Boston Avant-Garde 5: Bellicoso (11 page)

At the center of your being, you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want.

Malachi was certain it was an old Chinese proverb. Demon seemed to have one for every situation, but that one had forced Malachi to self-examine for the first time ever. Who was he, and what did he want?

“You’re nothing but a whore,” Seraph said. “I made you, and I can send you back to the hellhole where I found you.”

He smiled down at her because he knew it drove her crazy. “Try, Seraph. Try to send me back and see how far it gets you.”

Her only response was to snatch the file out of his hand and slap it back down on his desk before sweeping out of his office in a huff. He waited until the door slammed shut behind her to give in to his jelly knees.

In the blessed quiet she left in her wake, Malachi thought about what had just happened. He’d stood his ground against Seraph. The sky hadn’t fallen in. His life hadn’t ended. He hadn’t wound up back in her chambers missing his clothes and his dignity. All because a sassy bit of goods in a red dress had pranced into his life.

Chapter Ten

Selena’s hamstrings screamed in pain as she dipped her torso toward her legs. The floor was cool beneath her. She sat on the smooth wood and went through stretches she could do in her sleep. It felt so good. She savored the discomfort as a sign of being alive.

Her worn slippers still molded to her feet as if they’d been made just for her. She could feel every dip and curve in the leather soles, knowing exactly where the hot spots would be later on. Three years was a long time, long enough for her calluses to have softened, and the main reason she’d opted to leave her pointe shoes in the bag. There was no need to kill herself on the first day back.

“Are you ready?” Madame Denis entered the classroom and closed the door gently behind her. If the silver hairs mingled with the sable in her bun were any indicator, she was likely in her forties. She wore a sweater over her black leotard and tights. Her jazz shoes were taupe colored and battered as if she had worn them every day of her life. Selena immediately liked the woman with the stern lips and crow’s feet at the corners of her brown eyes.

Selena could see Lars outside leaning casually against the window as he watched. She could not believe she was actually doing this. It was either brilliance or insanity. Breathing deeply, she gained her feet. “I’m ready.”

“Why don’t we begin at the barre? Ms. Warren tells me it has been three years since you’ve danced.” There was a faint European accent coating the woman’s words, probably French.

The calm tone was reminiscent of the other teachers and mentors she’d had over the years. It soothed her agitation, and Selena found herself slipping into the contented place inside her head, the place where discipline came so easily. “Yes, Madame.”

Selena lightly rested her fingertips against the worn wood. The indentations from a thousand dancers who’d done the same were a comfort. She shook her shoulders and rotated her neck before lifting her chin and letting her muscles sink into the familiar stance.

Tinkling piano music from a stereo filled the large room. Madame began as if Selena were a child, going through the basic positions. Not long ago, Selena would have been incensed by the drill, insulted that Madame didn’t think her capable of doing more.

Not now. Selena let the instructions flow through her arms and legs. Muscle memory placed her feet in the correct positions, drew her leg up light against her knee en passé, to relevé, knees bending, hips turning out, and her left arm moving gracefully to balance her body as Madame began chaining together basic technical skills that had once been her whole world.

“Take your place on the floor please.” Madame didn’t pause in her instruction, allowing Selena but a moment to move from the barre to a spot in the middle of the room. “Follow me.”

Madame began counting out the beats as she demonstrated the choreography of a short list of steps that could be linked for a basic corps de ballet program. Selena’s brain began absorbing the movements, making mental notes of proper arm and leg position, the length an arabesque was held, how many pirouettes, and how the rhythm worked with the music playing in the background.

Madam stepped aside, placing herself against the mirrored wall. “Now you.”

Selena paused to gain her start position, still counting out the beats in her head. When she began to move, there was no thought or calculation behind it. She felt the music in her limbs, in the fluid movement of her body against the subtle air currents in the room. Arms up, toes out, letting her body weight create a momentum that sent her twirling effortlessly through the final three turns and then into a gentle step, arms relaxing to her sides, chin tipping down as she came to rest.

“Well done! Very well done!” Madame clapped lightly, interrupting Selena’s reverie.

Her body was pleasantly sore, but Selena felt refreshed in a way she hadn’t experienced since the moment the curtain had closed at the Opera House that last night she had performed with the Boston Ballet.

Madame handed Selena a bottle of water “I was there, that night at the Opera.”

“Not one of my better moments,” Selena said ruefully.

Madame gave an airy wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You are not responsible for the behavior of others.”

The water was cool against Selena’s parched throat, and Selena realized she was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. She reached for her hoodie, slipping her arms into the sleeves. It wouldn’t do any good to get chilled and pull a muscle just when she was starting to think things were moving in the right direction.

“I will be glad to have you in my advanced class.” Madame turned off the music and picked up her bag. “There are several dancers preparing to audition for various national ballet companies, and I have one or two students brushing up on their technique before heading off to schools in other cities. You’ll be a welcome addition.”

Selena was overwhelmed with gratitude, something not usually in her emotional range. “Thank you.”

“You may begin day after tomorrow, Wednesday, at eleven o’clock.” Madame escorted Selena out the door and back into the hallway. “Make sure to stretch in the meantime. You’ll stiffen up otherwise. And I think I will start your teaching career with the young ladies you saw finishing up when you arrived. They are a lively group, but eager to please. I’ll leave you notes on their progress, and I will observe until you feel comfortable enough to go solo.”

Selena had never been to Oz, but she was starting to feel a little bit like Dorothy. Her life had changed so rapidly in the last few months she wasn’t certain she’d even recognize the woman who had stood in front of the mirror in a designer wedding dress. Maybe Jackson had actually done Selena a favor when he’d torn a hole in her pampered princess facade.

* * * *

Seraph’s text hit Demon’s phone as he was parking his car at Triptych. It was tempting to erase the message and pretend it’d been lost in cyberspace. Unfortunately his overbearing employer had opted for the messaging feature that told the sender when the missive was received.

He typed off a response, musing that this version of communication was far better than the methods available when he’d started with Seraph fifteen years ago. There was nothing like listening to her screech echo off the club walls until she found someone to run her errands.

The car beeped when he pushed the Lock button. Stashing the fob in his jeans pocket, he strode into the deep shadows near the elevator. He opted for the stairs, disliking the close feeling of being shut in a tiny box with no ready escape. The claustrophobic sensation was one thing he refused to tolerate unless no other choice presented itself.

When he emerged in the narrow stairwell a few yards from Seraph’s chambers, one of the security officers he’d assigned to her detail was waiting for him.

“I was about to call you.” Lucas stabbed his fingers through his short dark hair. “She told me to get a car ready for a trip to New York, but there’s nothing on the schedule.”

Demon considered this new information. Lucas was ex-military like the other five men he’d handpicked for this job. Handling Seraph took an iron will since she was the biggest control freak of them all. If Lucas thought there was something odd going on, there probably was.

The other man pursed his lips as if trying to decide what he could divulge. “She was pretty secretive, told me and Jace she was doing some shopping. The gist was that she’s picking up something special for you, so we shouldn’t mention anything.”

The likelihood of that was almost nil. In all the years Demon had worked for Seraphina de Medici, any gifts she’d ever given had been spontaneous and in the moment. They were never planned, not even the ones she used to garner loyalty.

“Plus, she’s not taking Jessica.” Lucas didn’t need to expand on the weirdness of Seraph going somewhere without her submissive in tow.

There was really only one way to proceed. “Give her everything she’s asked for. Don’t mention that you’ve discussed it with me. She’s obviously up to something. Until I know what, I have no choice but to play the hand I’m dealt.” Demon knew he didn’t have to tell Lucas to keep his eyes and ears open. He just hoped none of the men he’d hired would lose their lives to one of Seraph’s mad business schemes.

Both men could hear the snap of a whip through the door. Lucas grimaced. “Malachi pissed her off so badly earlier this afternoon I almost called you. She’s had Jessica in there for over two hours. About an hour ago she sent for one of the other subs from the Underground. I haven’t heard much since.”

Demon nodded to let the other man know he would handle whatever he found inside the mistress’s chambers. He inhaled deeply and sought the calm center he always carried deep within himself. He’d once heard someone mention something they called a Zen feeling. Western culture sought the sensation by redecorating their homes or landscaping a garden. They never seemed to fully grasp that it was an internal state of mind more than something experienced while inside an external structure.

He pushed open Seraph’s door without knocking and stepped lightly inside. The tapestry she’d ripped down the previous night had been rehung, and someone had cleaned up the shattered trinkets.

“Does it feel good, Jessica?” Seraph was dressed in a black latex catsuit that hugged every ample curve of her body.

“Yes, Mistress.”

It took every ounce of his self-control to stifle the urge to cringe when he realized Seraph had donned her favorite strap-on and was fucking Jessica while the sub bent over the desk. The slim little submissive had her hands clenched around the beveled edge to keep herself from being shoved over the top, and her round bottom was rosy with lashes from Seraph’s whip.

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Demon realized there was another woman in the room. The diminutive creature was crouched in a corner beside the chaise longue. The only impression he got was of straight dark hair and a slender build. He recalled Lucas’s assertion that Seraph had called for another sub from the Underground. As far as Demon knew, the Underground didn’t keep extras hanging about to be used like rental property. Malachi wouldn’t have tolerated that sort of practice.

“It’s about time you showed up.” Seraph pulled out of Jessica’s pussy, the cock strapped to her hips jutting out at an awkward angle. “I told you to convince Malachi to sign off on the new boarding school for Alisa, not give him more room to argue. How the hell does he know he has to agree?”

Demon let his gaze wander over Jessica’s prone body. At the moment she looked lost in an erotic daze, her body quivering with the need to be fucked. That was fine. It was only when the subs began to show true fear instead of desire that Demon felt it necessary to step in.

“Intrigued, Demon?” Seraph asked silkily. “If you bend over right beside her, I’d be happy to give you some. We both know it’s been a long time.”

Something caustic smoldered beneath Demon’s carefully blank exterior. This was the woman who had reduced Malachi to ashes by systematically using a combination of sex and insults to destroy the psyche of a seventeen-year-old.

“I think that’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen on your face, you cold bastard.” Seraph’s expression turned almost thoughtful. “I’d started to wonder if my brother had turned you into a eunuch all those years ago.”

Her words unleashed a torrent of buried emotions, all of them tinged with anger. Demon had learned early that aura could be a commanding thing. Power wasn’t hypothetical. It was what made some men charismatic and others nothing more than pawns. He’d always operated beneath the radar with Seraph. There had never been any reason to garner more interest than necessary. Out of sight, out of mind.

Now he wasn’t so certain. There was a shift in the wind. Not just Malachi’s strange infatuation with a woman that fate seemed determined to insert into their lives. Seraph’s sudden bouts of secrecy, the atmosphere of unease within the club—it all gave him the feeling that they were operating in the calm before a great storm.

It all made him twitchy.

“Come on, Demon,” Seraph purred. “I’ll make it good for you.”

He lifted his chin and flung his hair away from his face. The curtain parted, and he let her see the derision in his eyes, the curl of his lip. He approached her slowly, drawing on every ounce of what made him Yaojing.

“Power isn’t something you wield, it’s something you have.” He paused several feet away, watching his words register on her face. “You have never understood that.”

“I understood it full well when I took you from my brother and went out on my own.”

“Children’s games,” he spat.

Her face paled several shades before two spots of high color began to burn on her cheeks. She clenched her nylon crop until it twanged. Everything about her expression told him she wanted him as far away from her as possible. Too bad he wasn’t done.

“I’m not going to convince Malachi of anything. He makes his own choices, especially when they concern his daughter.” Demon felt his outrage boiling into hate, a dangerous emotion.