Chapter 2: Feral Dance

The earlier music still echoed in Nyra's head as she slipped behind the curtains backstage. Her breath came in light gasps, but she masked it with a proud smile. 

The adrenaline from the stage still shimmered in her skin. The stares. Fuck, those eyes–how could someone look at her like that?

“Nyra!” Madam Vexa's voice called out before Nyra appeared on the hallway corner past the other females preparing for their shows.

Vexa stood with her signature cigarette between two fingers, her silver hair raised in a bun, and her tight black dress hugged her frame that intimidated men half her age. She exhaled smoke through her nose, smirking.

“Now that's how you keep men coming back. You lit up that stage tonight, baby girl. Just as you always do.” 

Nyra forced a smile. “Thanks, Vexa.”

The older woman waved an envelope at her. “Your pay and some bonus for tonight. You performed very well, and someone special saw you dance.”

Nyra's smile wavered. “Someone special?”

“VIP guests initially. I reserved one of the red rooms. He wants a private show.” she replied.

Nyra hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the envelope. 

Madam Vexa lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you're growing shy and thinking of rejecting it.” 

“No,” she muttered. “Um..” she pursed her lips, contemplating the thought of it.

She didn't like giving the guests private shows, and Madam Vexa knew that.

“You know I don't like it,” she blurted out before she could stop herself and Madam Vexa frowned.

“You know you owed me a lot when I accepted you to work here. It's just for a few minutes, and it'll be over,” the woman responded. “The touching aspect, there won't be one if that's what you're afraid of. I promise.” she assured her.

Nyra sighed in defeat. “Alright, I’ll do it.” she mumbled and rolled her eyes. “Not like I have a choice.”

“Good girl. That's more like it. It's going to be a win-win situation and more bonus if it goes out well enough,” Vexa purred. “Room nine. You've got fifteen minutes to dress up and prepare.”

**

In her dressing room, Nyra stood before the mirror, sliding into another dress. Black lace traced her curves and it barely covered her cleavages. She adjusted her hair, painted a fresh coat of red lipstick, and took a tiny can of pepper spray into the side of her straps.

Just in case.

She walked through the hallway in silence, her heels muffled by the plush carpet. She got to room nine in no time and took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit, darkness swallowing every corner. A low couch sat at the side, and behind it, tall and still, a man.

He said nothing at first and leaned back, hands resting against the top of the couch. His silhouette was powerful.

Nyra could make out his features due to the darkness. The slope of his neck, the long legs spread with the casual arrogance of someone used to being obeyed.

“You're late,” he said, his voice thunderous.

She blinked. “You didn't specify a time.”

“Doesn't matter,” he uttered calmly. “Do what you're paid for.”

Nyra's jaw tensed. The fucking arrogance made anger bubble inside her.

Nevertheless, she trod forward, letting the rhythm of her body fall into the sensual sway she was trained in. She danced for him, every moment a silent performance meant to captivate. She turned, bent forward and ran a hand along her thigh.

She refused to let the tension in the room disrupt her. And right there, she heard it.

A male guttural groan.

It wasn't one of those fake groans men did to impress. It sounded ripped straight from the chest. A sound of hunger and frustration.

Nyra's spine stiffened for half a second. The man in the dark was watching her closely.

And stroking himself.

She didn't look directly, but she saw the slight motion of his hand, the stillness of his body broken by one thing only.

Her stomach churned. She kept moving.

But when she twirled near him again, his hands reached out and his fingers brushed her waist.

She jumped slightly and moved away, masking the reaction with a teasing laugh. “No touching, sir.”

“You dance like you want to be touched,” he muttered blankly. “You look like you need to be.”

Her thighs clenched, but she continued dancing. 

This time, he reached out again, firmer than the first.

“I said no touching,” she snapped, twisting out of his grip. 

He moved to stand, towering over her in the dark.

And Nyra had had enough.

In one swift motion, she reached beneath her straps, brought out the pepper spray and pressed it hard. A blast of burn came straight into his face.

He roared. “Fuck!”

He stumbled back. His arm swung blindly and hit the wall behind him. His elbow slammed into the light switch unknowingly.

The dim red lights went off and a spark of emergency lighting kicked in with golden beams flooding the room.

Nyra gasped. 

What the hell had she done?

He stood for a while and bent slightly, blinking rapidly as he wiped his face.

But the damage was already done. Nyra saw who it was.

Tall and broad. His shirt unbuttoned and muscles visible. Jet-black hair brushed back, lips curled in a scowl.

And his eyes. Those eyes!

The same ones that stared at her from the VIP. 

She recognized him instantly.

Alpha Kael gritted his teeth. He had fucking blown off the cover, and she'd seen him. 

His gaze locked with hers, and despite the redness in his eyes from the spray, his expression was clear. He remembered her, too. 

Silence rose between them. Nyra stopped what she was doing, legs wobbling and fingers trembling. She felt sweat beading her forehead.

Kael stared at her and smiled, low and dangerous.

“Found you,” 

Instinctively, Nyra took a step back. And without a second thought, she screamed. “AHH!!!”