The energy in the air shifted as I watched Asher—clad in tight black attire that hugged every line of carved muscle—step onto the elevated stage. I couldn’t look away from him. My stupid heart even raced at the sight of him.
Remember he tried to kill you.The angel on my shoulder tried to reason with me, but I flicked her away. The devil smiled, and sat down, getting comfortable.I knew you’d see it my way.
I shuffled to the side, sitting on one of the lower steel benches of the half-erected stadium seating. Asher was deep in discussion with three other men now, their hands gesturing wildly as they passed around various props. With his sharp jawline set firmly and that tousled dark hair framing his striking blue eyes, he looked every bit a model. Asher, holding a bottle in one hand and an odd metal cylinder in the other, stepped a few yards away from the other performers, and I held my breath.
Asher put the bottle to his mouth and tipped it back. In one swift motion, he lowered the container, lifted the nondescript tube, tilted his head back, ignited the tip of the cylinder somehow, and expelled a stream of fluid from his mouth. I gasped as fire erupted, creating a flaming arc in the air that seemed to lengthen several yards before dying out. It was breathtaking, and so was Asher’s smile afterwards.
Fire was almost beautiful when I wasn’t at the center of an inferno waiting to die.
Asher repeated the maneuver, then seemed to swallow the flaming torch. He pulled it back out with a flair that elicited cheers of approval from the surrounding Cirque crew. Next, Asher moved closer to the three performers on the platform. He set down the bottle and torch, then picked something else up from the floor. From a distance, it seemed like a small ball, nothing special. Asher pulled his lighter from his pocket, flicking the dial and then holding the fresh flame against the orb. It took a few seconds for the light to catch. The ball burned strangely, with pale blue flames hovering just above the material’s surface which crawled, inch by inch, to engulf the sphere. The fire then grew taller, fingering towards the ceiling in four-inch peaks.
With practiced movements, Asher began sliding the ball deftly from his palm to the crook of his elbow. He bounced it the second it hit the crease, popping it up to catch against his upper body as he leaned back. He straightened his posture slowly, the fire kissing down the front of his shirt. At waist level, Asher scooped the flaming ball up and walked over to the closet other performer who took it without hesitation. The second performer began what I could only guess was modified martial arts, jumping and kicking and somehow never dropping the ball. The second pass to the next man began a routine involving suspending from a rope that unexpectedly lowered from the tent ceiling.
My eyes bulged as the movements grew increasingly intense. The fireball seemed to build into a hotter, larger flame with each passing second. I didn’t understand how they were handling it without gloves. My skin tingled, imagining how hot the fire had been when the mattress was burning. When the last performer seized the fireball, he launched into a back flip that defied gravity, his body a blur of muscle and motion. As his feet slammed back onto the platform, he threw his head back and stretched his mouth into a gaping maw. I lurched from my seatwith a strangled gasp as the man caught the blazing sphere against his bare lips, intense flames licking dangerously close to his eyes.
My cry must have been far louder than I imagined, because it gave me away.
The moment Asher turned towards me, time stood still. His piercing blue eyes carved through the air, narrowing as he studied my face. Was he angry I was here watching? What would he do?
I bit my lower lip, worrying the skin until I tasted the metallic tang of blood. Anxiety bloomed in my chest as Asher walked towards the man holding the blazing orb. He took it, then, with purposeful strides, began closing the distance to where I stood.
I shrank back, hyperaware of what happened the last time Asher was around me with fire. Every heartbeat screamed for me to turn away, to retreat outside and find safety. But my feet wouldn’t move. Something deep inside, buried in a place I couldn’t face, wanted me to stay.
“Lucy,” he said in a low voice, my name full of promises I couldn’t define—good ones, bad ones, painful ones? “Did you enjoy the show?”
“I… I…” My breath hitched as he brought the flame closer. Would it hurt? Could it burn me? He was still holding it against his naked palm. Curiosity colored the edges of my fear. I searched his eyes, looking for the mania they held the night he’d burned the mattress. Today, the blue was cloudless.
“I loved it,” I finally finished breathlessly, not sure if I should have told him the truth or not.
Asher looked down at the sphere, shifting it from the cradle of his palm to the back of his hand. He slowly lifted and lowered his fingers, causing the fiery ball to roll back and forth across his knuckles. The fluidity of his movements was mesmerizing, and the longer I looked at the flame, the more I seemed to see imagesinside the burning. My body began to warm as I fell under the spell of the glowing sphere. Asher could take away all the bad memories, all the pain, all the unwanted feelings. Asher could burn it all down.
“Hold out your hand, Lucy,” he rumbled, pulling me from the trance. His deep growl of a voice sent shivers down my spine.
My fingers twitched, instantly wanting to comply. But I had to fight my brain into agreeing. When I didn’t move, Asher stepped closer, his free hand lowering down to lift my right arm. He turned my hand, so the palm pointed toward the tent ceiling. He wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were locked on our hands and the flame. I stayed perfectly still as he transferred the ball of fire to me.Had I expected it to hurt? And, if so, had I really just stood there and allowed this to happen?
I gasped when the heat settled against my flesh but didn’t scorch.
“Keep it moving. Don’t let it sit in one place,” Asher instructed.
I tilted my hand back and forth, watching the fire dance effortlessly, skipping across my pale skin. It seemed to be alive, pulsing and fluttering like a baby bird.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said, words punctuated by a nervous laugh.
“But it always can, if it wants to,” he added.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, glancing up at Asher. His intense eyes were studying my face. Emotions flickered over his features, raw and unguarded. For a heartbeat, I forgot to keep moving my hand, making the fireball sit too long. It seared my skin for only a second, reinforcing Asher’s words that fire can always hurt you. It was like people in that way.
“You get it, don’t you?” he suddenly asked, his voice nearly shaking, as if this experience between us created more questions than answers for him.
My mind whirled uncontrollably, and I wasn’t sure if I could speak.Did I get it?The flames were alluring and terrifying all at once, just like standing this close to Asher. I didn’t know whether to run or surrender to the bonfire building inside. Yet, somehow, it also all made sense.
I managed to nod; then I had to break the overwhelming weight of his gaze. Looking down, I became mesmerized by the flaming orb. Dancing. Swaying. Skipping. Never burning.
My chest tightened as I thought back to the countless nights spent in sterile hospital beds, wishing for a life without boundaries. I wanted to push myself to my limits and beyond, even if it meant pain. Because that kind of hurt would be different than endless needles as I tried not to die.
“Do you trust me, Lucy?” Asher’s voice was small, almost childlike.
How could I trust a man that tried to murder me in my sleep?
