Sisters Red (23 page)

214

around the ladies departing a yoga course. We file into the room, the couples holding hands, the scattered rest of us lingering shyly in the back. For all his praise of doing things that are "non-hunting-centric," Silas would
never
be up for this, so I'll have to find another partner today.

"All right, ladies and
gents,
I'm Timothy," the swishy man says, sashaying to the front of the room and taking off his jacket to reveal a bright orange dress shirt. "Remember: stay on your toes, let your hips move, ladies, and above all--this is a dance of love! Passion! Sex!" The room giggles and Timothy wiggles his eyebrows up and down. "Right, then. Let's see--those of you without a partner, raise your hands." The back of the room obeys. "Perfect. Mmm, let's see..."

Timothy glides toward us, hips weaving back and forth, and begins pulling people together, apparently by height. He gets to me and tugs on my biceps to move me.

"Ooh, strong girly," he says when he feels the muscles beneath my T-shirt. I blush and allow him to tug me over to someone in the corner of the room. The guy is facing the back of the classroom, inspecting a poster that displays various dance positions. When Timothy taps his shoulder to turn him around, the guy's long ponytail swings across his face. His eyes are deep and dark, and his nose is sharp and pointed. He's astonishingly beautiful, like something carved from stone and polished to perfection.

"Annnnnnd... that's it!" Timothy says as the guy and I regard each other.

"What's your name?" I ask.

215

"My name? Um... Robert," he says, voice songlike. He pauses before saying the name, as if he's having trouble remembering it. He licks his lips and gives me a weighty look that makes me shiver.

"Chests closer than hips, embrace, keep your musicality, people!" Timothy says, holding up his arms to an invisible partner. "Ladies, one hand on his shoulder. Gents, one hand on her rib cage, just above the waist." The class shuffles as everyone moves into the position awkwardly. I try not to put my entire hand on Robert's shoulder, but he clamps his hand onto my ribs to the point that it hurts a little. I try to wiggle away without being too obvious. "And your other hands come together, like this." Timothy moves to the nearest couple and clamps their hands together, then lifts their arms to shoulder level.

I raise my right hand and wait for Robert to take it. When he does, his sleeve slips back from his wrist.

And I see it. A simple tattoo of a coin, overlapped by an arrow. He's a Fenris. He's a Fenris and I'm dancing with him. They're literally
everywhere
in Atlanta.

"You like the tattoo?" Robert says with humor in his voice. I feel his nails grow a little on the hand that's by my ribs. Still, he keeps the transformation under control.
Focus, Rosie, focus. No need to panic.
Dear god, I didn't bring my knives. Scarlett always tells me to keep them with me at all times, but I didn't bring them.

"It's interesting," I say, damning myself when I hear a slight tremble in my voice. Robert smiles darkly. Does he

216

know who I am? Did the Arrow pack tell him when they took him from Coin?

As Timothy cues up the music, my mind races back to all the hand-to-hand combat skills that Scarlett and I learned in tae kwon do classes back in Ellison. He's just one Fenris. He hasn't even been a Fenris that long, given the look of that tattoo.

"And ladies, forward with the right; men, back with the left. Feel the beat!"

No. I can take him. I'm a hunter. He's just a wolf. A strong wolf, but a wolf.

We step forward, moving together in awkward, forced rhythm as Timothy claps and directs everyone's feet. Timothy commands us to snap our heads away from each other, and I hear Robert inhale, relishing the scent of my skin, of my fear.

"We're supposed to be closer," he whispers in my ear and forcibly yanks me toward him. He grins. "Sorry, but I'm the youngest of seven boys. I have a need for a lady's touch."

Focus. Be the bait.
The music swirls, high-pitched violins and the low, groaning sound of cellos plucked in a dark, violent rhythm.

And I smile, the flirtiest, sexiest type of smile I can muster, batting my eyelashes for good measure. Robert looks delighted in the most horrible way, and his hold on my waist tightens. I release my hips, let them roll with each step. I flip my hair over my shoulder and lean back to reveal my throat when Timothy teaches a low, lunging step. He won't hurt

217

me here--he can't risk it. When we rise, I roll my shoulders back. Robert's nails grow longer; his teeth have sharpened to tiny points and yellowed. And his eyes--god, his eyes--they've darkened so much that I can't believe he isn't a full-fledged wolf by now. Our hands snap toward the sky, slam down on my waist, spinning out, in, knee to the ground. I'll have bruises on my sides and wrists, I can tell. I dig my hand into his shoulder. He'll have bruises as well, if I have anything to say about it. Until I kill him, at least.

"Back step, side step, feel the rhythm, people, don't be afraid of the sexiness!" Timothy cries over the music, but I barely hear him, as if I'm drowning in the sound of violins and fear. The room whirls around me as we spin, as Robert's hand tightens on my spine. He's resisting the change, despite the fact that his hair has grown, clumped together like a wolf's fur is. He clenches his jaw.
Come on, you want me, you want to devour me.
If I can make it through the class, I can get him to follow me out, I can fight him. I can do this. I'm a hunter. We dip again, spin in circles. The song quickens, violins struggling desperately to keep up with the tempo, cellos being wildly plucked as though the music moves along the musician's very life. Our feet stomp, snap, flick, heads turn, turn back, he grabs my wrist and he snarls, the sound almost lost in the string instruments as Timothy increases the volume. Stomp, turn, twist, head pop.

I cry out and leap away, surprised when I suddenly feel claws in my skin. I push Robert back, shocked. We're in front of so many people. I look down at my waist in the mirrors

218

that surround the room and see four dots of blood expanding through the fabric of my shirt. Other dancers gasp. Timothy raises his eyebrows and runs to turn the music off. I stare at Robert in amazement.

And then he leaps for me.

He doesn't change, but there's nothing human about the look in his eyes. He slams into me, throwing me backward. My head bounces off the wooden dance floor like a doll's and my vision goes blinding red for a moment. The other dancers scream. A few men bolt toward me, but I've got this. I brace my feet under him and kick backward with all my strength. He flies over my head, crashing into one of the mirrors. It shatters, a rain of glass that reflects me and the other horrified dancers a million times before scattering over Robert's body. I dizzily try to stand but fail; he hit me harder than I thought. I rub the back of my head tenderly.

He doesn't move. More screams. What am I doing? I have to get up, fight him. No, he hit the wall as a human. He wasn't strong enough to take that kind of blow. Several people help me off the ground while Timothy ushers us out of the room. I can't just leave him there. I should sneak back in and kill him. Fragments of conversation whirl past my ears as one of the center volunteers brushes past me and locks the door to the dance studio. My head throbs, and someone lifts me up to sit on the registration counter.

"We'll get you cleaned up--"

"Ambulance is on its way--"

"Don't you worry, honey, he's locked in there--"

219

"Her side is still bleeding."

"I'm
fine,
" I finally say. I lift up my shirt a little to inspect the wounds. "I won't even need stitches."

"Honey, how can you possibly know that?" a volunteer asks, shaking her head. I jump up as she presses an ice pack against my head.

"Trust me. I've had a lot of stitches." I glance back at the studio door. I can't possibly get back in there now. Several people are standing in front of it, and there's practically a mob around me. Damn. Another one will get away. "Scarlett is going to kill me," I mumble.

"Don't you worry about whoever Scarlett is, sweetheart. I was right, though, you are a tough girly," Timothy tells me. His voice is shaking a little, as are his hands. "Oh, good! The cops are here!"

Outside, an ambulance and two police cars pull up. The EMTs rush in, and despite the protests from the center volunteers and the other dancers, I convince them that I don't need help. They just hand me a few more ice packs and move on to the dance studio. I tense my legs, ready to fight the Fenris, anticipating he'll be waiting just on the other side of the door. But no. When the EMTs emerge with the stretcher, he's attached to it. Blood is streaming down his face, and bits of glass peek out from his skin and hair--hair that is still mangy and somewhat furlike, though I doubt anyone else will notice. His eyes creak open as he passes me. Timothy hisses at him in a very catlike way, and the wolf's eyes close again.

220

People are surrounding the police officers, eager to explain what happened. I try to leave, but Timothy insists that I stay and explain. Just as I'm giving the officer a very vanilla version of the story--"He just attacked me; I kicked him"--a Lexus screeches into the parking lot. A man in a business suit leaps out, straightening his tie as he bolts through the community center doors.

"Officer! I'm Robert Culler Senior. There was an incident involving my son?" he says, holding out his hand to the police officer taking my statement.

"Yes, Mr. Culler. Perhaps we can talk to you in just a moment? Your son is on the way to Grady hospital--"

"Of course," Mr. Culler says. He looks at me carefully, then tilts his head for me to follow him away from the crowd. "Did my crazy-ass son hurt you? I can write you a check," he says quietly, yanking a checkbook out of his pocket. "What's your name?"

"I, uh..." I shake my head, wondering if I'm mishearing. "Rosie March. But it's fine. I'm fine."

"Nonsense," Mr. Culler replies. "He's sick, you see. Has been for about a year. It's not his fault he's like this." Mr. Culler glances at the ambulance as it pulls away, then turns back to me. "We tried to institutionalize him, but it made him worse, so we have a full-time caregiver now. Guess he gave him the slip..." Mr. Culler signs the check with a big swirling motion, folds it, and tucks it into my hand so swiftly that I get the impression he's done it quite often. "Did he give you that stupid line about being the youngest of seven boys?"

221

I nod.

Mr. Culler rolls his eyes. "Yeah, he tells everyone that. It's bullshit. I'm the youngest of seven boys, and I'm not a lunatic. He's like having a twenty-nine-year-old child."

"I can't believe you've managed to keep him... human." I say the last word mostly by accident, but Mr. Culler shrugs.

"It's taken a lot of cash and a lot of care. But look, you've got your money--don't think I don't have a lawyer who will take you--"

"Oh, uh, no," I say quickly. "It's no problem."

"Right. Well then. Officer, you wanted to talk to me?" Mr. Culler says, turning to the cop. While they're engaged, I slink away and out the door, dropping the ice packs at the exit. The sunlight is blinding and my head is still throbbing a little. I rub it tenderly as I unfold the check. I curse under my breath when I see the amount--two thousand dollars. Two
thousand
dollars? For getting thrown to the ground? I suppose it would've cost him more in court. And Culler must know I could have been killed. I wonder if other girls have been. Keeping a Fenris caged like that, trying to maintain him as a member of the family... I wonder if that's why he was able to keep a human appearance when his mind was taken over by the wolf. Years of practice, probably. Does his father even know what he is? I sigh and crumple the check back into my pocket as I trudge the last few blocks to the apartment.

"Where have you been?" Scarlett asks when I stumble through the door. Her eye runs down to the drops of blood on my shirt. Silas appears from behind the refrigerator door. His

222

eyes widen and he steps toward me. I bite my lips, resisting the urge to move toward him, let him fold me into his arms. Scarlett rises from the couch, concerned. "Rosie? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I got hit in the head, that's all. Oh, and I made two thousand dollars."

Silas and Scarlett exchange worried glances--I see Silas take a quick step, as though he wants to run toward me, but he holds himself back.

"She's got a concussion," Silas says. Scarlett nods and they begin to usher me toward the couch.

"No! No! I mean, maybe. But look." I pull the check from my pocket and smash it into Scarlett's hand. She unfolds it and her eye widens. She hands it to Silas, who looks from the check to me no less than four times.

"Okay. So how did you make
two grand,
Rosie?" Scarlett asks.

I walk the rest of the distance to the couch and collapse on it. Scarlett and Silas crowd around. "Right. Well, I was... um..." I sigh and look at Scarlett. My head has finally stopped spinning, and I suddenly realize that I'm going to have to explain the dance class. "I was at this tango lesson," I say quickly, "and there was a Fenris--"

"Wait--at a what?" Scarlett asks.

"A... um... a dance class," I say meekly. Silas grimaces.

"A dance class? Since when do you take dance classes?" Scarlett demands, voice already rising.

"I just... I signed up for three classes at the community center, and today I took a tango course."