sounds of the garden around them. When he
slowed, then stilled, she knew it was time. She tilted her head up
for his kiss.

It was heady, emotional, and overwhelming. He nipped
lightly at her lips, beckoning her to follow him into a new dance,
a new pattern. She drew and held a shaky breath, letting go and
letting her soul seek his.

It seemed he was all around her, protecting her and
warming her even as her breath slipped away and her hands fisted in
his shirt. She felt a shudder work through her in that moment
between breaths, and his hands tightened on her waist, anchoring
her.

Then, she felt the most amazing moment of all, when
her soul met his and they joined together. His lips pressed against
hers in another fierce embrace, and she felt him smiling against
her.

“I love you, Romy,” he murmured, gathering her
close.

“Oh, Stephen, I love you. I didn’t realize it could
be…you’re amazing.” She hugged him tightly. And he was. She had
never felt so close, not to a lover, nor a dance partner. Their
souls, joined together, filled all the dark places inside her with
a rush of sweetness so new it was breathtaking.

He tugged her down to the ground with him, and she
felt soft, fragrant grass beneath them. The scent of jasmine
swirled around them, a scent she’d forever associate with the
Wiccan Haus, and with him.

“I love you,” she told him again, tugging at the
buttons on his shirt. A low rumble, and suddenly it was gone and
she was burying her fingers in the hair on his chest, nipping at
one of his nipples and feeling it harden under her teeth. He rolled
her onto her back, tearing the rest of her clothing in his
impatience.

She reached; he answered. They moved together, his
cock stretching her wide as she opened to him. When he was buried
inside, heat flamed up in her as they rocked together. She sensed
the wildness in him, the animal so close to the surface, and she
answered it with a wildness of her own. He took her hard; he took
her sweet, and as her orgasm crashed into her like a wave against
the shore, he roared her name and held her through the storm of
it.

They lay together under the moon and the stars, and
he stroked her face with his hand. She felt a sting in her nose as
he gathered her close. She pressed her lips to his chest, running
her hands through the hair.

“Are you…? Romy, are you crying?” he asked, a note
of fear in his voice.

“It’s a good cry,” she reassured him.

“I thought you said your tear ducts were
damaged?”

“They are, but my feelings aren’t.”

“Then why is my chest all wet?” He tipped her chin
up, and his finger brushed her cheek bone. He brought the fingertip
to her lips, and she tasted salt. She was crying tears. Real tears.
She sat up abruptly.

“I can cry!”

“Apparently.” She heard the smile in his voice.

“If my tear ducts are healing, maybe…” But no, the
world was still as dark as it was a moment before.

“It doesn’t matter to me, Romy. I love you just the
way you are. But I wouldn’t underestimate the magic of this
place.”

“I didn’t come here to get my vision back, Stephen.
I came to get my life back. I just didn’t know what that would
mean.”

“Do you regret this?” He pressed her hand to his
chest, over his beating heart.

“Never.” She tugged him down with her to ground
again, rising above him to claim her mate, and if tears spilled
between them as they made love, she knew they were joyful tears,
every one.

Edouard and Bruno were waiting on the front porch,
but they bounded out into the yard, both of them talking at once
when Stephen brought his mate home. Stephen and Romy had spent a
month with her family so he could get to know her parents, her
sisters. He’d spent a lot of that time developing a voice-activated
application for her to use to choreograph the dances she “saw” in
her head. When combined with a tablet and a stylus, she could
animate the little dancing figures he programmed. Sure, the male
lead looked a little ursine, but she didn’t need to know that. Her
former company had even offered to produce her first ballet, so
they’d be returning to the States soon.

Before they left, they’d had a small wedding
ceremony in her parents’ backyard, and now it was time for her to
meet
his
family. He looked at his brothers: the elegant
Edouard and the bashful Bruno. Before Romy, they’d been his entire
world, his family. He wanted them to welcome her with open arms. He
took a deep breath and pulled her forward.

“Guys, this is Romy Lewis Bonsaint. She’s my mate.”
Pride stirred in him at the blush that spilled across her cheeks,
knowing he had put it there.

“Hi.” She held out her hand, and Stephen grinned as
Edouard took it first. He bent over it and kissed the back of it
before straightening.

“
Enchanté
,
ma soeur.”

“You must be Edouard. It’s nice to meet you too.”
She turned slightly, extending the hand again, and Bruno shook it
gently.

“Welcome to the family.” His baby brother pulled her
into a hug, kissing each cheek.

“So, guys, can I keep her?” Stephen asked. They
grinned at him, and she laughed as they walked back toward the
house and she squeezed his hand in hers.

“What have you guys been up to? Any word from the
Syndicate?”

“No, things have been pretty quiet since your
incident at the resort,” Edouard said. “I’ve gotten a lot of work
done and Bruno finished his book.”

“So, if it’s all the same to you, I think we’re just
going to get out of your hair for a week or two,” Bruno said
casually. “You know, give you guys time to be alone.”

“Where are you going?” Romy asked.

“The Wiccan Haus.” Edouard smiled over his shoulder
at Stephen. “We hear it’s pretty awesome.”

I owe a huge thanks to Dominique Eastwick for the
encouragement and inspiration she provided, and to Liz Silver for
pushing me as a writer. This book would certainly never have
happened without the two of you.

Vanessa North was born in New England, but moved to
the South as a teenager. She reads voraciously, writes obsessively,
and takes thousands of photos of the people she loves.

She lives in Northwest Georgia with her husband, twin
boy-children, and a pack of dogs. Find her online at:

Website:
http://www.vanessanorth.com

Blog:
http://vanessanorthwrites.wordpress.com

Twitter:
@VanessaNWrites

Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/authorvanessanorth

If you are interested in contributing to the shared
world of Wiccan Haus, please send an email to:

[email protected]

You can also visit the Wiccan Haus blog at:

http://thewiccanhaus.blogspot.com/