Reverence - Book 2

- 6 -

My manicured fingers curled into my nude tights.

In, out, in, out, in.

The braised flesh beneath warned at the agitation, a sharp jibe.

I was suddenly aware of the booming patter of satin shoes on stage. The quiet whine of tight hairs on steel strings. The scuffle of ballerinas falling in their shadows along the stage, waiting to glide effortlessly onto their effervescent ques and twirl dizzyingly into bleak white lights.

And a rough thump.

It was baritone and it sent firm tremors through my legs. Like it was clenching the floor and rattling the entire earth. It was steady behind my knees, at the base of my collarbones.

Pinpricks behind my eyes.

I drew in a very shallow breath, head nodding tediously to the counts of the orchestra. A stage director stood behind me, mindlessly tap tap tapping her pen to the rhythms against her clip board.

Like a neglected marionette, my head turned to her, eyes firing in the dim regress. The daggers reached her and she startled, shoulders jumping at my glower.

"Yelena."

Whispered a voice. My head snapped forward once more, nails itching deeper into my slick thighs.

I wanted to peer around those heavy velvet hands that ensnared the stage. But I knew that seeing the fullness of those seats would not downturn any live wire nerves that coursed through me.

Exasperate would be more appropriate.

"Yelena."

The whisper came again.

The crescendo of the score was winding close, the febrility of the music and the scurrying of dancers could not out run the dead sprint of my heartbeat.

It was too loud, the lights were squinting my sensitive eyes, my chest began to heave and that sickly turn in my stomach locked at my knees.

Just as the ice settled into my feet, a harsh hand catapulted me from the recluse of my safety and I found myself standing gracefully on pointe in the middle of the stage.

All eyes on me.

With the softest whistle of a breath past my teeth and the most gentle lull I pulled languidly from the tips of my fingers to the gentle firmness of my pointe shoe.

And I moved.

The cajoling of the bells feathered me about the stage, my feet lithe as a shadow gliding through a quiet summers eve.

I felt the squeeze of my lips and the tightness of my cheeks upholding the demure smile.

I felt suddenly so strong, wind bustling my sails and I felt weightless as I transitioned seamlessly into the first extension of my long toned leg.

With the gentle tilt of my chin I had finally set jeweled eyes on my captivated audience. Rows upon rows of eager eyes hungrily taking in the fluidity of my body.

There, suddenly but so slowly, I found myself falling dead to the tinkering concerto. My body turned, like it was being pulled by shiny silver strings. I forced my head to turn with it, my smile weakening as I felt a device waver behind my knees.

I knew them, for I had seen them. Haunting me from my shadows.

Dark, sensuous eyes. Watching. Preying.

Like a hurricane I spun wildly, my head a revolving door catching lightning quick glances at them.

A breathtaking statement of a woman, wearing blue silk and white fur.

Around.

With golden hair that fell down her shoulders like hearty waving wheat.

Around.

Those eyes, they followed me.

Around.

Dangerous carved cheekbones precisely powdered, honey fox eyes narrowing.

Around.

Those eyes, they knew me.

Around.

Her lips were pursed, the way they do when your tongue caresses a lemon.

Around.

Those eyes, they were hungry.

Around.

Around.

Around...

Those eyes. They were undressing me.

Around.

The applause snapped my reality into focus. I was dizzy, willing my head still.

But I knew that it wasn't from that petulant dance. No. I could pirouette relentlessly on the steadiest of shores, but this was a new wave of commotion.

It was those eyes, catching me dizzy on my comedown. The ones that held so much fucking power.

The outpouring of congratulations seemed far away, muffled almost. All I could focus on was the sharp staccato of those strong, weathered hands. I followed those hands along the clean press of his black suit, the smirk placed on those lips.

And his eyes. The storming roil within them. The dominating power of...

Luca.

As I was loosing myself in this eyes, a red silent snake slithered into my Eden, her fingers clutching possessive along the inside of his thigh.

Any other man would have melted against the sensuous graze of Asa.

But those eyes remained in my breadth.

Hungry.

Preying.

Proud.