Page 155 of In Shadows We Dance

Wren's eyes lock on mine, a challenge there, a spark of something more. "What do you think we should do, Ballerina?"

I meet his gaze, holding it for a moment before a smile tugs at my lips. "Why bother?" I lean against his desk. "Some secrets aren't worth worrying about. It’ll be obvious they cheated at some point without us having to prove it."

His smile turns predatory, his eyes darkening with something possessive, something primal.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, his grip on my hip tightening. "You're learning, aren't you? To pick and choose what secrets to share and which to keep."

"We should probably finish getting you settled," Monty says, closing the laptop. He stretches, shooting Wren an amused look. "Before you get distracted again."

For the next few hours, we unpack, finding places for everything in our new space. Nico complains about the heavy lifting while Monty actually helps, and it feels almost normal—even if the circumstances that brought me here are anything but.

When the sun starts to set, casting long shadows through the tall windows, Monty stretches dramatically. "Well, that's all the manual labor you're getting out of me today." He bumps Nico's shoulder. "Come on, we've got that thing."

Wren walks them out, his fingers trailing possessively down my spine as he passes. The quiet settles around me like a blanket as their footsteps fade. This wing of the house holds so many mysteries, so many unopened doors. I find myself drawn to explore, trailing my fingers along the walls, wondering what secrets Wren's family home contains.

I'm lost in these thoughts when his hand closes around my wrist, stopping me mid-step. His touch is different—tighter, less careful than usual. When I look up at him, there's something in his eyes I've never seen before, something that makes my breath catch.

"Close your eyes." His voice is low and intense.

I obey without hesitation, letting him guide me through the halls. The air grows cooler, stiller, as if we're walking into aplace time forgot. He positions me carefully, his hands firm on my shoulders.

"Keep them closed."

I hear the click of a key in a lock, the creak of heavy hinges. His hands drop down to my hips, pulling me back against him. "Now open them."

Moonlight spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a space that seems frozen in time. Mirrors line one wall, their surfaces clouded with age but still managing to capture our silhouettes like ghosts in the darkness. A ballet barre runs the length of the room, its wooden surface worn to a dark sheen by countless hours of practice.

Wren's hand finds the switch, and soft light blooms from crystal sconces. In one corner, an ancient record player sits in state, surrounded by vinyl records. But it's the glass display case that draws my eye. Inside, a pair of pointe shoes rests on midnight blue silk, the satin faded to the color of dried blood.

"This was my grandmother's studio," Wren says, his voice thick with something that sounds like pride and possession tangled together. His fingers dig into my hips as he walks me toward the glass display case. "She was a prima ballerina with the Royal Ballet. Their youngest ever." His breath is hot against my neck as we stare at the shoes.

"She understood what it meant to be consumed by perfection." Each word falls like a stone in still water. "To push past every limit until there's nothing left but grace and steel and hunger." His eyes find mine in the clouded mirror, burning with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "She would have understood what I see when I watch you dance."

I step closer to the case, drawn by the history it contains. My fingers hover just above the glass, not quite touching. "What happened to her?"

"She had a stroke when I was eleven." His grip tightens, fingers pressing into my skin. "One minute she was dancing, the next ..."He trails off, and I feel the tension in his body. "Everything is exactly as she left it that morning. This room hasn't been opened since the day she went into the hospital."

The raw edge in his voice, the way his fingers press into my skin … it's a glimpse into his past. I turn in his arms, drawn to the vulnerability beneath his usual control. But the darkness I see in his eyes now isn't grief. It's need.

"Dance for me here, where she used to dance. Let me watch you move in her space."

How can I refuse?

I take off my shoes and step into the center of the room. The urge to move, to let my body express everything I can't put into words, takes over. I begin to dance, slowly at first, letting my muscles warm up, then faster, the movements flowing into one another, my feet barely touching the ground.

I don't hear Wren move, but I can feel his presence. A dark, electric current that shifts the air, making every nerve in my body stand at attention. I spin to a stop, my breath coming in quick gasps, and find him watching, dark eyes intense.

"Don't stop." His voice is a dark growl laced with that obsession I love so much. "I need to see you. Every part of you, mine to watch."

There's no fear in me anymore, no urge to hide. Holding his gaze, I peel off my T-shirt and toss it to one side, then push down my yoga pants. In my bra and panties, I dance, my body moving to an unspoken rhythm, my eyes never leaving his. His gaze is possessive, admiring, and hungry.

When I finally stop, he's across the room in a heartbeat, his hands seizing my waist, pulling me flush against him. His eyes are dark, burning with something almost feral. His breath is hot, ragged, against my ear.

"You're mine, Ballerina. I'm going to etch that into every inch of you." His grip tightens, his voice vibrating through me. "Until there's nothing left but us. Just you and me—consumed by thismadness."

The east wing is just the beginning. Another step in the dark, twisted dance that binds us, born from obsession and sealed in shadows. A life forged from intensity and a hunger that will never be sated.

It will consume us, devour everything that stands in our way, until there's nothing left but this raw, visceral connection between us.

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