Shifter's Dance

Vanessa
North

…

An Imprint
of

Musa
Publishing

The Wiccan
Haus: Shifter’s Dance

By Vanessa
North

Copyright ©
Vanessa North, 2012

Smashwords
Edition

…

All Rights
Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976,
no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or
retrieval system, without prior written permission of the
publisher.

…

This e-Book is
a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or
events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are
from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual
living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is
coincidental.

Musa
Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130

www.MusaPublishing.com

…

Published by
Musa Publishing, November 2012

…

This e-Book is
licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or
distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of
International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and
upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-Book
can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the
express permission of the publisher.

ISBN:
978-1-61937-442-3

Published in
the United States of America

Editor:
Elizabeth Silver

Cover Design:
Kelly Shorten

Interior Book
Design: Coreen Montagna

This e-book contains adult language and scenes. This
story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the
country where you made your purchase. Store your e-books carefully
where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.

To the former dancers who keep a pair of
battered pointe shoes,
even after all these years.

She stood with one hand on the railing, listening to
the music pouring through her earbuds and counting steps she’d
never take. Her brain catalogued the beats and her feet twitched,
but she didn’t move; instead, she stood still and let the mist
tickle her burning eyes as they approached an island she couldn’t
see.

Romy Lewis, former principal ballerina for Ballet
Americana, was blind.

When the ferry docked, she felt the vibrations, the
movements of the other passengers. She reached for her earbuds,
tucking them and her ever-present iPod into her coat pocket. One
hand groped for her rolling suitcase, the other for the cane she
was still learning to use. When she dropped her hand from the
railing, she was adrift. She let the other passengers go first, not
wanting to be in the way. When the ferry stopped shaking, she took
a deep breath and tapped her cane on the floor in front of her.

“Let me help you, Romy.” A male voice spoke from
somewhere over her head, a hand gripping her elbow, another taking
her suitcase. “I’m Cemil.”

“Thank you, Cemil.” She tapped awkwardly again. “I
haven’t been blind long enough to be good at this.” She took a
hesitant step.

“I’m sure practice will make perfect.” His voice was
soothing, reassuring, as if he sensed her embarrassment and wanted
to put her at ease. “We’re going to take three steps to your left.”
He directed her, guiding her with the hand on her elbow. “Now sweep
your cane forward, feel that? That’s where the steps lead to the
dock. I’ll carry your suitcase down and come back for you.”

Her nose stung; if her tear ducts still worked,
they’d be generating some liquid right about now. She’d been
smothered under pity for the last eight weeks, but this stranger
was offering her kindness without pity and her brain didn’t quite
know how to process it.

“I’m on the steps now, Romy. Take a step forward and
reach for my hand.” Cemil called to her. She smiled as she realized
he trusted her to walk forward on her own, and that little bit of
trust was enough to propel her forward. One hesitant step, then
another, and a warm, firm hand grasped hers.

“Three steps down, and you’ll be on the dock.” He
guided her down the steps and with another tentative tap she felt
wood beneath her feet.

“Welcome to Wiccan Haus, Romy Lewis.” He squeezed
her hand.

“What does it look like?” she asked as he led her
toward the Haus, still holding her hand. She tapped absently with
the cane, but she wasn’t really relying on it—she trusted Cemil.
His description of a half-timbered house with red shingles reminded
her of the European tour the company had taken last year, and the
sight-seeing she’d done in Bavaria. Sight-seeing. Something she’d
never do again. Romy could travel all she wanted, but she’d be
limited to her other senses and the lesser awe they provided. She
pushed away at the sense of loss, tried to stifle it. Wishing for
what she couldn’t have was a weakness she couldn’t afford now that
she was blind.

“Don’t be afraid to mourn the loss of your
eyesight.” His voice was as gentle as it was chiding. “It doesn’t
make you weak.”

Before she could snark on his uncanny observation,
she felt the rush of air that meant a door was opening, and Cemil
ushered her inside the building.

“Is this the Lewis girl?” She heard a rough, growly
voice a few feet away. She didn’t think she was supposed to hear
it, but since she was blinded, her other senses seemed to be
working overtime to compensate.

“Yes, Rekkus. And she’s the last one in; we’re a
full house now,” Cemil answered the other man, who seemed to say
something affirmative before brushing past her.

“I’m Myron.” A female voice to her right called out,
distracting her from the masculine scent and sound that had just
brushed past. This was Romy’s first time meeting strangers since
she’d left the hospital. Awkwardly, wondering what the protocol was
for this, Romy turned and held out her right hand as steadily as
possible for a shake.

“Romy Lewis.” Relieved to feel the other woman clasp
her hand and shake back, she smiled.

“I’m going to take you upstairs to your room now,
okay, Romy?” The other woman chatted at her, something about the
elevators and how she should always make sure she was getting on
the third one, but Romy started to tune her out, her feet twitching
and her brain filling in the opening strains of
Coppelia.

“Romy? Did you hear me?” Myron’s voice seemed
half-teasing, half-exasperated.

“I’m sorry; I’m tired. I just drifted away a
bit.”

“You don’t know braille yet, do you?” Myron
asked.

Romy barely knew how to use her cane; learning to
read would have to wait. She shook her head.

“Just count doors then, okay? Yours is second on the
right.” The
whoosh
of moving air and the gentle scents of
lavender and night blooming jasmine tickled her nose; Myron led her
around the room. Twice, Romy counted steps from the door to the
bed, from the bed to the bathroom, and finally she nodded in the
direction of where she thought the other woman would be
standing.

“Thank you, Myron.”

“You’re welcome. Go ahead and take a nap if you’re
still feeling tired. Come down to dinner at seven—just let us know
if you need help.”

She heard the door close behind Myron and she
stepped toward the bed. Finally she felt it brush the front of her
legs, and she crawled into it, pulling her iPod from her coat as
she pushed it to the floor. Earbuds in place, Romy pulled her knees
to her chest and let the music carry her back to the stage and the
dances she could still perform in her dreams.

“Why is that human staring at me? Do I have
something in my beard?” Stephen Bonsaint snarled under his breath
to the male vampire next to him before taking another bite of his
dinner. Vamps didn’t eat during dinner, but they were quieter
company than the quartet of rambunctious adolescent wolves at the
next table over. The vampire looked up and across the room where
the human was sitting.

“She’s not staring at you.” The vamp leaned close
and sniffed him. “I’ve never tasted bear before.” A touch of
longing tinged his voice.

“And you won’t tonight, either. Find someone else to
suck on.”

Stephen looked up at the woman again. He had been
doing intelligence gathering work for too long to trust anyone
easily. She was a pretty little bit of a thing, sitting ramrod
straight in her chair and speaking occasionally when someone would
say something to her, but mostly eating quietly and tapping her
feet to an imaginary tune. She was definitely alone.

And staring at him.

There was something unnerving about the way her blue
eyes seemed to see right through him. Was his cover blown?

“She’s really
not
staring at you.” The vamp
pointed one pale finger. “She’s blind.”

Then he saw the cane. Blind. He studied her more
openly now, knowing she couldn’t see him. She moved smoothly,
elegantly, as if measuring each movement of her hands. Meanwhile,
under the table, her feet tapped hungrily, as though demanding that
she feed
them
also. When she pushed back her chair and
reached for her cane, he found himself standing too. He made his
way across the room, ignoring the snickering of the wolves as he
went.

“Hi, I’m Stephen,” he said, falling into step beside
her. She paused, turned toward him, and then her scent hit him and
the sleepy beast inside chose that moment to give up on
hibernating.

“I’m Romy.” She held out a hand for a handshake.

He had to know. He took the hand in his and lifted
it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles and
breathing deep.

The fantasy crashed over him like one of the waves
slapping the shoreline. Romy in his arms, in his bed, gasping and
shouting his name in a voice husky from hours of lovemaking. His
body was saying “take her,” but the bear was saying “mate her.”

Oh,
hell.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stephen.” She pulled her
hand back gently, smiling. “Very brave of you to come make
conversation with the blind girl. What’s the matter, do I have
something on my face?” Her defenses were up, and it twisted him up
inside to see.

“Not that I noticed—you look great. I also noticed
you were sitting alone. I’m traveling alone too. I thought it might
be nice to get to know you.”

“Oh.” She blushed then, and it stirred him up
inside. If he didn’t stop staring at her, he was going to embarrass
himself. Already some of the other Paras were starting to smirk in
his direction.
Get it together, Bonsaint.
He’d always
expected the Fates to pick out a nice sturdy mama bear-type for
him. This little bit of a human…?
No.

“Are you taking an evening class?” he asked, looking
for a polite way to end the conversation and go hide.

“Nighttime yoga.”

Shit.
He’d signed up for that one too. The
funny little woman at the desk wearing a nametag that read “Bob”
had recommended it.

“Me too.” He let out a grumpy snarl.

“Excuse me?” Her unblinking blue eyes had widened at
the indelicate noise. He looked down at her, trying to force his
body not to react.
Yeah, right.
He tried to tell himself
that her brown hair was mousy, her blue eyes weird, the freckles
dotting her nose were not adorable, and those lips, which were
pursed up in annoyance, did not look like they needed to be kissed
and right now.

He failed.

“Let me walk with you?”

“Okay. I have to get my yoga mat from my room.” She
tapped the cane as they made their way toward the bank of
elevators. He moved toward the second, but she surprised him by
moving to the third, her hand finding the button after a couple of
half-hearted swipes at the wall.