Chapter 47 Asher
ASHER
I guided Lucy toward the raised platform, her slight hand fitting perfectly within mine. Each step we took sparked a new electrical current through my veins.
The look in her eyes when she'd held that flame… Christ, it mirrored my own soul so perfectly that it almost frightened me. That reverence for fire, that razor’s edge where fascination bled into worship—I'd never seen it in another person before. Not even my brothers understood it the way she seemed to, instinctively, without explanation. The realization that fragile, delicate Lucy could see what I saw made guilt slice at my conscience. If I hadn’t burned her mattress and scared the shit out of her, would we have had this moment sooner?
The fact that I’d nearly killed a kindred spirit would haunt me.
I glanced back, seeing how her cheeks were flushed with pink, and her pale skin seemed to glow under the blinding spotlights above.
I wanted to show her everything I knew about dancing with destruction.
No, more than that, I wanted to dance with her through the destruction.
"Come on," I urged, my voice sounding strange to my own ears; softer than I intended, almost gentle. I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken to anyone like that.
Never, I realized.
I couldn’t remember anything before the memory of finding my mom overdosed. No sweet words from a sober, loving mother or encouraging talks with a father. Fuck, I didn’t even know who my father was.
I had no kindness given to guide me, so I didn’t give it back.
After age six, when my memories begin, I was already in the system being shuffled around to different foster houses.
Every foster home I landed in seemed to develop the same problem: unexplained fires that nobody could trace back to me, but everyone somehow knew I'd started. I truly don’t know why playing with flames became my M.O.
, but because of it, I eventually found my real home—dumped into the group Alpha orphanage where I’d found my pack brothers…
and my trusty lighter. It wasn’t my first lighter, nor even my seventh or eighth, but it was the one that found me at a time in my life when darkness was winning.
Slowly, I led Lucy up the three metal steps to the stage.
My awareness of her heightened with every second, as if someone had cranked up the dial on all my senses.
The scent of her was fucking intoxicating.
I knew my Alpha pheromones were broadcasting my desire for her, but it wasn’t something I could stop.
Biology was an asshole like that. The air around us thickened with tobacco and gasoline notes from my skin, mixed with her oh-so-sweet Omega chemistry.
Lucy was fresh lemonade on a scorching day—bright, tangy, incredibly refreshing.
Our unique smells twined together, creating something mouthwatering that made my muscles tense with the effort not to pull her against my body and mark her.
Did she feel this as strongly? This magnetic force desperate to see us irrevocably bound?
I brought us to a stop near the stunt props.
The other three performers were out of sight, tired of waiting for my return I supposed.
But our tour practice could wait. Lucy couldn’t.
I needed to show her more. I needed to be sure I hadn’t imagined that telltale glint in her eyes that said, burn the world down for me, Asher.
"You're the first person I've ever met who gets it," I said, watching her face for reaction.
She swallowed audibly, fluttering her lashes; her forest green irises searched my face.
“I don’t know—” she hesitated, then stood a little taller, drawing herself up to continue— “I don’t know if I really understand, but I want to. When I held it, the fire felt—” she stopped again, struggling for words.
"Like it's alive," I finished for her. "Like it wants to coexist with you, but only on its own terms. It can’t be controlled, not really."
Lucy nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. I couldn't stop staring at the curve of her mouth, wondering what it would taste like. Would she be as sweet as her scent suggested? Or would there be heat there too, a hidden flame waiting to consume me?
Fuck, I wasn't supposed to want her like this. The entire plan was to drive her away, to make her life so miserable that she'd beg to leave, letting us off the hook and keeping the Eros contract in place. But everything had shifted the moment she'd held that fire in her palm without flinching. The second I saw understanding flicker across her face; I’d found something I didn’t know was missing. Normal people would say it’s unhinged to obsess over fire.
For me, sleeping with flames sounded like safety.
Maybe that’s why I’d burned Lucy’s bed to begin with.
Maybe, I’d already subconsciously recognized the truth.
Maybe, even in that moment, I was trying to bring her into my world.
She'd consumed my thoughts, my focus, my very breath.
"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 and free.
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."