Page 25 of Dance Omega Dance

As he navigated through twisting backroads lined with crumbled brick buildings and twisted rebar hanging like metal curtains across abandoned pathways, tension knotted between us. It wasn’t unpleasant. It just clung tight around us, like vines gripping ancient trees; quietly persistent and inexplicably thrilling. Every brief touch, as his hand brushed against mine while shifting gears or an accidental caress at a cramped intersection, sent electric shocks dancing down my spine.

A whisper of rain began to patter on our windscreen when Blake spoke again, “I know this isn’t ideal for your first visit back into the city.” His voice held that characteristic tone threaded perfectly between concern and command, which vibrated warmly against my skin despite cold droplets decorating the outside of the glass pane. “But trust me,” he continued, turningbriefly, his electric blue eyes, piercing directly into mine, "the ballet shop will be worth it."

Turning back to the ruined world out the window, my heart skipped a beat, a foolish response to the promise of new beginnings and the passion of dance again.

My brow furrowed as we took a road I didn’t recognize. Lips pursing in confusion. Where was he taking me?

"Never been this way before?" he asked without looking over at me directly; instead, focusing intently on managing the twists in our route, which seemed designed more by disaster than any city planner’s foresight.

"No... normally I use the bus, which travels straight through downtown,” my reply stumbled out more uneven than intended under his gaze.

As the city’s famous old oak tree came into view, its gnarled limbs stretching toward the sky, like ancient hands grasping for freedom, I felt a shiver snake down my spine. It wasn’t just the chill in the air; it was the weight of knowing that as an omega, these streets could turn from sanctuaries into traps in a heartbeat.

Pulling up outside the ballet shop, I looked up. The front of the shop was quaint, almost whimsical. It was painted in a soft lavender that matched the morning sky. The sign above it swung gently in the breeze and read, "Pirouettes & Dreams," its letters curling elegantly like dancers’ mid-spin. Delicate frosted windows displayed rows upon rows of satin shoes and colorful tutus, beckoning any passerby into its storybook charm.

Stepping inside triggered an onslaught of sensations, the scent hit first, a blend of new leather from shoes lining neatly on display racks. Underlining this were subtle notes of vanilla and cedar emanating from scented candles perched around the room. It felt warm, familiar somehow, like returning to a beloved childhood space long forgotten but always cherished.

Walking through the shop, we became surrounded by mirrors reflecting endless rows of colorful leotards and tutus draped across wooden hangers. My fingers lingered tentatively over a pair of plush velvet leg warmers, that hung next to sleek satin ribbons meant for tying up hair or being used as accessories during practice sessions.

Despite Blake's looming presence by my side, or perhaps because he had brought me here, I couldn’t suppress this bubble swelling deep within me, bursting forth. I was like a child in a candy store.

I moved deeper into this palace made for pliés. Shelves on either side held not only ballet shoes, but also stacks of neatly arranged books about dance techniques, alongside framed photographs depicting prima ballerinas’ mid-flight during iconic performances.

Blake gestured towards shelves of shoes aligned precisely near the back wall. “These caught your eye?” he asked, pointing toward a beautiful pair of pointe shoes in the most decadent satin.

Nodding, I reached out, tracing the delicate stitching with my fingers. They were exquisite, and though I knew they would demand sacrifices... blistered toes and long, grueling hours in the studio, they also promised something extraordinary.

"They're beautiful," I whispered, almost to myself. Blake watched me with an intensity that made the simple act feel like a confession of deeper desires.

“I thought they’d suit you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky timbre that suggested both tenderness and underlying strength. “They remind me of you.”

My brow furrowed. “Why?”

He smiled and closed the space between us, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Because they’re graceful, resilient, and bound for greatness.”

A flush of warmth spread through my cheeks at his words.

Blake moved closer, his presence enveloping. “Whenever you're ready to dance again, know that I’m here. Not just as your Alpha but as...” He paused, searching for the right words, “someone who believes in you.”

My heart thudded against my chest. “Thank you, Blake,” I said, meeting his gaze. Something unspoken passed between us; an understanding perhaps too delicate to define in mere words but potent in its silence.

We spent some more time in the shop, exploring racks laden with dance apparel and accessories. Each item sparked anecdotes or dreams about what performances might come.

Then, after I had been measured for the correct pair, we departed from the shop, with a bag swinging lightly between my fingers.

Blake took my hand and whisked me to two more shops. One for ‘normal’ shoes. Because apparently walking around barefoot was a hazard to my health. I smirked as he explained. So, I humored him and trekked around a few more shops in search of a pair of shoes.

I chose a cute pair of white and pink trainers and a pair of tan ankle boots. Then, we spent the afternoon clothes shopping, to pick up clothing in my actual size. I sighed. I mean, I didn’t mind wearing their clothes. In fact, I loved it. But it was nice to have something of my own.

As we walked back to the car, Blake took the bags from me and smiled. I rolled my eyes, then pursed my lips. “I’ll pay you back Blake,” I said, wishing the ground hadn’t swallowed up my home, so I could access my debit cards.

He chuckled. “There’s no need, sweetheart. What’s mine is yours.”

My eyes narrowed, and I looked at him. “But why?”

He stopped, took my hand, and pressed it to his heart. “You know why.” I still frowned, and he sighed. “One day you will realize that you own my heart, and everything else that comes with it. You’re ours Summer Rayne. Always and forever."

Chapter Twelve

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