Page 37 of In Shadows We Dance

My pulse spikes. I veer off the drive, plunging into the trees. Branches claw at my skin, tearing at my clothes, but I don’t stop. Ican’tstop.

"Her blood looks so pretty against her skin." Another voice comes from somewhere to my left. "Let's see how much more we can make her bleed."

I change direction, lungs burning, but the first voice is ahead now.

"Getting tired yet?” It’s a taunt, a knife aimed straight at my resolve. “Dance has taken its toll, hasn't it? Makes you weak. Makes you slow."

There’s a blinding flash of light. Someone’s phone. The afterimage burns into my vision, leaving me disoriented. More lights flicker on, weaving a strobe effect through the woods, turning every shadow into a threat.

"Your fear makes you more beautiful." Wren's voice cuts through the chaos, smooth and calm. "Every gasp, every stumble adds to your performance, Ballerina."

I push harder, my legs shaking, but his words cling to me, burrowing their way into my mind. He’s watching, savoring my panic, documenting my terror like it’s another masterpiece for his collection.

"Nowhere to run, Ghost Girl," the second voice mocks. It has to be Nico. "These woods go on forever. No one will hear you scream."

Another flash of light, closer this time. I catch glimpses oftheir faces. Monty’s grin. Nico’s hungry eyes. Wren’s predatory focus as he raises his phone to capture me.

“Think she’ll scream when we catch her?” Monty’s voice drips with sadistic glee.

“Oh, she will,” Wren replies, his tone almost gentle. “I’ll make sure of it.”

A branch snaps behind me, and I push harder, ignoring the burn in my legs, the pain in my feet.

“The things we’re going to do to you,” Nico whispers, his voice a promise of violence. “You’ll beg us to stop.”

A laugh echoes through the darkness. Low, mocking, and close. “No, she won’t. She’ll beg me to continue.” Wren again. "Your heart must be pounding. Fear makes such beautiful music. Do you think I can hear it from here, Ballerina?"

"Want to see what we do to girls who run?" Monty from my left.

A shadow looms ahead. I swerve, but I have no idea where I am anymore. Every rustle, every sound could be them, closing in.

"Look how she trembles." Wren’s voice is silk, dark and smooth. "Every movement a dance of terror. You’re so perfect when you’re scared. So helpless." He pauses, and I can hear the smile in his words. "Scream for me, Ileana. I want to hear you."

I crash through a thicket, thorns tearing into my skin, drawing fresh blood. It streaks down my arms, warm and sticky, the scent mingling with the cold night air. My breath comes in ragged bursts, my vision blurring as tiredness pulls at me.

"Run, pretty Ballerina." Wren's voice curls around me, dark and seductive. "Run until your legs give out. Run until you collapse. And then I’ll be there to catch you. To claim you."

I run harder, but my body is failing me. Every step is agony, every breath a struggle. The dance has drained me, left me vulnerable, easy prey.

“Such a beautiful performance. But it’s time for the curtain to fall.”

This is what they wanted all along. The ballroom was just the opening act.

CHAPTER 18

Blood Ballet

WREN

I can almost tasteher fear, bitter and electric in the air, burning its way through my veins. Each jagged breath she takes fuels me, heightening the primal rush that surges with every beat of my heart.

Her footsteps crash through the underbrush, a staccato rhythm that pulls me forward. She’s nearby, and the anticipation of closing the distance, of seeing her breath, sends a shiver of satisfaction down my spine.

Monty and Nico are doing their part well, herding her like prey into the clearing ahead. But I stay back, hidden in the trees, tracking her every desperate move. The rush of watching her without her knowing, of being the unseen predator, stokes the fire burning inside me.

She bursts into the clearing, and the moonlight wraps around her like a spotlight. Her hair catches the silvery light, and for a moment, she looks otherworldly—like something torn from a dream, fragile and feral all at once.

She stumbles, but recovers quickly, her body shifting with the same instinctive grace that captivated me in the ballroom. Even now, even with terror coursing through her, she moves with a precision that feels deliberate. Like she was born for this dance.

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