Page 6 of Daughter of a Monster

I twist my hands, knotting and mangling my fingers together until they protest with pain. Dominic reaches across and stills them. I flash him a look, surprised he still wants to be friends with the daughter of a monster.

“Stop acting like you’re nervous,” he whispers.

Miss Marchand, sitting at the front of the room alongside Mr Priest and his men, shoots us a deadly glare. I risk responding anyway.

“I’m not nervous,” I insist.

Dominic just smiles. He knows it’s a lie.

Monique finishes with a flourish and we all break into applause. Her performance was a classical piece. And as much as I dislike her, there’s no denying the girl can dance. I don’t know if she actually wants the position or if she’s just doing the audition for a chance to shine.

Miss Marchand moves her glasses to peer down at the notebook in her lap. “Master Keating. Demi-soloist.” She says nothing more as Dominic walks to the center of the room and bows theatrically.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Priest. Today I have chosen a modern piece which I believe will demonstrate my versatility and strength.”

A thudding beat fills the room and I smile. Dominic is energetic, a smirk covering his face for most of the performance. He doesn’t want the job. Everyone knows it. He’s only auditioning because it means he’ll hold the attention of the room. But despite his magnetic movements, my eyes find their way back to Jericho Priest.

He’s staring straight at me and for the briefest of moments our eyes lock. My heart beats a little faster. I still can’t make out the color of his eyes. They are dark and shrouded in shadows, sending a delicious shiver through my body. A flash stabs through my mind. It’s the same as usual.

Sexual. Dark. Depraved.

Fingers digging into my skin. Nails drawing blood. The sound of my heaving breath filling a dark space. The glint of mysterious eyes.

Only this time the person in my vision isn’t faceless.

It’s Jericho Priest.

My breath catches in my throat as our eyes remain locked. I’ve never had a vision with someone in it before. They are always filled with faceless men and blurred expressions.

My heart beats wildly. I meet his gaze defiantly, needing to know, why him? It feels like an eternity before he looks away, and the loss of his gaze hits me hard. There is no change in his expression, no glint to his eye. He looked at me the same way he’s looked at everything since he first arrived. With boredom.

We all clap when Dominic finishes his performance. Some even wolf-whistle. Miss Marchand rolls her eyes then adjusts her glasses to peer down at the notebook in her lap again. Three more dancers audition before she finally says my name.

“Miss E.J. Berkley. Apprentice.”

The snickers start immediately. Whispered barbs. Cold glares.

For the first time, Mr Priest’s eyes narrow. And for a moment I wonder if he knows, if the news has already reached him.

“Apprentice?” he questions. His voice is deep, sounding like gravel compared to the high squeak of Miss Marchand’s. “There is no need for her to audition. I need someone with experience.”

“Of course, of course,” Miss Marchand flaps her hands, turning her notebook over as though it holds all the answers. “How rude of me. Of course you would only want the best for your… your ward.” She smiles nervously then wiggles her shoulders in such a way she looks like a peacock preening. “Maybe I should have auditioned for the role myself.” She laughs and gives Mr Priest a coy smile which he doesn’t return.

Disappointment rips through me. Without the chance to audition I have nowhere to go.

I can’t be the daughter of a monster again.

I won’t do it.

And I can’t go home.

I just can’t.

My stomach begins to cramp. It’s always the start of my panic attacks. I hate them. They make me feel weak. They manifest as physical pain that radiates through my body until I’m left defenseless and lying on the ground, either that or panting with arousal as unwanted sensual images rip through my mind on repeat.

“Well then, Juliet you’re up next. Juliet is part of the corps de ballet who’s been with the company for—”

I clear my throat and step forward, ignoring the pounding of my heart and willing away the pain in my gut. “I understand your hesitation in employing an inexperienced dancer, but I give you my assurance that you won’t find anyone more committed to the challenge. I have a wonderful rapport with children. I—”

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