Page 2 of Juliet & Her Romeos

I was abandoned in this academy four years ago, when I was sixteen. But Swan was sold here by his pack, when he was barely out of kindergarten.

Yet he’s never been broken by this place.

I concentrate on my warm-up stretches to distract myself. I shiver in the cold of the shadowy practice room.

It’s abandoned.

Forbidden.

It’s also at the far end of the academy, however, where Swan and I are least likely to get caught.

We’re breaking the rules by fitting in extra practice together after curfew.

We’ll be punished, if we’re caught.

But the risk is worth it.

I’ve spent years being controlled and in fear within the walls of this academy.

In two weeks, however, I have the chance to dance on the stage in the R & J Choosing of the Principals contest.

Each couple will perform as Romeo and Juliet.

I’ll risk breaking my wings now, in order to fly from my cage then.

My nose wrinkles at the musty stench.

Dust lies as thick as the snow outside the windows over the antique, mahogany piano in the corner. The ceiling is low with creeping tendrils of damp. At the far side is a huge walk-in closet. A second, closed door leads to corridors on the other side.

The opposite wall is glass and looks out over the forest behind the academy. The red maples, ash trees, and Virginia pines are veiled in the night’s dark.

Moonlight illuminates the tips of the trees like silver stars.

I bite my lip.

My heart clenches, as I struggle to wrench away my gaze.

On the other side of those trees lies Romeo Hall.

Is Ambrose there now?

Does he remember me? He’s two years older than I am. We only know each other from stolen moments at high school.

So, why the hell does he feel like my Alpha?

I’ve been fostered into the Romeos now. But I’m originally from the Cinders.

The Cinders have been enemies with the Romeos for generations. We run the rival ballet company in Virginia.

And I still don’t know why my own family abandoned me with my enemies.

I force myself to stare into the floor-length cracked mirror, which rests in front of me, instead.

The mirror reflects fractured versions of myself back: slim and long limbed, with curly blond hair and startling lavender eyes.

I’m dressed in a thin black t-shirt with the purple rose emblem of the Romeos embroidered on it and black boxer shorts. My feet are bare on the icy wooden floor. Their soles are black with dust.

I lift my foot to rub at it with a grimace.

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