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He’s dumbing it down for me so I can master the basics first. And I’m grateful for that.
“Okay, this isn’t so bad,” I whisper.
“Don’t pat yourself on the back just yet,” he answers in a low voice. “I’ve seen circus monkeys dance with more grace than you.”
Anger roils through me, and I bring my foot down hard on his. A growl rips from his throat as he steps back.
“Oops, sorry,” I say with saccharine sweetness. “I’m so clumsy.”
The music stops, and everyone turns to stare at us. Alek regards me, no doubt plotting his revenge, and Mrs. Orlova sighs. “Start again.”
Students murmur and return to the starting position. Alek looms over me with a brooding scowl.
He wraps his arm around my waist once more, this time yanking me against him with more force. I bring my hands up when I slam into his chest.
Leaning over, he brings his lips to my ear. “You better behave yourself.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll take you over my knee and spank you.”
My lips part. “Maybe I’m into that.”
The atmosphere shifts between us, buzzing with tension. We stand like this for a moment, pressed against the other, but neither of us dare to look away first.
His eyes are glacial blue, but his hooded gaze is molten with heat.
And then I feel it—something hard pressing into my lower belly.
Alek clears his throat and steps back, putting space in our starting stance. He inclines his head toward me in a stiff bow, and I curtsy once more.
I should be gloating right now, but I’m too stunned to react. The moment he turned me down, I thought he wasn’t interested, but now?
Now, I’m more confused than before.
“Are you into werewolf novels?” Prisha asks.
The two of us are sitting at our usual table in the dining hall, and I glance up from my bowl of soup. “Say what now?”
“Werewolf novels. You know, characters who talk to their inner wolves, have fated mates, and whatnot.”
I stare at her blankly with soup dripping off the end of my spoon. The chatter of the other students echoes off the domed ceilings.
“I’ll lend you one of my favorites. It’s not as dark or spicy as the others, but the sexual tension between the two leads is—” She brings her fingers to her lips to imitate a chef’s kiss. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“I could probably use something lighter,” I say. “These dark romances have me all… I don’t know.”
“Hoping for a morally gray villain to sweep you off your feet?” Prisha finishes.
“Yeah, something like that.”
Something is seriously wrong with me. I want a guy with more red flags than the Russian Red Army, and that can’t be a healthy form of attachment.
Especially when your enemy checks off all those boxes.
“Is it warm in here?” I ask.
“Not really.”
