Page 49

JAKE

Two years later. . .

The auditorium is dark when I slip in unnoticed — the lone intruder at the closed rehearsal. Canned orchestral music plays from the speakers, and the place is empty apart from three seats in the front row.

The rehearsal director, choreographer, and venue manager watch as Elena and her partner move across the stage. She’s dressed in a lilac leotard, nude tights, and a see-through white skirt that taunts me as it floats around her thighs.

The hot stage lights beat down on the dancers, and my shifter vision follows a single bead of sweat as it slips down the front of Elena’s leotard. Her partner is a svelte Ukrainian dancer named Danilo, who twirls my mate around the stage as effortlessly as someone with shifter strength.

I might be stewing with jealousy at seeing another man put his hands all over her if it weren’t for how much I like Danilo. He’s been practicing tirelessly withElena for the last six weeks to get her ready for opening night.

This is the last rehearsal before her debut as a professional ballerina.

The closing number culminates in something called an angel lift, and Elena’s been a nervous wreck all week. I’m not worried. I’ve seen her and Danilo execute this lift perfectly a hundred times in rehearsal, but sometimes emotional scars run deeper than physical ones.

It was this type of lift that made her think she’d never be a professional ballet dancer, but she spent a year training with someone who specializes in rehabbing TBIs in athletes, and she’s been improving week by week.

A few months ago, she received an invitation to audition for the New York City Ballet. Lena insisted she wasn’t ready, but there was no way in hell I was going to let her pass up this opportunity.

She got the spot, and we moved to New York. The company works her harder than I’ve ever trained for a fight, and she crawls back to our tiny apartment every night, exhausted but happy.

Watching her float across the stage like a butterfly, I’m so fucking proud she’s my mate.

The little velvet box nestled against my thigh is practically burning a hole in my pocket. Inside is the engagement ring I picked out for Elena. It’s been sitting in my sock drawer for over a month. Tonight I’ll ask her to be my wife.

The dancers finish the number, and the director tells them to take five. Elena’s gaze snags on me, lurking at the back of the auditorium. I know she can sense me even if she can’tseeme — just another perk of the mating mark.

“What are you doing here?” she asks as soon as she’s within earshot.

“Thought I’d come by and wish you good luck,” I say.

Not that she needs it. The girl works harder than any dancer in the company, and she’s got the choreography down pat.

Elena smiles, and the sight of her sweaty, exhausted, and so damn happy makes my chest ache with joy. “You’re not supposed to wish someone good luck. You’re supposed to say ‘break a leg.’”

“See, you still have so much to teach me,” I say, taking her by the hand and pulling her closer. Perspiration heightens her scent and sends all the blood rushing to my cock.

“Clearly.”

I drop my voice to a low murmur, even though there’s no one nearby. “Like . . . how to get inside you when you’re wearing this.” I gesture at her ballerina getup, which, besides naked, is my favorite look on Elena.

Her nipples pebble up through the thin fabric of her leotard, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Shh.” She tosses a quick glance over her shoulder, a nervous grin tugging at her lips.

“I think we need to rehearse a lift of our own,” I growl, gripping her around the waist and hoisting her up.

Elena laughs and twines her arms around my neck, but her expression turns serious as I seat her soft core against my throbbing cock.

“We’re on a break,” she whispers, glancing back toward the stage.

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Then we’ll have to be quick.”

Before she can utter another note of protest, I yank her out of the auditorium and into the deserted vestibule. I capture her mouth in a kiss as I back her into an empty coat closet, the taste of salt on her lips making my wolf perk up.

A low moan rumbles up my chest as I tweak her nipple through her leotard. My other hand finds its way under that gauzy skirt, touching her through her clothes. Elena moans, and I clap my hand over her mouth as she grinds her hips against me.

Fuck. This must be why they have closed rehearsals. How’s a guy supposed to pleasure his mate when they only give the dancers five-minute breaks?