"I can show you so much more," I promised, releasing her hand reluctantly to move toward the props scattered across the stage floor. "Fire hoops, devil sticks, poi spinning. Fire dancing is where it all comes together. The danger and the beauty."
A vision formed in my mind: her silhouette against a midnight sky, watching flames climb stories high as windows shattered from the heat. I'd take her hand and show her what real destruction looked like. Not these controlled performances, but something alive and hungry andfree. Hell, I even had my next target already lined up. Would that be too much for her? Or—and this thought sent my desire into overdrive—would it not be enough?
I picked up a metal hoop about three feet in diameter. The exterior was wrapped in special material that could be soaked in fuel and ignited.
“One of the Cirque floor gymnasts risks his life with this during my act.” I exaggerated, wanting to see Lucy’s eyes widen in surprise. “His leotard is made to catch fire when he jumps through the blazing ring. Then he does his flour routine. When the lights are low, it’s mesmerizing."
The pure joy and curiosity in her eyes made my heart pang. Lucy wasn’t intimidated; I wasn’t scaring her. She wanted more, and I wanted to give her more. In the back of my head, I knew these feelings would fuck up the master plan. But right now, I didn’t care.
"What about that?" She pointed to a long pole with wicked-looking metal ends.
"Fire staff," I explained, setting down the hoop and retrieving the longer prop. I rolled it over in my hands. “This is a favorite.”
"I want to see all of it," Lucy breathed, stepping closer to me.
The air between us compressed, charged with possibilities. I could smell anticipation rising from her skin, mingling with my own hunger. Fuck, Lucy was going to undo me right here and now. If she did, I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from claiming her in the middle of Cirque du Sang. My gaze dropped to her throat, watching the pulse there quicken beneath translucent skin. Those purple veins ran lines down her body that I desperately wanted to trace. My eyes moved a little lower, landing on the heart necklace. Xander had given it to her as an object of humiliation. Looking at it now, I wanted to hook my finger into the hollow and pull her to me. Not to abuse. Not to degrade. But to kiss. I wanted to drink Lucy in like she was oxygen and I was a dying fire.
“Do you want me to light it?” I said, voice graveled with need.
Before Lucy could speak, a sharp, high-pitched whistle cut through the tent.
My head snapped up, body instantly tensing. I didn't know why the sound twisted my gut. It was probably just a Cirque technician trying to get someone’s attention. In theater, whistling backstage before a performance was bad luck. It was stupid. A superstition I’d never paid heed to, yet…
"What is it?" Lucy asked, noticing my reaction.
"Nothing," I muttered, shaking it off. "Just?—"
Screams erupted from outside the tent—shrill and panicked. Something was wrong.
Lucy's face drained of color, the heat of excitement evaporating instantly. Her shoulders tensed, head turning toward the commotion. I moved, positioning myself slightly in front of her, as if my body could shield her from whatever the hell was happening outside this tent. That haunted look I'd seen when she’d first arrived at the compound flashed across her features. It was the wariness of someone accustomed to pain and disaster.
"Asher?" She said my name like a question, uncertainty lacing each letter.
"I'm sure it's nothing," I tried to dismiss it, wanting to continue what we’d started. My hand reached for hers again, fingers brushing against her wrist. "Probably one of the horses got loose or something. Large scale tour prep means constant problems."
It was a blatant lie. Cirque du Sang rarely had issues or accidents. Their safety protocol and staff were the best in the business.
The screams continued, more voices joining in, followed by a crash that was too loud to ignore. Lucy’s eyes locked on the tent exit, her hands balling into nervous fists.
"It doesn't sound like nothing," she argued, those green eyes now sharp with concern. She took one hesitant step, then another.
I wanted to pull her back, to recapture that perfect moment when the world had narrowed to just us and the fire we both understood. But the spell was broken.
"Fuck," I growled, frustration burning through me. "Fine. We can check it out, but then we're coming back here."
Lucy didn’t wait for me to follow. She walked quickly, descending the stage steps before I’d even started moving. I followed, catching up with her quickly. When my foot hit the dusty ground past the metal steps, she was only a few paces ahead. I caught up to her in seconds, moving shoulder to shoulder with her.
“We don’t need to rush.” This was ridiculous. We were ruining our perfect moment for what was probably something stupid happening outside.
I was about to insist that Lucy relax, but just as my mouth opened, a female performer in a tight leotard burst through the tent flaps. The woman’s face was flushed red with exertion, herchest heaving. Her arms windmilled wildly as she tried to catch her breath.
"The Phantom Tent is collapsing!" she shouted, voice cracking with urgency. "People are still inside!" Sweat glistened on her forehead as she looked between us, desperate for a response.
Lucy stopped abruptly, face horrified. I rolled my eyes, still annoyed at the interruption. Not my problem, not my tent, not my concern.
"And?" I asked coldly, crossing my arms. "I'm sure the crew has it handled."
The woman's eyes widened at my icy dismissal. "No, you don't understand. Nitro was practicing his knife routine in there. One of the maintenance techs said he was at stage center when the first cable snapped." She turned, already running back toward the entrance. "Everyone's trying to help!" She shouted over her shoulder.
