Page 15 of Gorilla in the Groove (Shamrock Safari Shifters #3)

Irina had never been as glad to see anyone in her life as she was to see Mick.

His big, solid, reassuring presence was all that she needed in the wake of what had felt like a fantastic performance…

right up until the judging was called, and her final ranking had been dismal.

Even some of her competitors were indignant on her behalf—the audience's response had suggested she really did do well—but there wasn't anything to be done.

Nothing except hide in Mick's shoulder and try not to cry too obviously.

"It's not you," Mick breathed into her hair. "That judge is review bombing you."

A blurt of laughter interrupted her quiet sobs. Irina lifted her gaze, knowing she had to be all mascara-stained and messy, but at least she was also smiling a little bit. "'Review bombed,' huh?"

"I'm open to a better phrase for it," he murmured, "but yes. You were brilliant out there, Irina. You really were."

"I felt good," she whispered. "I just thought…

I thought…I shouldn't cry," she scolded herself, voice hoarse.

"I'm here, after all, I've done well enough to get here, and I met you, and those are great things.

I just…" She sniffled took a deep breath, trying to smile again.

It felt watery, but she was going to try if it killed her, by gum.

"I didn't have to win. I just hoped I'd make the top ten or so.

Not… this low. And I feel bad for saying it because there are so many great dancers, oh, maybe I'm just entitled?—"

"Irina." Mick stopped her spiral with the gentle sound of her name.

"You're not entitled. The audience adored you.

I was talking to Fiona O'Rourke—do you remember her?

The woman you danced with at the pub? She and some others came to tonight's show!

—and she thinks you were robbed, too. Maybe the judges are arses who won't see what's right, but the audience knows.

I know. You know. You're great, Irina. You're unbelievably talented.

Don't blame yourself for a bias in the judging. "

"Thanks. I…" Irina sniffled again, nodded, and whispered, "Thank you."

"That's my girl." Mick squeezed her more tightly, then put her back on her feet.

Irina hadn't even realized he'd been holding her, he'd done it so easily.

She glanced around to see if anybody else had noticed, kind of hoping they had.

And maybe they had, but they'd given her and Mick space, too: a lot of the backstage area had cleared out, disappointed or jubilant dancers making their way back to the dressing rooms. There were still a couple dozen people around, both stagehands and performers, but they were politely not watching Mick and Irina.

Fiona O'Rourke was talking to a slender man whose face Irina couldn't see, but from their respective body languages, it looked as if Fiona was really laying into the guy, and like he wasn't taking it well.

"Okay," Irina said, suddenly full of determination as she dashed tears away.

"I'm going to go congratulate the girls who won.

I don't want to be a sore loser." She stood on her toes to give Mick a quick kiss, squared her shoulders, and marched into the wings, where the winners of the competition were gathered.

She offered her congratulations, relieved at their willingness to accept them, and one of them even gave her a sympathetic look.

"I can't blame you for being in bits," the other woman said. "You were genuinely brilliant out there tonight. Even I think you should have ranked higher."

"The chips will fall as they may, right?

" Irina said, taking a deep breath. "The truth is everybody here is really good, and even if I felt I did well, it's not a bad thing to be the middle of the pack in a competition like this one.

Good luck with everything," she said sincerely. "You're all amazing dancers."

"It's been a lot of fun," the girl said.

"I know some of the judges don't like non-Irish people doing trad dance, but it's their own feet they're shooting.

Ireland's not big enough to keep Irish dance to ourselves, not if we want it to live on.

So you keep dancing too, all right? Don't give up just because the judge here is a langer. "

Irina blurted another half-laugh, half-sob. "What is a langer? I've heard other people say it and I get the idea, but…"

"An idiot," the girl said. "An annoying arsehole. A flaming?—"

"Hannah!" one of the other girls interrupted. "Not to an American!"

"Whoops. Right. Annoying," Hannah repeated, eyes wide, and Irina's own eyes widened.

"Annoying," she echoed. "I'll stick with that."

"There you go." Hannah gave her a sudden hug. "I'm glad you came to compete. It's been grand meeting dancers from all over."

Irina took a deep breath, sighed it out, and smiled, feeling much lighter.

"Thank you. Thank you, that really makes me feel better about it all.

Maybe I'll see you guys later. I'm going to go get changed, but—oh!

My boyfriend over there? He's a DJ, playing at the Marquee this weekend.

Would you want to come to his show tonight? "

The other girls exchanged glances, then turned back to Irina with broad smiles. "That sounds brilliant," the one who'd interrupted Hannah said. "Will we see you there?"

"Absolutely." Irina, beaming now, turned back toward Mick as the man Fiona O'Rourke had been speaking with stormed by.

She recognized him now: Barry Hayes, one of the judges.

The one Mick had said didn't seem to like foreigners doing Irish dance, in fact.

She blurted, "I am Irish, you know," at him, as if it would make a difference.

"My grandmother was from Mayo, and taught me to dance, and gave her children and grandchildren citizenship. "

His expression darkened to real anger, startling Irina, though after a heartbeat she shrugged it off.

She couldn't do anything about the judge, and beyond that, she'd done her best. Hayes stalked off, hitting a curtain as he went, or at least, that's what Irina thought as the light changed around her.

She had just enough time to register gasps of horror and a rising scream when metal creaked and the light changed dramatically, falling, crashing?—

Her gaze jerked upward even as some warning instinct in her mind told her to throw herself to the side. She did, flattening out as one of the lighting rigs smashed down toward her. She hadn't moved far enough, and threw her hands over her face, as if she could protect herself that way.

And then Mick was there, having moved impossibly fast, catching the massive weight of the lighting rig along his shoulders.

He roared, both with effort and, Irina suspected, pain.

She scrambled out of the way, and with another roar he heaved the rig off himself, letting it slam to the floor without hurting anyone.

Irina finally had time to scream, her voice joining a dozen others. Mick scooped her up before the shriek had even ended, his strong arms careful and protective even as he trembled with emotion. "Irina?"

"I'm okay. I'm fine. You saved me," Irina whispered into his shoulder. "You saved me, Mick. I'm okay."

"He fookin' pushed it," somebody else was saying incredulously, their voice rising, and Mick turned with Irina still in his arms to watch stagehands and dancers alike stopping Barry Hayes from running away.

He looked wild-eyed with panic, like he had no idea what had overcome him, but he didn't put up much of a fight.

Not that he would have won, given how many people were surrounding him, but he didn't really try.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice high with fear and disbelief. "I don't know… I don't know…why… I don't know…" He faltered into silence, trembling as he stared at Irina.

She waited for a surge of sympathy, but felt none.

The competition judge had just tried to kill her, and if it hadn't been for Mick's extraordinary strength, his shifter secret, Hayes probably would have succeeded.

"You need help," she said in a cold, shaking voice.

"There's something wrong with you, hating non-Irish dancers the way you do.

I doubt you'll get the help you need in jail, though. "

"What?" Hayes shrieked, stumbling back a step. "Jail? Me? I can't go to jail!"

"Then you shouldn't have tried to kill someone," Mick rumbled.

Irina, still in his arms, could feel the tension in his body, like he was keeping himself from launching himself at Hayes and teaching him a lesson the older man would never forget.

His voice deepened even farther. "You shouldn't have tried to kill my girlfriend. "

"Here now," somebody mumbled in protest, and Irina honestly couldn't help a shrill giggle that made Mick look down at her sharply.

"Well, they're right," she said, burying her face in his shoulder. "It's not really any worse for him to have tried to kill me than somebody else."

"It is to me," Mick said in a delicious deep dangerous voice. Irina, still shivering, held on tighter, and his arms were gentle even as he held her fiercely. "I'll never let anything happen to you," he promised into her hair. "Never."

"I know. I know. I'm safe with you. I know, Mick." Irina lifted her eyes, gazing up at him from so close. "I love you, Mick. You know that, right? Even though it's only been a minute?—"