Page 5 of Dance Omega Dance

She stopped walking, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “Summer, Iknowit is.”

My heart thundered. I took a deep breath and walked in, pulling out my pointe ballet shoes instead of answering. They were already broken in; the satin worn at the toes; the ribbonsfrayed at the edges, and like me, showing signs of use, but still functional.

"Do you need anything else?" Maddie asked, watching me arrange my things with methodical precision. "Water? Energy bar? Moral support disguised as inappropriate jokes?"

A small smile tugged at my lips. "No, I'm good. I just need to get settled."

"Right," she nodded, understanding. "I should check in with the technical crew anyway. I promised to help with the backdrop for the second act; apparently, someone thought pale blue would work under those lights, which is just criminally ignorant about color theory."

"The horror," I said dryly.

Maddie stuck out her tongue. "Mock me all you want, but your pirouettes would look like garbage against the wrong backdrop." She headed for the door. "I'll be back in an hour. Try not to stress yourself into another dimension while I'm gone."

The door clicked shut behind her, and silence expanded to fill every corner of the room. I exhaled slowly, feeling my shoulders drop. Setting my bag down, I started changing into my performance leotard, the pale pink one that reminded me of who I used to be.

I turned to face the mirror, taking inventory. My fingers found the familiar ritual of preparation: tying back my hair, touching up my makeup, adjusting my practice clothes. With each action, I pulled myself further into the identity I had crafted; Summer the dancer, not Summer the Omega. In this room, with my body obeying the ancient language of ballet, I could almost believe that the rest of it: the heats, the scent, the biology that made me valuable and vulnerable, didn't exist.

Dancing had saved me, in more ways than I could articulate. When my parents died, leaving me alone at sixteen, ballet became my shield and my weapon. The discipline required nofamily, no connections... just dedication and a body willing to endure pain for the rhythm of beauty.

Now, at nineteen, with my twentieth birthday approaching like an execution date, I was back in the one place that had offered me sanctuary. Shaker City's progressive mayor had created a haven for omegas fleeing stricter states, but even here, the clock was ticking. Three months until I'd be forced to bond, to breed, unless I found another way out.

I closed my eyes, centered my breathing. Not now. These thoughts belonged to another time, another place. Here, I was just a dancer preparing for tomorrow's performance.

The air shifted subtly, and my eyes snapped open.

Something primal and instinctive tightened at the base of my spine, the sensation of being watched. Hunted. I inhaled sharply, and that's when I caught it: the unmistakable musk of alpha pheromones seeping under the door.

Chapter Three

An alpha stood in the doorway. Tall, broad-shouldered, too polished. His navy suit fit like it had been tailored for his arrogance. He didn’t bother to knock, didn’t bother to look away from me as his eyes dragged lazily down my form and back up again.

My body reacted before my mind could process it: heart speeding up, pupils dilating, a thin sheen of sweat materializing along my hairline. The suppressants in my system fought against the automatic response, but they were designed to mask my scent, not protect me from others.

“Well,” he drawled, walking in and shutting the door behind him, “you’re not on the program, are you?”

I froze, my blood turning to ice. “I—I think you have the wrong room.”

“Don’t think I do.” He stepped closer, the scent of expensive cologne failing to mask the sharp edge of alpha musk curling beneath it. “Summer. That’s your name, right?”

My stomach twisted.

Heknewmy name.

“I... please leave,” I said, forcing steel into my voice.

He grinned. “I heard we had a new principal dancer, but nobody mentioned she'd be so... delicious.” His voice slid across the room like oil on water.

I stepped back, my hip bumping against the makeup counter. "This is a private dressing room," I said, aiming for authoritative but landing somewhere near breathless. "Performers only."

"I'm on the board of directors, sweetheart. Every room in this theater is mine to enter." He smiled, showing too many teeth. “Relax,” he said, lifting his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just here to watch the show. Though...” His gaze flicked to my legs, long and bare below the leotard. “You've already started giving me a private one.”

"I was just leaving to rehearse," I lied, glancing at my bag, calculating if I could reach it before he blocked my path. My phone was inside. Not that calling for help would do much good. In this city, as in every city, Alphas could do what they wanted when approaching unbonded omegas.

"No rush." He moved closer, nostrils flaring. "I just wanted to introduce myself to our star attraction. We don't get many Omega dancers here. Most lack the... discipline." His eyes traveled down my body with invasive precision. "But you look very disciplined indeed."

My skin crawled beneath his gaze. I recognized his type. The kind of alpha who viewed omegas as collectibles, acquisitions to display and consume. The room suddenly felt airless, his scent overwhelming the space between us.

"I appreciate your welcome," I managed, edging sideways toward the door, "but I really should..."

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