Page 40 of The Devil and His Goddess (Sinners Do It Better #2)

Harper

I brACED A HAND ON the barre as I tried to catch my breath. I’d just finished a solo set from Dancing in the Dark , but the performance was horrible. From my technique to the emotional portrayal, I’d been severely lacking, and the defeat crushing my lungs nearly threatened to send me back to the dark place I’d been working hard to climb out of.

It had been a few weeks since Christmas with Perseus and my family. Ever since then, I’d been determined to regain my strength, to touch up on my dance technique, and to remember who I was. I’d been functioning as though Drake had taken my life from me, and in a way, he had. He’d taken my joy for the things I’d once loved. He’d taken the love I had for the world. He’d taken the love I had for myself.

I was finally ready to take those things back.

And it was thanks to Perseus.

I knew this past month of watching me wither away hadn’t been easy on him. He could’ve given up on me and told me to leave his ballet company. He could’ve kicked me out of his house and told me to stop making my problem his problem. Instead, he chose me. He’d been patient with me, he’d held my hand through the hurt, and he’d given me something to fight for—ballet, my family, him .

Was I back to my old self? No, not by a long shot. And I was starting to think I never would be. The cut across my soul would always be there. It would scar eventually, fading into a memory, but for now, the gaping hole was still there. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped enough for me to tend to the wound.

Dancing was my first step in that healing process.

That was easier said than done, though. Technique practice, exercises, and warm-ups was all I could manage to do at first. It took weeks to muster the courage to begin dancing . When I did, I started with easy choreography and combinations, working my way toward the harder stuff. Today was my first day attempting to do a real routine, and I’d been failing miserably at it.

Shaking off the previous try, I restarted the dramatic and melancholy song, which depicted Psyche traversing the Dark Wood after fleeing from her village. Malak and other characters were meant to pop up here, interacting with the wandering and broken-hearted human. I pictured the scene and the emotion behind it, yet as I moved through the steps, I realized that was all I was doing—moving through it. I wasn’t feeling what Psyche felt or embodying her character or the dance. I was just running through the choreography as though trying to get it over with.

I stopped mid-routine and wearily went off pointe to rest flat on my feet. My gaze dropped to the floor as I pressed my fingers into my eyes, imploring myself not to give up. I couldn’t let this unfamiliar roadblock stop me.

“You’ll find your voice again.”

I dropped my hands and found Perseus watching me from the doorway of the studio. Half of his golden curls were pulled back, and he leaned against the doorframe in sweat pants and a fitted long-sleeved black shirt.

I let out a defeated sigh. “I want to dance. I want to express the character, but I … I don’t know how. I’m struggling.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Perseus chided as he joined me in the middle of the room.

The green of his eyes were murky as he stared down at me. Dark circles stood out against his pale complexion. The sight made worry dig at me, but every time I asked if he was okay, he blamed it on not sleeping well.

“You’re still getting back to where you were, Harper,” he continued. “There’s no rush. You’ll find your footing in your own time, and that’s okay.”

Emotional execution had always been one of my strong suits. People didn’t simply watch me dance. They felt it. Every sorrow, every whimsy, every burst of love—it could all be felt as though the emotion were their own. They experienced the story and character through my portrayal, and that was one of my favorite parts about ballet and being a ballerina.

Yet my emotions had dried up. The ability to tap into them now alluded me, and as I chased harder, they disappeared quicker. When I dug deeper, they burrowed tighter. But maybe that was my problem. I was trying too hard, forcing an emotion instead of feeling it naturally. I needed a way to break past this barrier. I needed to feel again.

My eyes flitted up to meet Perseus’s in the small space between us. My heart leapt, and I followed that tug, whispering, “Will you dance with me?”

Despite his efforts to keep his concern hidden, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you want me to?”

Dancing that involved any kind of partner work, whether in a classical ballet style or some other, required a lot of touching and intimacy. Even with the progress I’d made in overcoming the horrors I’d experienced, physical affection was one thing I hadn’t thought about. The most touching Perseus and I had done was our nightly hand-holding, and that had been my beacon in the storm. I’d been too lost to consider how more of his closeness or touch would affect me, and that new question made a typhoon of nerves unleash within me.

What if I couldn’t stand him being that close to me now?

What if being near him in any intimate way sent me back to the storm’s mercy?

The fears were great, but my trust in Perseus was greater. He would never hurt me. He would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to, even if it meant he suffered.

Swallowing down the doubt and worries, I nodded. “I’m sure.” I held out my hand. “Dance with me.”

He stared at my outstretched hand. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened. He seemed to be weighing his own hesitations, but eventually, he met my eyes and placed his hand in mine. His palm and fingers were colder than normal, but that chill could never keep me from holding on tight. We stood there, inches separating us, holding the other’s hard gaze.

He squeezed and asked softly, “What dance would you like to do?”

I shrugged and shook my head. “Anything. I just want to dance with you. I want … I want to feel the good things again.”

He took a deep breath and brushed his free fingers over my eyes, coaxing them closed. “Don’t move, then. Just listen for now.”

I kept my eyes shut as an unfamiliar song played over the speakers. There was hardly any music to the piece. The voice and lyrics themselves were the real guides of the song. As I listened to the words, a tightness filled my chest in the place I kept Perseus. The plea of the lyrics—wishing for me, wishing for what we could be—spun around me. It sang of pain but of falling for each other amid that darkness. My brow furrowed as I forgot what I was doing and fell into the power of the song—fell into the power of all I harbored deep inside for my demon.

The song ended, and I opened my eyes to fix them on Perseus. He nodded once, and I didn’t need him to speak to know his intention. He waved his hand behind him at the stereo. The song began anew, and this time, we moved.

He raised our joined hands and spun me into his arms, my back pressed against his front. The music and the burning in my chest fueled my movements as I bent forward with him following. We rose together, and I looked over my shoulder to catch his soft eyes as I came back up to my full height with arms raised. My hand found his again before we traveled the length of the room in a flourish of twirls, whispers of caresses, and a closeness that our bodies had been missing.

We parted as the song neared its end, only for me to run toward him one final time. He caught me and raised me into an angel lift. My arms and legs arched in the air, all while I peered down at him with all the affection I’d been feeling yet keeping to myself. Our gazes stayed trained on the other as he slowly lowered me, my body sliding down his own. My feet barely touched the ground when he stopped. His strong hands still held me close, and his eyes seared into mine with his own surge of devotion.

“Harper,” he whispered as his brow furrowed in pained longing.

I opened my mouth—maybe to tell him my own aching confession or to tell him that I was fine—but before I could say anything, his pale face suddenly changed. The color drained completely, and his eyes shuttered as he let go of me to stumble backward. His human guise fell away, and his demonic features burst forth from shadows.

“Perseus?” I gasped, trying to catch him as he fell sideways, landing hard on his hands and knees. “Perseus! What’s wrong? What—”

“Fine,” he mumbled. His breathing was shallow, and his head lulled side-to-side like he couldn’t find the energy to hold it up. “I’m fine. Just need rest.”

“You’re not fine,” I fired back worriedly.

I knelt on the floor as he tried to sit up, only to slump over onto his back. His golden skin had gone a ghastly shade of gray, and when his black-and-red eyes cracked open, they were unfocused and had a white film over them.

“No, no, no, no,” I chanted, my heart racing with dread. “Please! Wh—What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer me this time. His mouth opened, but no sounds came out as his head lulled and his eyes started to slowly slip closed.

My hands shook as I frantically looked around me for something to help him. I had no idea what was wrong, and while my first instinct was to call for an ambulance, I quickly tossed that idea away. Perseus wasn’t human. I had no idea what doctors would find if they looked him over. Demons had to be different from us. They—

A memory smacked into me, robbing me of breath. It was a memory of Perseus kissing me after being stabbed and his gaping wound healing from that brief pleasurable exchange. I had no idea if that would help him now, but there was only one way to find out.

Sweat lined his brow, and his body trembled slightly. I grabbed his shirt and tugged him toward me just as his eyelids fluttered open once more. My lips pressed into his, and his body tensed in shock beneath my grip as I deepened the kiss, letting my tongue tangle with his. He shivered and groaned softly before abruptly grabbing my shoulders to push me back, though there was no strength behind the gesture.

“No. You—You don’t … have to do … that,” he stammered weakly.

I barely heard him. My lips tingled, and that buzz spread through my entire body like a battery becoming supercharged. I waited to feel the revulsion or the tremors of hate, but they never came. Rather, my body urged me to lean back in. I yearned to kiss him harder and deeper, and that fact nearly choked me. It was a brief sign of my old self. Chest swelling with the high of desire, relief, and the need for more, I straddled his hips.

“You don’t have to force yourself. You—”

“Oh, shut up, Peasant.”

I grabbed his face and crushed my mouth to his, sweeping our lips together. His grip tightened on my upper arms as he opened for me, letting my tongue drive in to dance with his. The hard body beneath mine trembled, and already, his hands grew stronger. The tension in his body remained, and I knew it was because he wanted to protect me. He wanted to guard me from anything that could trigger the pain. But that darkness was so far from my mind right now. All I could focus on was his lips, his decadent taste, and his palms on my arms. When I moaned softly and moved my hands up his jaw to tangle in the part of his hair that was down, that control of his finally snapped.

He stopped holding back and returned my hungry kiss, raising his head off the floor to meet me. My nails scraped the back of his head as the fire of desire, which had been extinguished with no sign of returning, reignited in a single explosion that heated every inch of my body. Suddenly, I ached for more of him, down to the deepest parts of my being, and if this demon asked for my soul right now, I’d pluck it out myself to present it to him.

His hands left my arms to trail down my spine before they pressed into my lower back to hold me closer. The sensation of being pressed up against his body after not feeling him for more than a month had me gasping against his mouth and involuntarily rolling my hips against the mass in his sweatpants. He sat up and brought me with him without breaking the kiss. I settled in his lap and trailed my hands out of his hair and down to his firm chest.

The need to catch my breath was the only reason I slowed the kiss with a few light passes. My chest rose and fell hard when I pulled back, and his own breath fanned across my swollen lips as he worked to regain control.

The warm golden and pink color of his skin had returned, and his eyes now glazed over with unmistakable lust instead of sick disorientation. Even his heartbeat was stronger beneath my palm.

It was then that I remembered what he was—an Incubus, a demon who fed off of sex and pleasure. I thought back to all the times I’d caught him rubbing his head in pain, nearly tripping over nothing, and the slow draining of color from his face while the dark circles under his eyes got worse. Even now, he’d been willing to endure a demanding dance with me while knowing he had little strength left to do it. He’d been ignoring his own needs and well-being for the sake of mine, and I’d been unable to see it clearly until now.

A small, sad laugh left me as I ran the pad of my finger over his red lips. “All this time, you’ve been urging me to eat and to take care of myself when you haven’t been.”

He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“And that’s exactly why you don’t have to,” I whispered, stroking his jaw. “You’ve been here for me all this time, Perseus. So don’t suffer in silence anymore. Let me in, too.”