“No, not at all…” Her confidence seemed rattled. “Sorry,” she said, a little meekly, which he found odd.
“Don’t be,” he said. He looked down again. He had made her bleed. He touched it, mesmerized, rubbing the warm tackiness. Now he could see Daisy’s thighs were smudged with it. A small, bright rose had bloomed on the mattress beneath her.
“Can you get me a towel?” she asked.
“Yeah. One sec.” He pushed up on an elbow, dipped a finger and began to trace letters on her leg, just above her bent knee. E. Then R.
“What are you doing?” But she was laughing, and her hand caressed his head.
He smiled, not sure himself, but into it, carefully making the crossbars of the I. Boldly, he slid his finger into her, and then finished with a strong K. And there, on her leg, his name, in her blood.
“Now you’re mine,” he said. She looked down at her leg, up at him, and her eyes turned wicked. Her hand, which had been soft in his hair, seized the nape of his neck and pulled him on her again, all of his body along hers. She opened her mouth under his, wound her limbs around him like vines. Caught up in her savage and greedy grip, he kissed her, crushed her down into the bed even as the joy in him spiraled up through the roof and burst into the sky. He had always known the one was out there and he had found her.
And he had marked her in blood.
Part Two: James
The Alpha Male
James Dow came to Lancaster the fall of Erik’s junior year.
Erik heard about him first through Daisy, who spoke of a talented transfer from Juilliard who was wowing the tights off the conservatory. “Marie’s having him partner me a lot,” she said. “I think he’s being groomed as the heir apparent.” She still danced with Will, but Will was a senior now, and clearly Marie was keeping a shrewd eye on the future.
“Is he any good?” Erik asked.
“He’s a good dancer,” Daisy said. “But he’s kind of erratic. Good days are phenomenal, bad days are horrendous and it’s either one or the other. No middle ground.”
“Perfect or useless.”
“Right, which makes it hard to partner with him. He’s strong, his timing is good. But he’s not consistent.”
“He’s not Will,” Erik said.
“Nobody is going to be Will. But I can’t ignore he’s graduating. That would be stupid.”
“And no stupid girls are in ballet.” It was something Daisy’s old ballet teacher used to say, and one of Daisy’s personal credos.
“James isn’t stupid,” she said. “He’s got a phenomenal memory. He’s just unpredictable. And I have to think so much when we dance together, which is exhausting.”
Erik followed the gossip with interest, wondering if a rivalry would erupt between the newcomer and Will. They sounded intensely competitive in the studio. But then Will started bringing James around to hang socially and Erik’s interest quickly morphed into concern. While James was a dynamic and likeable guy, something about the new friendship seemed odd to Erik. Troubling in a way he couldn’t quite articulate.
James Dow came from a small town outside Pittsburgh. His face had a dark, devilish handsomeness punctuated by stormy grey eyes. He was twenty-one but already losing his hair. “I got crap genes. None of the men in my family can keep a head of hair to save their lives.” He gave in gracefully by sporting an eighth-inch buzz cut and a slick goatee. Gold hoops hung from both his ears. These, the beard and his olive skin gave him the look of a pirate, Erik thought. Or a conquistador. “You look like Vasco da Gama,” he said.
“You, you look like freakin’ Adonis,” James said. He turned to Will. “How do you concentrate with this guy around?”
“With great difficulty,” Will said.
“Jesus, with a face like his I could’ve conquered half of Greenwich Village. Must be a *-market around your place. What, does he just stand in bars and take numbers?”
“Fishy, fishy in the brook,” David said, “doesn’t have a little black book.”
“He’s Bianco’s boy,” Will said.