Page 8 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“Good. Go get ready. I want you on in fifteen.”

After changing into a gold crop-top and thong in the staff locker room, I made my way to the empty cage at the center of the club's floor. There were ten platform cages in total, all gilded in gold and ridiculously lavish, with poles running through their centers. They were filled with scantily clad males and females, most of whom were exotic supernaturals. I supposed I was meant to be the exotic human specimen.

Our DJ, a fae named Tanner, nodded my way. I gave him a quick half-smile. Tanner knew which songs I liked and which to play for my solos. I climbed into my cage, shut the door behind me, and began to prowl. The song died down before the flashing lights zeroed in on me. The rest of the club darkened.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into my persona of Candy, shedding my worries about Professor Miller and everything else that had happened today. Something about being in the cage had always made me feel safe. Safe from everyone outside. Safe from my life. Safe to be whoever I wanted.

Candy was bold and seductive with her pink hair, gold lipstick, smoky eyes, and shimmer coating her skin—nothing like the cowering Rose who’d fled an abusive relationship, even if she’d healed over the past two years. Even if she’d come back as something stronger.

The transition finished and a new song came on—Candy’s song.

I crept around the pole in the center of the platform. There was a lurch and the whole cage lifted off the floor, raising up a few feet to make me more visible to the crowd and balconies above. Somewhere overhead, a machine shot fog into the air. The world around me glowed, like something out of a dream, making the shimmer on my skin come to life.

I let the music flow over me, exhaling and loosening my limbs before sliding into motion. The beat picked up and I reached for the pole, sweeping my body around and dragging myself along it, engaging my core. My stilettos kicked into the air, and I settled into a well-known trance of twisting and spinning and contorting myself.

Losing myself to the music.

I loved how when I danced, I became a thing of fantasy. Someone desirable and unobtainable. Someone who didn’t carry scars.

As a child, I’d enjoyed ballet and other traditional forms before quitting those in favor of hip hop and jazz. I’d moved on from there to pole and other exotic forms, which offered the kind of challenge that made me thrive. Dance was one of the reasons I did so well with MMA. I had decades of coordination working in my favor.

The crowd screamed, their arms lifted in the air, swaying with the beat. Cellphones came out, recording videos that would pop up all over social media later with #cottoncandyvortex and other various hashtags synonymous with my persona. I tossed my hair, making eye contact with anyone close enough to see, turning up the heat. Every movement was calculated, controlled, sinuous.

My treacherous thoughts went back to the goblin in the coffee shop. What would he see if he were here, watching me? A woman fighting for her confidence? Or someone who had already won?

My solo came to an end, the music settling into a slower rhythm. I continued dancing as the other caged dancers began again, effectively pulling some of the crowd's attention away. Now that I wasn’t blasted with spotlights, my eyes roamed the club. It was packed tonight, people swarming the floor, dancing and drinking.

Eaden had mentioned the VIP balcony boxes, which was where most of our important clientele congregated. Those boxes were by reservation only, with a hefty price tag. Vortex was a favorite for supernaturals who wanted privacy. Ideal for the types of deals taking place here tonight.

My eyes slid over the faces of Walton’s richest patrons. Most were engaged in hushed conversations. All it took was a blink and a little intense staring to see what they were. Elves, fae, shifters, vampires…and even a few humans.

I faltered as my gaze passed over a head of shaggy blond hair peeking out beneath an all too familiar baseball cap. Walton University’s WU logo front and center. I did a double-take, my heart taking off into a gallop. His face was shadowed, so I couldn’t make out his features. But I could imagine them. Cold eyes, pointed chin, strong jaw.

My hand slipped, sending me careening down the pole. Recovering, I moved into an intentional dive before pulling up. I was known for my impressive flexibility and athleticism. The surrounding crowd gasped and cheered, then clapped, delighted. I threw them a seductive smile, playing it off, and continued dancing, swinging around for another look.

He was gone—like he’d never even been there.

Because I’d probably imagined him.

He was human. What business did he have in a supernatural club, anyway?

Anger replaced fear. I was so, so tired of looking over my shoulder. Imagining Luke’s face in every head of blond hair. If he hadn’t found me after two years, he wasn’t going to. Professor Miller’s medallion was supposed to ensure that. My pink hair and contacts merely a secondary safety precaution.

Determined to put this behind me, I continued dancing.

Swinging around, trying not to think of Luke—because he didn’t deserve a second of my attention—my eyes landed on a figure hidden in the darkness. This time my breath hitched as a swarm of butterflies took off in my stomach. I blinked, not quite certain what I was seeing. Afraid it was another illusion.

But it wasn’t.

The goblin from the coffee shop was watching me, leaning against the far wall of one of the VIP balcony boxes, with his arms crossed. Curious but nonchalant. Maybe he’d tracked me down to replace my shirt?

I huffed because, yeah, fat chance.

Our eyes met and held. His gaze was a dark challenge that had alarm bells ringing. A single encounter could be passed off as coincidence. But twice in one day?

I forced my paranoia to take a back seat. I needed to stop assuming the worst. He was a supernatural, after all. And this was a prime location for his kind.

Pulling my attention away, I focused on my work.