Shifter's Dance Read Online Free Page A

foul-smelling stuff on her eyes if it didn’t
alleviate some of the burning she felt? Of course it helped. It
wouldn’t bring back her eyesight, but at least being blind wasn’t
as painful.
    “Sure.” She ground out the word as she fumbled in
her pocket for her earbuds.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that I
like working with herbs, and I think I might be able to make
something that will help and might be more pleasant for you.”
    A lump formed in her throat as the pricking
sensation started in her nose and swept over her skin, a thousand
needles piercing deep. Everyone wanted to help, and all she
wanted was time to learn how to take care of herself. But the
thought of not having to choose between burning eyes and that
smell? Too much temptation to resist.
    “That’s very nice of you to offer, Sage,” she said
at last. “That would be wonderful.”
    “I’ll have it sent up to your room.” Then she heard
the other woman’s footsteps as she moved away.
    Earbuds in place, Romy let her feet start moving.
The music was an instrumental piece on classical guitar and she
could see it as a passionate pas-de-deux . She could almost
feel strong hands taking her waist, that moment when her feet would
leave the ground and she’d be flying. There was nothing quite as
exhilarating as putting your body in another dancer’s hands, that
daring intimacy and trust.
    “You listen with your whole body.”
    The observation, loud enough to be heard over her
music, startled her again. She yanked the earbuds out and let them
fall to her lap.
    “Who’s there?”
    “It’s me—Stephen.”
    A thrill raced through her. Why should this man
affect her so deeply? She remembered the way his hands had felt the
night before when he’d pulled her into his lap, the softness of his
lips and the roughness of his beard against her face. She mumbled
something in greeting and then felt him sit next to her on the
bench.
    “Do you mind if I join you?” His voice rose up, deep
and woodsy like a contra bassoon, staking its claim over the
orchestra of sounds around her. His hand found hers on her lap,
took the earbuds from her. She felt him smoothing her hair behind
the ear closest to him, and then the earbud returned to its place.
It didn’t take much guesswork to know that he had put the other in
his own ear.
    “Now, tell me what we’re listening to.”
    Haltingly, she began to talk about the music: the
composer, the performers.
    “But it’s more than that to you.”
    She nodded. “I can see a dance, in my head, when I
listen.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “A pas-de-deux , that’s a—”
    “Dance for two. I speak French, go on.”
    Encouraged, she told him about the dance she could
see as the music swelled between them. She painted the story in
words, but she saw it in movement. He asked questions and she
answered, and when the music changed…
    “And this one is a dance for the corps-de-ballet , to relieve some of the tension after the
drama of the pas-de-deux .”
    “You’re good at this.” His hand took hers, thumb
stroking over the soft-textured palm.
    “At what?”
    “Describing the dance. What ballet is this
from?”
    “It’s not, I mean, it’s not a ballet, just a
classical guitar recording I like. I just listen and see the dance
as I would do it, if I were a choreographer.”
    “It’s beautiful, Romy. Can we listen to more?”
    She smiled then and laid her head on his shoulder,
breathing in his scent and letting her eyelids drift closed. He
felt so big and safe, and he liked the music. Maybe it had nothing
to do with healing her spirit or learning to do things on her own,
but it was nice to share the music with him.
    She handed him the iPod. “Pick one.”
    * * * *
    Shortly before dinner time, a knock sounded at
Romy’s door. She counted the fourteen shuffling steps from the bed
to the door and opened it cautiously.
    “Hi, it’s Myron.” The other woman didn’t intrude on
Romy’s space,