CHAPTER 85: DANCE FOR ME

🌙𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡

The ballroom was vast and empty when I arrived, my footsteps echoing against polished floors that gleamed like black ice. Tall windows lined one side, offering a view of winter gardens painted in moonlight and shadow. But what caught my attention was the grand piano near the far wall, its dark wood gleaming with quiet elegance.

Vladimir stood beside it, one hand resting on the polished surface. He’d changed since the hallway—white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark trousers. Somehow he looked less like the High Alpha and more like something dangerous wearing a gentleman’s skin.

His pale eyes found mine the moment I entered. The bond pulled tight between us, that ever-present ache as familiar as my own heartbeat.

"What dance are we learning?" I asked, my voice too loud in the cavernous space. "I should probably know what I’m preparing for."

"Dance first," Vladimir said, moving to the piano bench. "We’ll worry about specific steps later."

I stopped a few feet away, confusion threading through my nerves. "I don’t understand. How can I dance if I don’t know—"

"I read your file, Lili." Something in his voice made me go still. "Your mother was a ballet instructor before you were born. She taught you when you were young, didn’t she?"

The air left my lungs in a rush.

I hadn’t thought about those lessons in years. But now, with Vladimir’s words pulling them back, I could suddenly remember my mother’s hands guiding my arms, her voice counting beats.

"I haven’t danced since I was a child," I managed. "I don’t remember any of it. I was never very good."

Vladimir’s hands settled onto the keys. For a moment he simply looked at me, his pale eyes intense.

"Then we’ll see what’s still there," he said quietly.

And then he began to play.

The music was nothing like I’d expected. Softer, more fluid, each note flowing like water over smooth stones. The melody was haunting and beautiful, carrying an ache that seemed to match the bond thrumming between us.

Despite my nervousness, my body responded before my mind could catch up.

I moved awkwardly at first, limbs too heavy as I tried to remember positions my muscles had forgotten. My arms lifted with uncertain grace, feet stumbling over steps that felt foreign.

"I’m sorry," I said, frustration bleeding through as I nearly lost my balance. "I told you, I don’t remember how to do this."

But Vladimir didn’t stop playing. His fingers moved over the keys with confidence, and when he spoke, his voice carried that gentle command from the hallway.

"Lili," he said, the nickname falling like something precious. "Dance for me."

The softness in those words did something to the tightness in my chest.

The music continued to wrap around me, and suddenly I wasn’t in Wintercrest’s ballroom anymore but back in my mother’s studio, back when the world was simpler and the only thing that mattered was the next step, the next turn, the next moment of movement.

My body remembered what my mind had forgotten.

I closed my eyes and let myself simply move. Let my arms flow through positions that felt both foreign and intimately familiar. Let my feet carry me in patterns that emerged from some deep place that had been waiting to be remembered.

The clumsiness faded. Not quite grace, but closer than anything I’d managed in years.

Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes. This was my mother. This was the part of her she’d given me before we had to go back home to hell.

The music shifted, became slower and more intimate.

I felt Vladimir rise from the bench. The melody continued—a recording he must have started. Then his hand was taking mine, electricity racing up my arm despite the bandages. His other hand settled at my waist with impossible gentleness.

"Follow me," he murmured, breath warm against my ear.

I didn’t need to be told twice. My body already knew, already understood the language of his movements before he’d begun to lead.

We moved across the ballroom floor, and it was the most natural thing in the world despite not knowing these specific steps. I could feel his intentions through the bond, could predict the shift of his weight before he made it, could sense the direction he wanted to turn before his hand guided me there.

The world narrowed to just us. The music. The warmth of his hand at my waist. The way our bodies moved in perfect synchronization.

Every step he took, I matched without thinking. When he spun me outward, my arm extended in a graceful arc I didn’t remember learning. When he pulled me back, I came willingly, my hand finding his shoulder as though it belonged there.

"You’re not clumsy," Vladimir said quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest where I was pressed against him. "You never were. You just forgot that you knew how to fly."

His words threatened to undo me completely.

He was right in a way that cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I had forgotten. Let years of pain bury the parts of myself that had once found joy in movement, in music, in the simple act of letting go.

But here, now, with Vladimir’s hands guiding me, I remembered what it felt like to be more than just broken.

We moved through the dance as though we’d been practicing for years. My body anticipated his next movement with impossible ease, my feet carrying me through turns and steps I had no conscious memory of learning.

The music swelled, building toward something inevitable.

I didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want to return to reality where we were strangers bound by politics, where touching was dangerous and wanting was weakness.

"How is this possible?" I whispered as Vladimir spun us through another turn. "I don’t know this dance, but I can feel what you’re going to do."

"The bond," he answered simply. Something in his voice made me look up, meet those pale eyes. "It’s not just pulling us together, Lili. It’s connecting us. You can feel my intentions, just as I can feel yours. The dance is just making it obvious."

His words settled over me like revelation and condemnation at once.

If the bond could do this, make us move with such perfect synchronization, what else was it capable of? What other boundaries would it dissolve until separating meant tearing ourselves apart?

The music began to slow, drawing toward its end.

Vladimir’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly at my waist, as though he too was reluctant to let this moment end. We moved through the final measures with desperate grace, both clinging to these last seconds where the bond felt like a gift rather than a curse.

When the music faded into silence, we stood there in the center of the ballroom, still holding each other. Neither willing to be the first to pull away.

I could feel Vladimir’s heartbeat against my palm. Could see the way his jaw clenched as though fighting some internal battle. The bond thrummed between us, satisfied and content in a way it had never been before.

"Thank you," I finally managed. "For this."

Something shifted in Vladimir’s expression. Some crack appearing in the ice he wore like armor.

For just a moment I thought he might say something real, something that would change everything.

But then he stepped back, carefully putting distance between us once again.

The moment shattered.

"The Moonstone Masquerade will require a more formal dance," he said, voice returning to careful neutrality. "But now I know what you’re capable of, what the bond allows us to do together. We’ll practice the specific choreography tomorrow."

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned toward the doors before he could see my composure threatening to crumble.

But his voice stopped me.

"Lili."

I looked back over my shoulder. He stood in the center of the ballroom, hands in his pockets, looking more uncertain than I’d ever seen him.

"You were beautiful tonight," he said quietly.

My heart fluttered like a bird in a cage.

"When you danced. When you let yourself remember. Don’t forget that, no matter what else happens between us."

Then he turned back to the piano, dismissing me before I could respond. Before I could tell him that he’d been beautiful too, that watching his fingers on the keys had made something in my chest ache in an entirely different way than the bond usually did.

I left the ballroom with my heart pounding and my Lunar Crest still glowing faintly.

And wondered how much longer I could keep pretending that what I felt for Vladimir was entirely the bond’s doing, and not something far more dangerous that had been growing in the spaces between our carefully maintained distance all along.