Shifter's Dance by Vanessa North Page A

protocol was
for this, Romy turned and held out her right hand as steadily as
possible for a shake.
    “Romy Lewis.” Relieved to feel the other woman clasp
her hand and shake back, she smiled.
    “I’m going to take you upstairs to your room now,
okay, Romy?” The other woman chatted at her, something about the
elevators and how she should always make sure she was getting on
the third one, but Romy started to tune her out, her feet twitching
and her brain filling in the opening strains of Coppelia.
    “Romy? Did you hear me?” Myron’s voice seemed
half-teasing, half-exasperated.
    “I’m sorry; I’m tired. I just drifted away a
bit.”
    “You don’t know braille yet, do you?” Myron
asked.
    Romy barely knew how to use her cane; learning to
read would have to wait. She shook her head.
    “Just count doors then, okay? Yours is second on the
right.” The whoosh of moving air and the gentle scents of
lavender and night blooming jasmine tickled her nose; Myron led her
around the room. Twice, Romy counted steps from the door to the
bed, from the bed to the bathroom, and finally she nodded in the
direction of where she thought the other woman would be
standing.
    “Thank you, Myron.”
    “You’re welcome. Go ahead and take a nap if you’re
still feeling tired. Come down to dinner at seven—just let us know
if you need help.”
    She heard the door close behind Myron and she
stepped toward the bed. Finally she felt it brush the front of her
legs, and she crawled into it, pulling her iPod from her coat as
she pushed it to the floor. Earbuds in place, Romy pulled her knees
to her chest and let the music carry her back to the stage and the
dances she could still perform in her dreams.

Chapter Two
    “Why is that human staring at me? Do I have
something in my beard?” Stephen Bonsaint snarled under his breath
to the male vampire next to him before taking another bite of his
dinner. Vamps didn’t eat during dinner, but they were quieter
company than the quartet of rambunctious adolescent wolves at the
next table over. The vampire looked up and across the room where
the human was sitting.
    “She’s not staring at you.” The vamp leaned close
and sniffed him. “I’ve never tasted bear before.” A touch of
longing tinged his voice.
    “And you won’t tonight, either. Find someone else to
suck on.”
    Stephen looked up at the woman again. He had been
doing intelligence gathering work for too long to trust anyone
easily. She was a pretty little bit of a thing, sitting ramrod
straight in her chair and speaking occasionally when someone would
say something to her, but mostly eating quietly and tapping her
feet to an imaginary tune. She was definitely alone.
    And staring at him.
    There was something unnerving about the way her blue
eyes seemed to see right through him. Was his cover blown?
    “She’s really not staring at you.” The vamp
pointed one pale finger. “She’s blind.”
    Then he saw the cane. Blind. He studied her more
openly now, knowing she couldn’t see him. She moved smoothly,
elegantly, as if measuring each movement of her hands. Meanwhile,
under the table, her feet tapped hungrily, as though demanding that
she feed them also. When she pushed back her chair and
reached for her cane, he found himself standing too. He made his
way across the room, ignoring the snickering of the wolves as he
went.
    “Hi, I’m Stephen,” he said, falling into step beside
her. She paused, turned toward him, and then her scent hit him and
the sleepy beast inside chose that moment to give up on
hibernating.
    “I’m Romy.” She held out a hand for a handshake.
    He had to know. He took the hand in his and lifted
it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles and
breathing deep.
    The fantasy crashed over him like one of the waves
slapping the shoreline. Romy in his arms, in his bed, gasping and
shouting his name in a voice husky from hours of lovemaking. His
body was saying “take her,” but the bear was saying