Chapter 2
Camryn
The field in which the carnival was set up was slightly damp and soft, causing my heels to si nk into the surface with each step I took. Even Lis struggled to look graceful as we walked from her German sports car to the entrance of the grounds. The ticket booth sat beside a pair of imposing gates, their metal twisted and warped, with the spikes at the top reaching to ward the bright , starry sky.
My eye was instantly drawn to a macabre shape sitting atop the booth — a gargoyle , of all things. The type of statue that w ouldn’t seem out of place on the side of a church : a ngry, scowling features ; hunched forward on i t s legs ; brawny shoulders exposed. It was a “he,” there was no doubt, and I felt drawn to him — which was ridiculous because he was a statue. A statue that had been decorated with a pair of sunglasses perched on his rugged nose. He was n’ t looking my way but had his head angled toward the forest in the distance.
I elbowed Lis to point him out to her , but she was staring through the gnarled gate, completely entranced. The big top loomed in the distance , once striped in white and yellow , but the colors had long since faded. More tents with a tattered appearance dotted the field, and rides sat between them that look ed rusty rather than inviting. “Lis, look!” I said . B ut when she finally glanced up to where I was pointing, there was nothing to see.
The ticket booth was a movable trailer with side panels that opened and a simple flat roof. There was no sign of the big, macabre shape of the gargoyle. I had to have imagined it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was real —v ery real — and it made my heart pound in my chest to think about it.
Once we bought our tickets and entered the grounds, I was caught in a vague sense of unease. Something was wrong; something was different here. Shadows were where they shouldn’t be, and things were in too much disrepair to make sense. And yet… a huge crowd had gathered tonight, throngs of people clustering around each attraction. A line snaked outside of a tent that promis ed fortunes read by a Madam Sally. There was a show featuring a bearded lady and other strange sights to draw the eye. A merry-go-round with chipped, nightmarish-looking horses played music that was just a tad too slow to sound cheerful.
In the distance, a Ferris wheel rose behind the big top, its carts swaying in the wind as it spun gently. The sight of that giant metal wheel, rusted and worn, made my stomach shrink. There was no way that thing was safe . W hy were people t emp ting fate by getting on it? Then I caught the look on Lis’s face and realized she was as entranced as the rest of the crowd. Her eyes were huge, her pupils dilated, and she kept twisting her head to catch every sight , l ike she couldn’t stand to miss a thing.
“Come on,” I said, drawing my friend to the side when a huge pet pig suddenly trundled by. He was black , with rough, coarse fur and a set of very impressive tusks. Did pigs even have tusks , o r was that more of a boar thing? I wasn’t sure, but he had to be tame because he wore a leather collar around his huge neck, decorated with metal spikes. “Let’s get to the big top now so we can get good seats.” And so I could prevent my entranced friend from suggesting we get on any of the derelict - looking rides.
The tent’s interior made me forget how dark and shabby everything outside had seemed. We’d gone from horrorshow to circus by ducking through the large canvas flaps. Lights hung from the tall poles that held up the tent roof, aimed toward the ring at the center. Already, people had begun to file in , but there were still plenty of good seats. It wasn’t a surprise when Lis squealed with excitement and began pulling me to seats in the front row. “What if they ask for volunteers?” I hissed at her, but that was no deterrent ; it was only fuel for her eagerness.
The seats were slightly uncomfortable when we sat down, the lights still bright and the crowd murmuring with excitement. Across from us sat the entrance to the ring where the performers would enter , giving us the perfect view. I had to crane my head to look at the masts w h ere a trapeze dangled, but there wasn’t so much as a hint of safety nets anywhere. Then my gaze landed on a shadowy shape across the ring, moving from one side to the other before ducking into the back where the performers were getting ready. My skin broke out in goosebumps , and a shiver shot down my spine.
It was a woman with gaunt features and a rail-thin body, tall enough to make me feel as if she w ere towering over me, even from this distance. Wild hair , streaked with silver, framed her sharp features . Though I could not see her eye color from so far away, it was something different — impossible. Like everything else in this place. Even the way shadows clung to her shimmering black robes felt wrong. Blood-red light glinted at the tips of her fingers, which reminded me far too much of claws as she ducked through the flaps and vanished into the tent’s shadowy depths.
“Did you see her?” I asked Lis, but my friend only looked confused when I described the gaunt, shadowy figure. I wanted to put words to her — spider, black widow, sorceress — but that was too fanciful for my normally spreadsheet - and contract - focused mind. Twisting my head, I wondered if it was too late to get up and leave ; I had a bad feeling about this place. And then the lights went out , and the crowd hushed. I felt trapped in place, though this should have been a fun night out. Why did everyone around me act like this was the greatest thing since sliced bread? This was the creepiest place I’d ever seen — didn’t they sense the danger?
The crowd was transfixed even before a voice echoed through the dark—the ringmaster welcomed us to the Twisted Carnival of freaks and magic, featuring all the things that go bump in the night. I was as entranced as everyone else now, my eyes locked on the light glowing at the center of the ring. Wasn’t there usually a jaunty man with a top hat? Where was he? Then, the flaps at the back opened, and the first act began. I forgot all about wanting to leave at that point—who would want to leave when the show opened with a real freaking lion? I had never been this close to a beast like that, and he was magnificent, as was the blonde-haired woman who guided him through his tricks.
Three acts later, everything felt like a blur, and my mouth was dry because I’d forgotten to close it half the time in amazement. Lis was right , after all. This show was insane — scary, thrilling, amazing, and absolutely worth my money and time. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to figure out all the tricks — all the magic that shouldn’t be. How did that trapeze artist look like she was flying? How could the fire breather make her flames turn blue? Everything was magical, bizarre, mind - bending.
Then he entered the ring : a man dressed in leather pants and boots and nothing else, his muscled chest gleaming beneath the colored spotlights. He looked like he could give the strongman a run for his money while maintaining the sleek composure of the incredible athletes from the trapeze act. Everything about him exude d str e ng th , stead iness, and firmness—l ike a rock. The firm angle of his chin remin de d me of granite ; his black hair with bluish hints brought to mind jet. I was willing to bet his eyes would gleam like tiger’s eye, sapphires, or maybe even emeralds, but they were hidden behind a pair of sleek shades.
With great flair, they strapped him to a spinning, rotating wheel , and it made my stomach twist , too. Watching him get tied up with leather straps shouldn’t have look ed as sexy as it did , but it really did. The bands around his biceps only accentuated how big they were. That strap around his chest made me want to lean in close to admire his heavy pectorals, trace a path down his ridged abs , and follow the trail of fine black hair that led into his pants. Okay, he was totally hot and possibly the first person in months t o w a ke up my slumbering libido. I guess that was a good sign, but I wasn’t certain. This was hardly the time or place to feel attracted to anyone. Thorn had ruined me for anyone new anyway ; I had sworn off dating altogether.
“Who said anything about dating?” Lis whispered under her breath in response to my thoughts. For a brief, insane moment, I thought she’d read my mind, but I must have said it out loud. “You can stare at the eye candy, can’t you? He’s hot. And if he asks for your number…” I knew she had to be waggling her eyebrows at me, but it was too dark in the audience to see.
My eyes didn’t want to leave the sight of the daring hunk strapped to that wheel anyway. A knife thrower was lining up in front of him, a knife held delicately between her two fingers as she took aim. She bounced on her toes, her tight black curls with colorful highlights swaying around her shoulders. I held my breath as the knife winged through the air and loudly clattered against the spinning wheel. Not only had I held my breath, but I’d also squeezed my eyes shut, and when I blinked them open, I expect ed to see either blood or that knife embedded in the wooden wheel.
It wasn’t anywhere I expected it to be . I nstead, it lay in the sand beneath the slowly spinning, hunk - decorated wheel. The second knife flew before I could brace myself, but I saw it this time —s aw it but was certain I was mistaken. Just before the knife struck, the bound man turned gray as rock and — bam — the knife struck him dead center in the chest, then clattered harmlessly to the ground. He jeered at the knife - wielding lady, “Is that all you’ve got , Nakusha? I didn’t even feel it! Come on, throw harder!” His voice was a heavy bass with a deep rumble, like gravel rolling down a slope. It evoked images of rockslides and avalanches, of something deep and primordial, elemental.
His partner in the ring growled bloodthirsty threats that made the audience laugh and point, surprised at so much venom coming from a pint - sized woman with childlike features. I only had eyes for him, my gaze locked on his dark sunglasses, wishing I could see beneath them. What color were his eyes? Was it any of the colors I’d guessed? I was about to have my answer, but I wasn’t ready for it.
After several more daring knife throws that should have hurt him but bounced harmlessly off his skin, he called for a volunteer to check the knives and prove they were real. The crowd held its breath as people stuck up their arms and waved, hoping to be picked. Lis bumped my shoulder, urging me to volunteer, but I clamped my hands beneath my armpits and refused. “There, the lovely lady with the freckles and the hair like fine chocolate , ” t hat deep, husky voice drawled, and his bloodthirsty knife - throwing assistant paraded my way with a feral grin on her pixie-like features.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” she assured me as she took my hand and drew me from my seat. “Not at all,” she added , but I didn’t believe her for a moment. She brought me to the table where her knives were lined up and bade me check them. They were real, as I knew they’d be. Then she told me to test all the knives that lay at the bottom of the still - slowly - rotating wheel with the impervious hunk strapped to it.
My face was on fire as I knelt in the sand ; all eyes were on me, and I hated that. It made me feel like I was doing something wrong, like I was about to trip over my own feet and embarrass myself. Then there was the shirtless, leather - wearing man spinning right in front of me, my face at crotch height. Oh god — his grin as his head dipped low was devastating. How did his glasses stay on during this? My belly ached with a desire that had no place in this moment. Tension filled my body as I fumbled with the knives in the sand.
One of the razor - sharp and very real blades nicked my finger, and with a gasp , I held it up for the audience. My eyes slipped from the spinning man’s far - too - attractive chest to the audience. “Real! I cut myself!” I said, my voice carrying surprisingly well from the center of the ring. I shot to my feet like the sand was on fire, eager to get out of there. Somehow, I managed to rise right as the knife thrower’s target came back to upright , too. It felt like our gazes collided, but his were still veiled by the black - tinted glasses.
I froze, ensnared without knowing why, trapped in place. He hissed between his teeth, barking at his assistant to untie him. He seemed upset, maybe even angry with the assistant , but I couldn’t make my feet move. As soon as his hand was free, I knew he’d do something I truly wouldn’ t be able to escape. And yet, I still didn’t move.
His hand was warm and rough when it closed around my wrist . T hen he raised it to his mouth , and warmth closed around my sore finger. My belly swooped, then dropped, my abdomen clenching tightly. It was the closest I’d ever come to orgasming from a single touch — in front of an audience , no less. The tilt of his mouth as he released my finger told me he knew exactly what he’d done. Still , I did not walk away. I should have , but I was caught in his spell now, and I didn’t want to leave.