It’s a faint echo of his touch, but it’s still so real in my head.
Stop it, I tell myself then push up onto my pointe shoes to begin my chaînés. I cut tight circles across the floor. Around me, other omegas move in practiced unison, the soft thud of satin shoes and quick, sharp breaths fill the studio. But no matter how hard I concentrate on my form or the sound of other’s feet, my mind still betrays me.
It forces me to think about every twitch of his muscles as his fingers dig into my skin, biting at my breasts and hips. His lips pressing so hard against mine.
My skin prickles.
I spin faster and faster as I settle into a series of pirouettes, muscles screaming, thighs rubbing together, the worlda blur of mirrors and motion. Every pivot drags fire up my calves straight up into my trembling ribcage.
My lungs burn and my head swims.
But beneath the fire in my bones,hisunusual scent seems to grow stronger in my mind. Weirdly-sweet lavender and thick alpha pheromones. It coils in my throat, sour and heavy.
I push harder. Spinning, again and again, praying the ache in my muscles will drown it all out. But it doesn’t.
Memories of his hot breath ghosts across my face.
My thighs ache.
The vile, slippery drag of his tongue across my neck.
Air scrapes my throat.
The rough sound he makes when he comes.
I push harder. Spin faster, continuously moving until the music finally dies. Until the storm of memories in my head quiets.Finally.
I hold the final pose. Arms lifted, chest open, breath shuddering through me. Sweat runs down my back, soaking the thin fabric of my leotard. My toes burn, rubbed raw inside my pointe shoes, but I don’t move. Not yet.
“Good job, ladies,” Madame Korrin claps her hands twice. “Excellent work today. We’ll practice at the same time tomorrow.”
In perfect unison, every dancer lowers from pointe—heels touching down with a soft, collective sigh of relief. The tension breaks, replaced by laughter and chatter as the girls stretch, and scatter across the room for their bags and water bottles.
I move toward my gym bag near the mirror, my legs trembling with leftover adrenaline.
“Tansy, that was gorgeous.” Lila rushes up next to me, still breathless from her own run. Her cheeks are pink, herbraid coming undone. “You’re going to ruin everyone at the ceremony if you dance like that.”
I laugh as I sit on the shiny floor, slowly untying the ribbons around my ankles. “I’m not sure about that. I feel like the old lady here, trying to keep up.”
A ripple of giggles follows, and someone tosses me a towel.
But it’s true.
They’re all so young—barely out of their teens, a few maybe twenty at most. Bright-eyed, and full of the kind of energy that burns fast and hot. And while I’m only twenty-seven, it’s ancient by omega standards. My kind are usually mated with a couple of babies by my age.
“Congrats again, Tans,” Mira says as she passes, slinging her dance bag over one shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re a college graduate.”
“Not for another week!” I call after them as a few more congratulations echo across the room.
Their mixed scents of soft florals and honey, sugar-sweet adrenaline trail behind them as they spill into the hallway, cheerful voices fading with each step. One by one, the doors shut, muffling their laughter.
And then it’s just me.
Alone in the empty studio, the lingering sweetness of them dissolves into the air until only my own scent remains—warm, heavy, clinging close to my skin.
I ease my feet out of my pointe shoes. The relief is immediate. A soft, aching exhale that ripples up through my whole body. My toes throb, tender and red, the skin raw where the satin pressed too tight. I flex them once, twice, savoring the sting that follows.
Taking my time, I pull the pins from my bun, one by one, letting them clatter softly into my bag. My dark redtresses spill forward, damp and heavy, curling around my neck like they’re trying to anchor me in place.
