My F*cked Up Fairytale

DANCE LESSONS - CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When I'm just about to reach for the door handle, Selene appears before me, smiling sweetly with an unsaid threat behind her expression. I drop my hand, almost, just almost defeated, but there's still a tinge of determination inside of me.

"I can't practice dancing when I don't have a dance partner!" I point out, trying to sound disappointed, though the only thing I can hear in my voice is desperation.

Selene steps forward, forcing me to match every step she takes until we are, unfortunately, in the middle of the ballroom. I spare a fleeting glance at the doors as I wonder if I can escape before Selene uses her speed to reach me. 

My attention tears away from the doors when I see Selene's open hand being extended toward me. I turn to her, simply looking down at her empty hand. My eyebrows furrow together at the silent gesture. Does she want a high-five? But, I don't believe these people even know what that is. Then...does she want me to hold her hand? Neither thought seems to be fitting.

"I'll be your dance partner," She declares, washing away my confusion to bring in a tidal wave of dread.

My perfect excuse to not dance has been turned into shambles now. Still, I refuse to back down. This resistance is for the greater good of my pride and Selene's feet that I will definitely step on many, many times if we dance together.

I sheepishly smile, vigorously shaking my head from side to side. "No, no, that's alright, Selene! You don't have to trouble yourself! I'll–..."

The sound of the doors opening silences my voice. Like a fool, I turn to the door, a shred of me hoping that it may be Dorian that I see. Instead, my eyes fall upon the mimic of Dorian, Biast. 

His grey hair is messily strewn across his head as if he had just woken from his sleep, but everything else about his appearance says otherwise. He looks like he was ripped straight out of the dark romance mafia books I sometimes indulge myself with. His attire is all black, spare for the gold outline of what looks to be two wolves on his vest. The footsteps echoing through the ballroom only stop when he's in front of Selene and me. 

I study Biast carefully, wondering what may be his intention for his sudden appearance. Whatever it may be, I know it's not good. Despite the fact that I don't know much about him, I do know that he is a man that Dorian despises and a man that the servants fear, not out of respect but from natural instinct.

I take a cautious step back when Biast reaches his hand toward me. He raises his eyebrows at my reaction before tempering my fear, "I'll dance with you, my Cyra."

Disgust overcomes me at the sound of him uttering that repulsive two-lettered word of ownership that came before my name. I'm not a fan of any man calling me theirs. Well, that is any man except for Dorian. He's the only exception I'll make, but that exception does not extend anywhere near Biast. In fact, it's far, far away from him in the depths of hell.

I take Selene's hand in mine, lifting our hands upward and into Biast's golden and gray view.

"No, thank you," I rejected him swiftly, "I've already taken Selene as my partner."

Despite my efforts to kindly push away his offer, his hand remains before me, palm up to the ceiling and awaiting me. Though, no matter how long he waits, I will not give my hand to him. I stare at him with cold eyes in an attempt to silently express this, but it doesn't seem like he gets the message.