Page 98 of The Failed Audition

My body shakes, the hairs on my arms rising. To distract myself from the cold, I sit on the edge of his metallic comforter, his bed made, his room minimal and modern. Spotless, the perks of hotel maids, I guess.Why are you thinking about hotel maids, Thora?

Because I feel him towering. I feel him studying me. He slips into the closet for a second, and I tighten my legs together for heat, my shoulders locked and curved forward. When he returns, he carries a black Aerial Ethereal sweatshirt and he holds it out to me.

I’m not too prideful to reject it. I pull the sweatshirt over my head, the soft fabric dwarfing my build, the hem at my knees. The longer we share company in silence, the longer my chestconstricts. I strain my neck to look up at Nikolai. He nears me, and very slowly, he kneels, his hand on my thigh, now more eye-level than before.

I remain fixed and unmoving. My face tight. I just wait for him to fill the cavernous quiet.

The first thing he says is, “Are you okay?”

“Can’t you read me?” My voice is stilted and as cold as I feel.

His eyes finished their dance across my features long ago. “You’re angry and confused, and you wish I hadn’t hit your friend. You’re also upset that he left early, but you won’t admit that to me. And you’re freezing right now.”

My nose flares at his on-point assumptions.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I’m not the kind of man who’d stand by while someone berates you. Even if he’s your friend.”

“You’re twice his size,” I refute.

“It’s not like he was defenseless, Thora. He’s anathlete.”

And he assumed right. Again. Probably based on Shay’s height, frame, build—like he did me that first night in Vegas. “Can you at least pretend to be full of remorse and regret?”This would be so much easier.

“No. A devil protects his demon.”

I scowl.

His gaze flits all over me, branding me like the tip of a fire-poker. His sandalwood scent dizzies my head, and I try to stay resilient under his masculinity, the dominance that is nearly begging him to stand up, lay me back against his mattress and take control of me.

I can tell that he struggles to keep still on his knees. “Have you slept with him before?” There’s something in Nik’s eyes, something kept secret from me. I wonder if it’s jealousy. Or fear.

“No,” I say. “Shay set me up on a date with his teammate. He has no interest in me like that.” A chill runs up my spine, and a shiver snakes back down.

Nikolai rubs his hands along the tops of my thighs, the friction immediately warming the coldest parts of me.

I shut my eyes for a second, thinking. Trying to place why I feel so strange. And the thought clicks. I have to release this off my chest. When I open my eyes, his gray irises pierce me in questioning, a raging powerful storm.

With a sharp inhale, I’m swept in it.

“I didn’t choose you,” I tell him. The pain of the statement is a hot, metal knife, wedged between my ribs. “I chose the circus.” It barely alleviates the sting.Why does that hurt?If it was the truth, it shouldn’t hurt this badly. Right? It can’t be a lie. Because then Shay is right. Everything he said—

“I’m glad,” Nikolai says each word like they’re weighted with cement. His eyes redden the longer he holds my gaze, suppressing more emotion.

My chin quakes.He’s glad.I nod a couple times, letting this sink in.

And then he lifts me in his arms and tucks me to his chest, warmth blanketing me. We’re on his bed, beneath his comforter in seconds, and he just holds me, strong, muscular arms wrapped around my frame.

I press my forehead to his collar, trying not to shiver so much. He kisses my cheek and whispers soft Russian words that bathe my skin in heat. I turn them over in my mind, clinging onto what sounds like:Vot moe serce. And then others…that I can’t uncover.

I tilt my chin up, silently asking.

He repeats the Russian words, so deeply, but refuses to translate this time. It’s enough as it is. Whatever the meaning, it leaves me sweltering.

ACT TWENTY-NINE

“Are you still complicated, Thora?!” the hostess of The Red Death yells at me for the countless time. I now know her as Erin, twenty-four, aspiring model, friend of Camila’s.

I’ve been snatching the red “it’s complicated” necklace since Nikolai and I started dating, and likewise, I’ve never seen him without the red glowstick. So my choice is an easy one.

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