Shifter's Dance Read Online Free Page B

didn’t try to push past her or reach to help her.
Once again, Romy was struck by how the staff at Wiccan Haus seemed
to offer kindness without pity—so naturally it was almost
effortless.
    “Hi, Myron.”
    “Sage sent this up for you.” Myron took Romy’s hand,
pressed a small jar into her palm. “She said it will help with the
discomfort in your eyes, and that you should put it on your eyelids
twice a day.”
    “Thank you, Myron. And tell Sage thank you, from
me.”
    “I will. She’s great with herbs, you’ll see.”
    “Well, no, I won’t actually.” Romy chuckled. “But I
appreciate it nonetheless.”
    “You’re funny, Romy.” Myron patted her hand. “I’ll
see you later.”
    As the door shut behind Myron, Romy made her way to
the bed and from there to the bathroom. She set the jar down and
reached for the ointment the doctors had given her. She opened it
and a pungent odor assaulted her nose; heavy and ugly, it hung in
the air. She tightened the lid again and reached for the new
jar.
    Sage’s concoction was more like a lotion than an
ointment, and it smelled completely different: light and flowery,
but with a hint of something dark and laden with night. Was that
jasmine? Romy inhaled deeply. Maybe just the memory of jasmine. She
took a tiny dab on the tip of her finger and smoothed it over her
right eyelid.
    Relief tickled across her nerves as the ointment
seeped into the thin, tender skin. All the itching, burning
sensation that had crackled and roared quieted to a bare murmur.
She dabbed a tiny bit on the left eyelid. One-fiftieth of one
inch. Such a tiny amount of skin to protect the human eye.
    The relief was so immediate, so unexpected, that
Romy shuddered in something like shock as the itching and burning
dimmed, letting other senses roar to life. And this relief came
without the stench she had become resigned to smelling. Oh, she
owed Sage big time. Smiling, Romy made her way back to the bed,
reaching for the simple dress she’d laid out upon it to wear to
dinner.

Chapter Seven
    Stephen watched the door to the dining room
anxiously. That afternoon in the garden, he’d seen a part of Romy
he guessed few others had gotten to know. She had a gift for more
than dancing—the way she described the movement as they listened,
he was certain she could convey that to other dancers. She could
make a career for herself as a choreographer, he was sure of it.
Maybe it wouldn’t be easy. But few things ever were. As long as she
believed in herself, she could do it.
    And there she was. When she stepped into the dining
room, his chest felt tight. She was exquisite. She’d tucked her
hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, and a drapey black dress
hugged her athletic figure. Mine. His body hummed with
satisfaction at the thought. When the male vampire he’d been eating
with the night before approached her, Stephen bit off a snarl and
made his way over to her.
    As he approached, he heard Romy demur, “Thank you,
that’s so nice of you, but…”
    “Go,” he ordered. The vamp took one look at him,
smirked, and said his goodbyes.
    “You’re gorgeous. Have dinner with me?”
    She laughed, then, her head thrown back. “Are you
going to scare away anyone else who asks?” she teased.
    “I hope so. Besides, he’s not much of a dining
companion.” He grinned. “I’m sitting near where you sat last night.
Would you join me, please?”
    “I’d love to.” She held out a hand, and he pressed a
swift kiss to the inside of her palm before tucking her hand into
the crook of his arm and guiding her to the table. Conscious to
never cross the line from helpful to pushy, he tucked her safely
into a chair before taking his own seat.
    They made small talk over dinner, and he learned
that she was the oldest of three sisters.
    “They were so sweet, after the…well, you know. But
they were stifling me, the whole family was. I had to get away.
Anyway, they would be glad to know I’m getting around