Chaos Choreography (InCryptid, #5)(106)
Strapping on the matching heels added four inches to my height. I stomped, making sure they were firmly on my feet, and gave myself one last, assessing look in the mirror. Valerie looked back, red-haired, red-garbed, and ready to dance with the Devil himself for the chance to own the spotlight. I smiled.
“I’m going to miss you,” I said.
Someone rapped on the wall outside my little cubby. “Five minutes, Miss Pryor,” called a voice—a wonderfully, frustratingly familiar voice.
I stuck my head out through the opening between the curtain and the wall. Dominic, who was holding a clipboard and wearing a headset, smirked at me. It was the slow expression of a man who is profoundly amused by what he sees, and it didn’t waver one bit as my eyes widened and my eyebrows climbed toward my artificial hairline.
“Five minutes,” he repeated.
“You’re here,” I said, pushing the curtain open and stepping into the changing room. It was still a bustle of activity, but none of those people were paying any attention to us: they all had their own roles to play, their own tasks to accomplish before they could take their turns upon the stage.
“I am,” he agreed, allowing his eyes to travel the length of my body. I’ve never been a tall person, but the amount of time he took made me feel longer than the Mississippi River. I blushed. His smirk widened in answer as he reached up and tapped his headset. “It struck me that no one would notice a man who seemed to have a purpose, especially since you’ve been so beautifully careful to keep me away from their cameras. This way, I’m closer and better prepared to react to whatever might happen.”
“Let’s hope whatever happens is something that can be dealt with before it eats anybody.” I reached up and touched the lock of hair that fell across my forehead, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “How do I look?”
“Like a thousand fantasies harbored by those unfortunate enough not be married to you,” said Dominic. His smirk faded into something almost rueful. “I prefer you blonde, as it happens. But you have no idea how much I want to lead you back into your dressing room and remove that deceptive rumor you enjoy pretending is a dress.”
My cheeks reddened, the color mostly hidden by my thick foundation makeup. For once, I was grateful for the pore-clogging necessity of a “game face.” “I’ll take you up on that later, when I’m not dancing for my life. Right now, I need to hit the stage.”
“Break a leg,” said Dominic, stepping out of my path.
I paused long enough to shoot him a feral grin. “If I do, it won’t be mine.”
His laughter followed me down the hall to the stage door.
Anders didn’t speak as we took our positions at the center of the darkened stage. It might have been awkward under any other circumstances, but here—me in fringe and lace, him shirtless and wearing tight satin pants, my knee pressed to his hip, his hands wrapped around my waist—it seemed only right. This was the dance floor. This was the closest thing I’d ever found to holy ground, and if this was going to be my last dance, I was going to kill it.
The music began, high bell tones warring with a sultry backbeat for dominion over the air. Anders’ hands tightened, pulling me closer, and I pressed myself against him as Karissa Noel began to sing.
As a piece, “Corrupt” was about the singer leading her subject astray, wooing him away from the path of righteousness he’d always tried to pursue. It was hard to listen to it without thinking of Dominic, and the way I’d led him away from the Covenant. Maybe he would have grown apart from their teachings without me—stranger things have happened—but it would have been disingenuous to pretend I hadn’t had anything to do with it. I was the one who’d opened his eyes. If he’d chosen to admit what he saw, that was on him. That didn’t mean I hadn’t been a part of things.
So I danced. I danced for Anders like I was dancing for my husband, and I knew Dominic was watching me from somewhere offstage, and I knew he would know where the heat in my eyes and the tension in my flexed calves came from. Anders responded to my commitment by matching me beat for beat. When I spun, he was there to jerk me into his arms; when I dropped into a trust fall, he was there to catch me. For the first time since the start of the season, we danced like there were no barriers between us, and all it took was a fight so bad that we might never be able to rebuild our friendship.
There would be time to worry about that after we had both survived tonight’s elimination. (In more ways than one. I was still concerned about staying on the show, no matter how much I might wish I weren’t: it’s hard to break the habits of a lifetime. And if either one of us got cut, I was going to be fighting for our lives in a much more literal sense.)
The dance ended with Anders submitting to me, dropping to his knees at my feet. His chest was heaving, shining with sweat in the lights. I mimed snapping his neck, and his body collapsed to the stage as the music stopped. Smirking, I turned and strutted toward the exit, the riotous applause of the audience putting a little extra wiggle into my step.
Halfway there, Brenna appeared, putting an arm around my shoulders and turning me around as she steered me toward the judging table. She was grinning, holding out her other hand as she beckoned to Anders. The lights shifted, going from performance-bright to something more subdued, and I saw the audience for the first time since our dance had started. More than half of them were on their feet, applauding their hearts out. Marisol was in the second row, her pinky fingers in her mouth, whistling ecstatically.