Page 23 of Daughter of a Monster

I wink. “Right, first song. Let me know what you think.”

I start to sway as the music plays. Closing my eyes, I stretch my arms slowly, not following any particular moves or pattern but letting the music control me, toss and twist my body like a leaf caught in the wind. When I open my eyes again, Ette’s looking at me curiously, not moving.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s beautiful, but it’s very sad,” she says.

Flicking through my phone, I keep scrolling. “How about this?”

The plucking of guitar strings fills the room. I take her hands and start swinging them, pulling funny faces as the music increases its pace. She laughs when I hook my arm through hers and start turning us in circles.

“I like this one!” she says.

I let go of her and place my hands on my hips, doing a little jig. Ette laughs again and claps her hands.

“You see,” I say, dancing around her. “Dance isn’t only about control and discipline, it’s also about letting go. Feeling the music. Feeling the rhythm.” Since releasing her hands, Ette has merely stood and watched me. “Close your eyes,” I instruct. “Don’t worry about what you look like, if you’re doing it right or doing it wrong. Just move.”

I let the music overtake me, purposely doing outlandish and silly motions in order to make her laugh. After a few moments, Ette joins in, closing her eyes and beginning to sway her hips.

We go through song after song, some of them causing Ette to screw up her face, some of them making her leap to her feet and start dancing.

We’re running around the room, jumping and flinging our arms dramatically when the doors bang loudly. I turn, breathless, messy and flushed to find Jericho Priest standing near the stereo. Ette pulls herself to a stop, smoothing down the wayward strands of her hair and standing with her hands demurely clasped together.

He’s dressed differently this time. More casually. He’s wearing jeans and a shirt, the top buttons undone, allowing a glimpse of black ink. His hair is closely shaved at the sides and long on top. His jaw is dusted in stubble.

I race over and press the pause button. “Good afternoon, Mr Priest,” I say breathlessly.

He merely nods. “Miss Berkley.”

A cold shudder runs through me even though perspiration dots my forehead. “We were just—”

“I saw,” he says, his voice gruff and stern.

Again, I shudder, but this time it’s for an entirely different reason. There’s something about the timbre of his voice. Something dark. Something broken. Something that speaks to me in the same way music speaks to the soul.

Ette walks over with quick clipped steps and curtseys. “Good afternoon, Mr Priest.”

“Good afternoon, Ette. I hope you are enjoying your first lesson with Miss Berkley.”

Ette’s eyes gleam and she grins. “She doesn’t like being called Miss Berkley, it makes her feel like you’re telling her off.”

I flush, thinking that for some reason I wouldn’t mind if he were the one doing the scolding.

I’m bent over a knee. His knee. “Are you ready, Miss Berkley?” he asks, his voice both commanding and teasing.

I nod, my chest tight with anticipation. A sharp slap sears across my backside.

“One,” he says.”

I desperately try to shake away the mental picture and bring my attention back to reality.

Mr Priest lifts an eyebrow. “Very well then. How was your first lesson with Miss Berkley?”

Ette laughs. “You did it again.”

Jericho Priest smiles, an actual genuine smile. “So I did. Come, take my hand and you can tell me all about it on the way back to your rooms. Miss Berk—” He smiles again. “Berkley can come with us so she knows the way and that way she won’t be late next time.”

He shoots me a look, one eyebrow raised and I desperately pray the heat I experienced during my flash isn’t displayed on my face.

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