Read The Siren's Dance for Free Online Page A

eyebrow. Mama and Papa had never been cruel. They’d simply treated her like an odd and alien creature in their home, keeping her at a slight distance from the intimacy the rest of them shared.
    “I’d think you would have had to fall in love with it to get so far. What was your favorite role?”
    If he’d expressed sympathy or judgment, she’d have shut down. But the question sounded so casual, almost careless. Just making conversation on a long drive. So she considered it.
    She’d been Clara in the Nutcracker, an understudy to Odette in Swan Lake, but Demyan had groomed her to be Giselle. The role had been the most coveted by all the dancers, the part she’d truly craved. This universe, with its fixation on justice and vengeance, also seemed to have a sense of humor, making her a vila , just like Giselle. Irony? Fate? Who could say? But she did prefer wind to water, so this role she’d been cast in was far better than being a rusalka .
    “Odette was my favorite,” she lied. “I was the understudy. I performed in the prima’s place for two matinees. The two best days of my life.”
    “So you were a junkie for the applause?”
    “Jun-key?”
    “Oh, sorry. It’s a bit of English that snuck into usage at the station. A junkie’s a drug addict.”
    She’d been deaf to the applause of anyone but Stas, could hear his palms slap together over the sounds of the whole house bursting into cheers.
    “Something like that.”
    A crisp memory of his darkly sensual smile came to her. He’d been standing in the wings, his gaze piercing, always evaluating her. His black dance shirt open wide and low to reveal the smattering of hair on his lean, muscular chest. He’d been everything a young ballerina could want--an older, experienced man, a skilled dancer whose touch activated all her instincts so that her movements flowed from pure emotion.
    And now, also straight from her emotions--the hate and anger building inside--wind like the fiercest storm churned inside her. Fog appeared on the car windows, and Yuchenko flipped on the defroster. By sheer force of will, she kept the energy inside her, ordered it to still, but it fought for freedom like it never had on her riverbank. It was possible, as the chance of finding Stas became real, that she wasn’t in quite as much control of her powers as she’d thought.
    * * * *
    Sergey couldn’t resist watching her whenever she angled away from him. Even in profile, the lines of her features were dramatic and elegant, and they came alive when she spoke, even in anger, turning her outright beautiful.
    She was fascinating, captivating, even when not a drop of that potent siren song sounded in her voice. Those powers of seduction were wasted on him. He’d have found her just as attractive without them.
    It would have been amazing to see her on stage. A dancer like that, such a force of personality, her intensity--she would stand out from the other ballerinas even from the highest balconies. All eyes would fixate on her like he was now. She would steal the show.
    She fiddled with Gregor’s ring, her ghostly fingers somehow able to hold it, twist and spin it. And maybe it was his stirred-up, freaked-out imagination, but emotions seemed to radiate off her, turning the air inside Lisko’s car cold, then hot, then sultry.
    All down the side of his body facing her, he tingled seconds before she actually turned to look at him. The perusal lasted long enough that she must have thought he hadn’t noticed.
    “You’re an athlete?” she finally asked.
    “Not really, not anymore. Now I just keep fit.”
    “But you don’t compete?”
    “No.”
    “Then why bother? Oh, never mind. I should have known right off. Vanity.”
    She’d meant to insult him again, but he only laughed. Vanity had very little to do with it. “I’m a little compulsive. The first time I smoked a cigarette, I knew I was in trouble. If I’d had another, I’d never have been able to quit. Same with alcohol, coffee.