Page 115 of Dance of Devils
“Well,a pleasureto meet you, Brooklyn. If you haveanybrains at all, you’ll stay away from this”—she jabs a finger at Dove—“fuckingtrain wreck.”
Without another word, she spins and clip-clops out the door, slamming it shut behind her.
Dove exhales slowly, turning away and shoving her fingers through her silvery pink hair.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She nods, still facing away as she brushes perhaps a tear from her eye.
“Yeah,” she mutters. “Fine.” She turns back to me, sighing. “Sorry about that that. She’s…well,obviouslythe Queen of Hell, and I don’t mean that as a compliment.” Dove's brows pinch. “She just says stupid shit all the time, accuses me of…whatever she’s seen on the news.” She rolls her eyes. “My family is…” She shakes her head again, looking away. “Insane. Sorry.”
I shake my head. “No apology necessary. I get insane families, trust me.” I bark a cold laugh. “My dad left before I was born, my mom OD-ed when I was a kid, and my stepfather, who I’m currently trying to keep out of prison, lost custody of me when I was nine, which is how I wound up in foster care.”
Dove smiles wryly. “I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks, but there's no need.” I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m just saying, I get families who don’t do what they're supposed to for you.”
She nods before suddenly jerking her head up. “Hey,” she grins, “wanna throw paint balloons at a canvas with me? It’s super fun, andgreatfor aggression.”
My lips pull into a smile. “Definitely.”
Kir isn’t back yetwhen I get home. I’m a bit fidgety, and still sulking a little about the step I was practicing earlier that led to the pain in my ankle.
Dove’s right: I should be icing and resting it. But I do the opposite.
In the ballroom of Kir’s house—yes, the literal fuckingballroom—I put on some dancewear and pointe shoes and get to work.
I grit my teeth as my ankle screams at me. But I push on, forcing myself to repeat the sequence until I know there’s no way I’ll mess it up ever again.
“You should be resting that ankle.”
I gasp, whipping around to see Kir standing in the doorway. He’s in his usual armor—dark suit, white dress shirt, no tie—and the black pools of his eyes bore into me from across the room.
“I didn’t even hear you come in,” I breathe.
He arches a brow, a smile teasing his mouth. “I’ve been watching for a while,” he says. “That was very good.”
I won’t lie, Ilovethe swell of pride in my chest that accompanies his praise.
“All the same…” He furrows his brow, lifting a hand to point. “You need to rest that ankle. Whatever you've done to it, you’re clearly favoring it.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. And I need to keep going. The callback for theImperiya Koronais in?—”
“I’maware,” he growls. “You still need to listen to your body.”
“I am,” I toss back, still panting a little from exertion. “And it says I’m fine.”
Kir’s dark eyes narrow. “Sit and rest, Brooklyn.”
“I’mokay,” I say, rotating my ankle with a grimace. “I’m going to keep?—”
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he growls.
“And I don’t takeordersfrom you,” I say testily.
Kir’s eyes glint, his jaw rippling as he clenches it. An eager thrill tingles through me. But suddenly, without a word, he turns and marches from the room.
“Sothere,” I mutter at his retreating back, feeling smug.
