Page 56 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Roan catches my gaze and smirks. “You keep looking at me like that, Mouse, and I’ll start thinking you’ve got something to say.”

Heat prickles at the back of my neck, but I refuse to look away. Instead, I roll my eyes. “I was thinking. It’s our first night like this.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “Like what?”

“In a room. Safe.” I shift slightly where I sit, curling my fingers around the edge of the bed. “Just... existing.”

Roan considers that, twirling the knife between her fingers. “Yeah. Feels strange, doesn’t it?”

I nod, the admission heavy in my chest. “I’m not sure what to do with it.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You? The one who lived in a noble estate? Surely you had entire nights of leisure.”

I snort. “You think I lived in some grand hall with endless banquets and dancers twirling through the night?”

Her grin deepens, eyes glinting with mischief. “Didn’t you?”

I hesitate, a slow smile tugging at my lips. “Not exactly. There were gatherings, of course, but they weren’t…free. The dances were more about appearances, proper form, careful steps. They weren’t something I enjoyed.”

“But you’ve danced before?” she asks.

I shrug. “Only because I had to.”

Roan hums in mock contemplation, drumming her fingers against the windowsill before pushing away from it with easy grace. “That’s a damn shame.”

I narrow my eyes. “What is?”

“That you’ve never danced for the hell of it.”

A laugh escapes me. “I fail to see the tragedy.”

Roan steps forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator testing the waters before a lunge. Then she extends a hand, palm up, calloused fingers slightly curled. “Then let’s fix it.”

I blink at her, utterly lost. “Fix what?”

“You,” Roan says simply. “Dancing. Because you want to.”

I stare at her outstretched hand like it’s some kind of trick, something sharp hidden behind the offer. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.” Her smirk is smug, but there’s something softer beneath it. An invitation.

I shake my head, crossing my arms. “There’s no music.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “We don’t need any.”

I hesitate. Roan has a way of making ridiculous things sound simple, as if they are just a matter of willpower and confidence. And maybe that’s what draws me in—that ease, the way she fills a space like she belongs there.

Like I could belong there too.

Before I can overthink it, I place my hand in hers.

Her fingers wrap around mine, warm and steady. “Come on,” she murmurs, leading me out onto the small wooden balcony attached to our room.

The night air is cool against my damp skin, the town’s lights flickering below us like fireflies trapped in glass.

Roan turns to me, lifting my hand. “Just follow my lead.”

I let out a slow breath, standing stiffly as she guides me into the first steps. It’s awkward at first—her grip sure, mine hesitant. The wooden planks creak beneath us, and the night hums with a distant breeze.

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