The crowd shouted and clapped. I acknowledged the praise with the barest nod, already reaching for my next arrow.
Fourteen targets. Fourteen arrows.
An orange rested on the next assistant’s head, the bright hue starkly contrasting with her pitch-black hair. She stared straight ahead, not even blinking. The motorcycle engine revved louder, and I glanced down at the throttle lock. It was fine, so something else was going on, but I was still in the safe zone for speed. I shifted, compensating for the increased momentum which threatened to disrupt my aim. I leaned minutely to the left, steering.
I notched the arrow, drew back, and released in one fluid motion. The orange exploded in a spray of pulp and rind, the arrow embedding itself and carrying the fruit backwards to pin into the second backdrop. More applause washed over me. Was she shouting praise? Were her eyes alive with excitement?
I forced the image away. There were still thirteen targets to go.
The routine continued smoothly, whatever going on with the motorcycle stabilizing somewhere between shooting a lemon and a lime. I began cutting a figure eight in the ring, readyingmyself for the last two shots—the overhead ones that would release the confetti.
When I straightened my course, the king poles loomed ahead, my last two targets mounted high on them near the apex of the big top. I'd hit them perfectly a dozen times before, but never with Lucy watching. I notched two arrows at one time, cracking my neck and zoning in on the quarter-sized discs above. I was aware of every breath and every careful, precise adjustment as the bike carried me forward.
I released. The arrows streaked through the air, striking true. Crimson and obsidian confetti rained down, and I raised my arms in triumph, the bow still held firmly by one hand.
The universe gave me a half second of satisfaction—allowing me to find Lucy’s face and return her excited grin—before I felt it. The motorcycle hiccuped and lurched. My chest tightened, knowing shit was about to get hairy.
The bike's sudden lurch threw off my balance, my torso pitching forward dangerously. The throttle was stuck. No, worse. Shit, it was accelerating on its own. The machine roared beneath me angrily, no longer under my thrall.
I dropped down hard into the saddle, my fingers scrambling for the throttle lock. It had cinched down harder somehow, the metal catch jammed in place. With a violent twist, I wrenched it loose, my palm burning against the friction. The bike was already careening left toward the safety barrier, the audience's cheers morphing into gasps of alarm.
I leaned into the turn, counter steering so the front wheel went right. The bike began to correct, trying to curve away from the wall, but I was too late. The front wheel caught the edge of the barrier with a sickening crack of impact. The collision sent shockwaves up my arms, but I'd managed to slow enough that I wasn't launched over the handlebars.
Torturous moments later, the machine shuddered to a stop against the padded barrier, still growling like a wounded animal. I killed the engine and swung my leg over and dismounted in one fluid motion, muscles tense with adrenaline. I grinned, not letting the audience see my fear.
I thrust my fist into the air, celebrating like the accident was all part of the plan. The crowd bought it, hook, line, and sinker. The show must go on.
The cheers swelled around me, and I played into the illusion, bowing dramatically. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. That had been too close. If I'd been thrown at top speed, they’d probably have to haul my ass out of the Cirque in an ambulance. The idea of getting badly hurt in front of Lucy made my guts knot. Seeing her close to death buried under big top debris had killed me. I didn’t want to cause her that same kind of pain.
I scanned the sea of spectators, searching for her face.There she was. God, she knocked me out every time I saw her.Those piercing green eyes locked onto mine, and something electric shot through me. Lucy wasn't cheering like the others. Her delicate brows were drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line. She saw through the charade.
In that moment of unguarded connection, I felt exposed. Not as Fallon the performer, the untouchable daredevil of DemonX, but as a man who’d nearly crashed spectacularly in front of the one person who made him want to stay alive.
I flashed her my most confident smile. The one that said:I meant to do that.
Her frown only deepened in response, those breathtaking eyes narrowing slightly. I could almost feel her calling bullshit from across the stadium.
KANE.
I rolled my motorcycle slowly up the short, narrow entrance ramp, the combined weight of me and the bike making the metal groan. Behind me, Cirque employees lifted the sloped pathway. Once locked into place, it became a seamless part of the latticed, spherical cage.
The Globe of Death had claimed more than one rider’s life. It was simultaneously one of my favorite stunts, and the bane of my existence. Lucy’s jaw had dropped when I told her I’d be performing inside it tonight. She’d seen it on her first visit to Cirque du Sang and thought it was terrifying. She was worried about me doing this, and that fact sent a thrill through me. I had an Omega, and she cared enough to want me safe.
The circular metal structure creaked as I settled deeper against the saddle. Then I brought the bike to life, the deafening roar of it echoing off the reinforced bars instead of pushing through to the crowd. I adjusted my helmet one final time, the weight of it comforting against the tension in my neck. My palms were slick with sweat inside my leather gloves, but I tightened my grip on the handlebars anyway. The roar of the crowd outside the cage and the engine growling inside it both faded to a dull buzz as I focused on my breathing.
Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.
With six seconds to go, I shot a look to where Lucy stood, flanked by Xander and Fallon. My pack brothers looked enormous next to her petite frame. Fuck, she was gorgeous.
Five. Four.
The Globe of Death and I had dance many times before, with it always wanting to lead. I never let it win.
Three…
Two…
One.Now.
