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“Not all the way,” Kenan calls to the stagehands. “Keep her suspended.”

The ring stops its descent, leaving me hanging about seven feet above the stage floor, and I stop spinning. Kenan circles below, his movements predatory and calculated. I hope so, anyway.

“What’s happening?” I ask, my stomach fluttering with nervous energy as I maintain my pose. One leg hooked around the ring.

He looks up at me. “Do you trust me?”

I swallow hard, glancing at the wings where Tobias stands. His eyes seem to bounce between the two of us, and even from this distance I can feel the tension radiating off of him. But my attention is pulled back to Kenan as he pulls out his velvet box of knives, and then I nod.

“I trust you,” I say, surprising myself. I shouldn’t ... it’s partially his fault I’m even here ... but I do. Even though I’ve only been with them both a short time … something has me hoping that I can.

The crowd falls silent as he gestures to something behind me. I twist in the hoop to see what he’s pointing at — a large circular target has been raised on a platform directly behind me. The red and white rings gleaming under the spotlight look eerily like a bullseye with me positioned right in the middle. He’s not going to –

“Then dance for me, Kitten,” Kenan calls up as he backs to the front of the stage. “Make it beautiful.”

The music shifts to something darker, more sensual. It finally clicks in my brain what’s about to happen. He’s going to throw those damn knives at me again. So I start to move. Arching my back and extending my legs. The hoop spins slowly and I catch glimpses of Kenan preparing below, testing the weight of each blade.

“Let go,” I remember his words from earlier.

The first knife whistles past my ear so close it almost makes me flinch. The solid thunk behind me lets me know he hit his mark. My pulse races as the second and third blades follow quickly behind, framing my spinning form.

“You sure are looking good up there,” Kenan says, reaching for another knife. “Now faster.”

I increase my pace. I arch my back, extending my legs completely out. Feeling the lace bodysuit stretch across my skin. I shouldn’t be able to move half as well as I am, but – then, just below my calf, the next knife flies past, and that one makes me flinch.

“Too close?” I hear Kenan’s voice below.

“That’s all you got?” I taunt, unsure where the boldness is coming from. Shut up, Emerson. But something about him always has me wanting to talk back.

Kenan’s laugh is rich and dark. “Oh, Kitten’s got her claws out tonight.”

Two more knives sail past in quick succession, framing my now extended arm as I hang upside down. The crowd is going insane, but I don’t focus on them. I can’t, because they aren’t the ones throwing knives at me.

“Don’t get cocky,” he warns.

I rotate in the hoop again, feeling the thrill of the danger of it all. Another knife flies past my cheek and I smile as it makes me arch my back more dramatically.

“One more left,” Kenan says. He raises his arm, the knife glinting in the spotlight. I turn to look at what areas he’s hit on the target behind me. If I’m right ... this one should go just above my head. I turn the hoop back, keeping the pace slow and position myself sitting on it as if a taunt.

The knife leaves his hand, but not before I notice a piece of the fire-breather’s clothes on the floor. Kenan’s foot stumbles just slightly as he lets go of the knife, and I watch his face fill with horror, the knife headed straight for my face.

Chapter 17

I brace for impact as it spirals through the air, my heart racing and my breathing halting, as if time is standing still. I close my eyes, preparing myself for what will come next.

But it never comes.

I feel weight on the hoop and slowly peel my eyes open. Tobias is in the hoop beside me, his body impossibly balanced in the small space, arm around my waist. The crowd gasps. I follow the line of his arm, between his two fingers is the knife, right in front of my forehead.

“That,” he says, his voice low, “would have been bad.”

My eyes widen as I struggle to maintain my pose with him sharing my space. “How did you —”

“Illusionist, remember?” he murmurs, his lips nearly brushing my ear, and I recall the times he’s seemed to move through space unheard, unseen. “But, now we have to make this look like part of the act so ...”

The Ringmaster’s voice booms through the tent, confusion fueling it, and possibly a hint of irritation. “It appears our very own Shadow Singer has decided to ... join tonight’s performance.”

Tobias’s eyes lock with mine, flinching at the title. His fingers still hold the knife that nearly pierced my skull, and his other hand presses more firmly against my lower back.