Page 78 of This Ravenous Fate
Elise shrugged. “Fine. Next time, I’ll let you starve.” And just like that, the conversation was over. Elise turned and finally began to examine her part of the room. “Do you believe Stephen Wayne? Do you really think humans are being poisoned just by being close to reapers?” she asked.
“Sure, why not. The dancers here were sick. We saw them and the way they attacked Giana and Shirley. Theo spent time here as well and got sick and attacked your friend. It makes sense,” Layla said.
“But what about me? I’m not sick.”
Layla paused. “Sure, but youaredifferent.”
“Are you saying you’ve corrupted me?” Elise demanded.
“You’re certainly becoming a little heathen when you’re around me.” Layla smirked. Heat bloomed across the Saint heiress’s face and satisfaction swept through Layla at the sight.
“Everything I do around you is of my own volition. And as you’ve pointed out, I happen to have a lot of that because of my status. I take none of it for granted when I’m around you.”
Layla hissed, “Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like that—” Elise sighed.
“Then how did you mean it?” Layla challenged.
A pause. And then, “I don’t hate the time that we spend together. In fact, I look forward to it,” Elise whispered.
Layla’s breath caught. Elise stepped closer to her and her heart pounded so hard, her chest began to ache. “I’ve been awful to you,” Layla murmured.
“I was worse.” Elise’s voice was breathy as she spoke. She reached forward, her hand brushing Layla’s as she took the bullet. Instinctively, Layla curled her fingers around Elise’s. It was as if a match had been struck up and then refused to burn out. Layla had no idea when her desire for Elise’s blood had turned into a desire for Elise. But it carved into her now, her heart throbbing while she held Elise’s hand and looked into her eyes. She wasn’t sure why she ever tried to resist the Saint heiress. Her ice was desperately drawn to her heat. And the burn felt good, no matter how severe.
Elise cleared her throat, and Layla dropped her hand. She stood back as she watched the Saint heiress walk to the main performance hall, bullet clutched firmly in her grasp.
***
The most dangerous part of the Cotton Club might have been the stage. The wooden floor had a layer of dust so thick, one swipe of Layla’s fingers on the edge turned her fingertips gray.
She knew how hard it was to dance on wood; Layla couldn’t imagine having to do it in dim lights, and a tightly packed, hot environment such as the Cotton Club. And while the stage must have been cleaned frequently, no amount of water or rosin helped make it any less slippery. The dancers were at the mercy of the stage each night.
“Wow.” Elise’s voice echoed around the room. Her eyes crossed over every surface, every corner, her expression dimming as she took in the performance area. Murals on the ceiling were so faded, it was nearly impossible to make out the designs. Still, the room encompassed a feeling of general unease, one that Layla almost felt reverberating from Elise just by taking one look at the tight lines of her lips and jaw. Her hands remained close to her sides, as if she was afraid of touching anything in the room. But despite the obvious disgust in her eyes, she spoke with awe. “This is eerie,” Elise muttered.
“Agreed,” Layla said. Without thinking, Layla hauled herself onto the stage. The soles of her boots were slippery on the wood. But she could still imagine herself turning on this floor, over and over, her glittering skirts billowing around her like a cloud of magic. Once upon a time, it had been her dream to travel the world, dancing across stages of every country she could visit in a lifetime. But reaperhood had cut that dream short and quickly turned her life into a waking nightmare.
Now, Layla wasn’t sure she could do more than a couple fouettés or pirouettes even though, five years ago, she had been able to do thirty-two fouettés and ten consecutive pirouettes. Her flexibility remained intact even after years without training, probably due to some gross mutation that occurred in reaperhood—flexibility wasn’t a unique feat among the damned.
“Why didn’t you ever dance here like Giana and Shirley?” Elise asked.
Layla faced the Saint heiress. She didn’t have an explanation beyond the fact that it was risky to be around humans constantly as a reaper. When she was younger and didn’t know how to control her urges as well, dancing among other humans was out of the question. By the time she matured and could stand to be around fresh blood without snapping, Layla had assumed her dream had passed her by.
A small animosity grew between her and Giana whenever she saw her in costume, ready to dance. But Layla did not want to risk it. She looked away, shoulders relaxing as she exhaled. “It didn’t feel right,” Layla said. “But I know you’ve been keeping up with your playing. The Saint princess is destined to tour the world playing the grand piano.” A bit of bitterness seeped into her tone. She couldn’t control the fraying of her patience when it came to talking about anything regarding her past. They had shared a childhood and music and dance tutor growing up, but only one of them got to see their dreams blossom. Elise consumed her past and so did Layla’s broken dream of dancing abroad.
Elise fell quiet. Layla didn’t face her, so she couldn’t see what she was doing, but moments later, she heard Elise moving around the room. The sound of wood sliding into place and a seat being taken came next. Then the soft notes of a familiar song filled the room.
If it was possible for a damned heart to start again and ascend to the heavens, then Layla’s might have in that moment. She did not face Elise, afraid for her to see the bareness of her face, the raw emotions she conveyed. But Layla fisted her hands when they began to shake. And, as if spurred on by some natural, uncontrollable force inside, Layla began to hum along to the song.
Flashes of her poring over the handwritten sheet music for hours slammed into her mind. Layla closed her eyes, and it was as if her eyelids were wallpapered over with the image of Elise playing. She had never heard Elise play the song, but Layla had learned it. As a dancer, she was required to study music and recognize notes. Layla knew the tune of the song by heart. She could have asked someone else to play it while she choreographed a dance to it, but she had wanted it to be a surprise for Elise and she had only ever wanted to hear the song from Elise; no one else.
The final measures of the song were slow and melancholy, the edges of the notes lifting to offer the sweetest bit of joy in such a tender moment. In Layla’s mind, it was the perfect depiction of the gentle beats of love. Just barely concrete, but so overwhelmingly there, it was impossible to not be thoroughly and utterly wrecked by it.
When Layla finally turned to face Elise, she noticed the tears cresting in her eyes. And in only a moment, Layla’s eyes were growingdamp as well. She had finally heard Elise play her song. After five years.
Elise swallowed. “Does that sound like the music of a prodigy, destined for the Paris Conservatory?” Elise asked in a voice so small, Layla waited in pain to hear it break. “Because I’m no expert. But I know I’m certainly unfit to be granted such a coveted position.”
Layla’s lips parted. “It was perfect.” She didn’t stop the awe that seeped into her tone.
