Page 1 of The Vampire’s Ballerina

Chapter One

Imogen

Mattresses Imogen? Really? You couldn’t have come up with something better to prattle on about than the fucking mattresses in the guest room? I suppress a shiver and adjust my bag on my shoulder as I make my way across the Crescent Lake pack lands.

Thank fuck there are no werewolves around right now to witness my walk of shame after my accidental sleepover with their beta, Reid. There’s already one witness too many since Reid’s best friend caught us on our way out of the guest room we stayed in last night.

I still can’t believe I stayed the night with him. That is so not like me. Hookups are hookups, and sleepovers are not a part of hookups. Not for me. Especially not when…

No, Imogen. Stop that. It is what it is. It happened, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. The only positive side to this accidental sleepover is that I didn’t have to drive here this morning for my bridesmaid dress fitting.

“Shit!”

My heel catches on a patch of ice, and my foot slides along the cement. I freeze in place, arms out to the side for balance. I scan the grounds, checking if any of those sharp-eyed werewolves saw me almost fall on my ass even though I know there’s no one around.

Can you blame me for not wanting anyone to witness my less than graceful pose?

I exhale in relief and tiptoe to the edge of the offending ice patch, then remove my shoes and shove them in my bag before I finish the journey to my best friend Haven’s house. The ground is freezing, but I can’t risk an injury. I can warm my feet up once I’m inside. A broken ankle or leg, however… For a ballerina, that could be career-ending.

I quicken my pace and bounce up the steps to Haven’s house. I don’t pause at the top. I pound on the door, hopping from foot to foot.

“Haven! Open up, please!” I bang on the door again. “It’s fucking freezing out here and I’m—”

The door opens, revealing a face framed with wild red curls. She greets me with a raised eyebrow as her deep-blue eyes scan me from head to foot. “You’re still in your clothes from last night.”

Talk about stating the obvious.

“Yep.” I flick my gaze over her shoulder to the tall, muscular man behind her. I press my lips together and don’t say anything more, even as Wesley’s nostrils flare and his eyebrow quirks up to match his mate’s.

Right. Werewolves and their enhanced senses. And Wesley’s are even stronger as a lycan and the alpha of this pack. He knows precisely where I’ve been all night, who I’ve been with, and what we’ve been doing.

“Can I use your restroom?” I squeeze past both of them, changing the subject before either can ask me questions I don’t want to answer yet.

Not before I’ve brushed my teeth and changed my clothes. Not before I’ve had at least one cup of coffee.

I don’t wait for an answer. I turn the corner and pop into the guest bathroom at the end of the hall.

“We’ll be in my dance studio,” Haven says through the door. “There’s plenty of coffee, and Maddie brought breakfast burritos from the packhouse.”

“Sounds great!” I plop my bag on the counter and rip the zipper open. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Haven’s footsteps fade, and I rush through my routine, changing from my black wrap sweater and plaid mini skirt into a cropped dark-green turtleneck and faded raw-hem jeans. I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my now flat blowout, fluffing the roots to bring it back to life and pinching my cheeks to add a touch of color.

Then I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut as my arms fall. I shake myself, rest my hands on my hips, and stare at my reflection. At the less than perfect version of myself glaring back at me.

“It’s fine.” I keep my voice as low as possible, even though those supernatural friends of mine in the next room can most likely hear every word. “They don’t care. They’re your friends. Real friends who like you for you, not for who you pretend to be. There’s no one here to tell you that you’re not enough.”

I nod at myself and put on a smile, shoving everything back into my bag. Then I yank the door open and make my way to the room on my left, my favorite room in Wesley and Haven’s house: her dance studio.

It’s a mash-up of professional and homemade, with dance-company-grade flooring and a top-of-the-line stereo system alongside the hodge-podge of closet mirrors that stand in for a mirrored dance studio wall. But it’s perfect, because Wesley made it for her. He sacrificed a space in his own home so she could have a space that was just hers. It’s a testament to the love a werewolf has for their soulmate. The kind of love found in books and movies, the kind most of us only dream of having.

The kind Wesley has for Haven.

The door shuts behind me, and three sets of eyes land on my reflection in the makeshift wall mirror. I swallow and drop my bag, wiping my palms on my jeans as I cross the marley flooring to where Haven, Maya, and Madeleine wait for me, sipping coffee and eating breakfast.

“Here.” Haven waves a burrito in front of me as I plop down beside her. Her lips twitch. “I’m sure you’re feeling peckish.”

I narrow my eyes and grab the burrito, peeling the wrapper off and taking a small, ladylike bite. Of course Wesley told her he smelled Reid on me. I don’t know why I’m surprised.