I moved before I could reconsider, crossing the space in long, deliberate strides. I approached from the side, the acrobat clocking movement and his head turning enough to catch sight of me. Whatever expression I wore made his eyes widen.
"Move," I said quietly, my voice a low rumble that left no room for argument.
He looked from me to Lucy—who was so focused on not falling that she hadn’t heard my soft order—then stepped back with a nod.
Lucy wobbled at the sudden absence of his support, her arms windmilling slightly.
"Don't let me fall," she said with a nervous laugh.
Something in my chest twisted painfully. I stepped closer, lifting my hand and interlocking our fingers. Immediately, she steadied. She smelled so damn good, natural perfume carrying nervous energy and delight.
“This isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” Lucy was still focusing on the rope ahead.
Fuck. Why was she beautiful? Why was she fearless? Why did every part of me want to claim every part of her? We thought it would be a piece of cake to get rid of her.
"No, it’s harder," I answered. My voice sounded strange, rough with some bullshit emotion I didn’t want.
Her body went rigid. I saw the exact moment recognition hit her—the sharp intake of breath, the sudden tension in her spine. She started to turn, thrown off balance by the unexpectedrealization that it was me, not the friendly acrobat, standing next to her.
"Fallon?" The question fell from her lips at the same time her body began to fall towards me.
She toppled sideways off the wire with a small cry, her hand yanking from mine. I moved instantly, arms shooting forward to pull her against my chest before she could hit the ground. Her sudden proximity made every nerve in my body misfire.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I held her firmly against me, her back to my front, my arms crossed over her torso. Her breathing came quick and shallow, matching my own. Slowly, she turned within the circle of my arms until she faced me, those gold-flecked green eyes wide and searching.
I should have released her immediately. Instead, I found myself tightening my hold, one hand sliding up her spine to cradle the back of her neck, fingers threading through that silver-white hair I'd been watching all afternoon.
Time stopped.
Everything but her faded.
This was dangerous.
46
LUCY
{Three days later}
Cirque du Sang’s resident amphitheater.
Henderson, Nevada.
My heart thrummed erraticallyas I wandered deeper into the sprawling expanse of Cirque du Sang. This was only my second visit, but I’d fallen deeply in love with everything this place offered.
The air was charged with sweat and smoke and chaotic music. Beneath those strongest scent notes were animal musk, hay, and the sweetest spun sugar. I could taste ash and sawdust in my mouth when I breathed, but even that was something I welcomed. Though, it was a good thing I’d used the inhaler before coming today. Even with a dose, my lungs still protested slightly. The rest of me felt okay though; Eros’s post-treatment medications worked wonders. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel once the three months of them finished. Wholly normal? A girl could dream…
My eyes were ill equipped to take in the flurry of activity. Every corner was alive—flaps billowing like the tents had lungs, laughter weaving into the roar of engines, dancers darting past in bright, textured costumes. They were so graceful; I couldn’t imagine one ever tripping. The look of them made me acutely aware of the frayed jeans and faded shirt I wore. I tried not to focus on my appearance. There was no way to change it. Xander and the others made it very clear I should feel lucky they gave me anything at all to wear.
I should be overwhelmed. A person who’d been isolated for so long shouldn’t find this madness enchanting.So why did this feel like home?
It was as if someone had taken one of my childhood dreams—endless fantasies constructed while I wasted away in hospitals—and made it impossibly real.
With each step across ground littered with sawdust and hay and sequins, I slipped deeper into belonging. Here, with trapeze artists suspended overhead, performers standing atop galloping ponies, jugglers slinging swords skyward, and… certain Alphas recklessly riding sleek motorcycles in what was aptly called a “Globe of Death,” I felt unexpected inner peace. The music swelled around me as I walked closer to one of the largest, striped tents. I hadn’t gone into this one yet, and I wondered what fresh thrills it concealed behind the thick, vinyl walls. Without asking anyone for permission, because I’d moved about practically invisible so far, I pushed through the flaps. I didn’t like touching the material. It felt too much like the protective suits I’d worn during hospital transfers and coming here from Seattle.
Inside the tent, spotlights blazed from metal rigging overhead, their beams cutting through lingering smoke. The brightness rivaled the desert sun I'd just left behind. I had to blink several times, my vision swimming with purpleafterimages as my eyes adjusted. From somewhere to my left came rapid-fire instructions, followed by a wheezing smoker's laugh that dissolved into wet coughing. A metal pole clattered against the packed earth floor, landing perilously close to a technician, making my chest tighten with anxiety. There was so much to take in, but it wasn't the gold streamers catching light, nor the sapphire-blue platform rising from the center of the space, that caught my eyes.
It washim.
