Chapter 22 #2
And when I looked up, Jude was staring at me like I’d just handed him the world.
***
October 31st hit differently.
Everything at Ridgeway cranked to the maximum. The fog was thick enough to choke on, and the strobe lights made your eyes cross. The music was so loud it rattled your teeth. The crowd was triple what it had been opening night, packed shoulder to shoulder, screaming themselves hoarse.
And in the center of it all sat Jude on his throne.
He was a lot more mobile now and didn’t actually need the dreaded moon boot, but Parker had only signed off on Jude’s premature return if he kept it on and stayed seated.
Besides, the wheelchair had evolved over the weeks; it would be a shame to retire it so quickly.
There were more chains now, more bones. Someone had added LED strips that pulsed red with the music, and we’d mounted a mini smoke machine underneath.
The crown had grown too, twists of metal that looked like they might draw blood if he moved wrong, caged in broken doll parts, finger bones and black roses.
Jude wore it like he’d been born to it.
The gladiator battle had become the finale every night.
We rotated the winner to keep the act fresh and to give each performer their moment.
Jonas won twice. Riley took it once with a skating display so acrobatic that the crowd went silent.
Simon claimed victory three times because the man was just that good when he decided to show up.
But tonight was mine.
I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything. This was the last night of the season, and I needed to end it right.
The battle played out as it always did. Chaotic, ridiculous, beautiful stage-violence set to circus music. Bodies hit the ground in dramatic sprawls, and the crowd ate it up, chanting and screaming as we took each other down.
One of the vampires nearly got me. I slipped on manufactured blood and went down hard, but I rolled under his lunge in the nick of time, then swept his legs out from underneath him. He went down harder than he would have liked, but I wasn’t playing gentle tonight.
Then it was Simon and me again, circling like we had that first night.
He grinned. Lunged.
I caught him mid-tackle, using his momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He hit the ground with a groan that wasn’t only theatrics, and while we both knew he could have taken five times as much, he stayed down.
I stood alone, breathing hard, face paint streaked with sweat. My ribs ached where Jonas had clipped me, and my shoulder throbbed from accidentally catching someone’s elbow.
I felt alive.
“Champion.” Jude’s voice echoed across our makeshift arena. “You may approach your king.”
I walked toward him slowly, but when I reached the throne, I didn’t instantly kneel. Not this time; not yet. I stood there, towering over him and breathing hard.
I wanted him so fucking much.
Up close, Jude looked good. Better than good.
His face paint was sharper than mine, all angles, and shadows that made his cheekbones look like they could cut glass.
The crown sat crooked over his messy curls, but somehow that made it perfect.
He’d been radiant this last week, glowing when the costume was off, and laughing maniacally when it was on.
He’d twisted his usual character—the Hunter and stalker—into a bored spawn of hell, eager for entertainment and attention.
His dark eyes locked on mine, and the crowd might as well have disappeared.
“Name your prize, Champion.”
The words were theatrical, meant for the audience. But the way he looked at me was private. That was just ours.
I knew what I wanted. I had known since the moment I took this job, since the first time I saw him perform and felt my world tilt sideways when he glanced over his shoulder.
My hand closed over the elaborate backrest of his throne, and I leaned in, close enough that only he could hear over the music.
“You. Always you.”
I don’t know what I was expecting him to do with that confusion, but that wasn’t my problem.
I had to say it. The words had been welling in my chest for so long now, and this last week had been torture.
They’d been sitting right there on the tip of my tongue every time I looked at him, and maybe I was an asshole, but I had to make them his problem as well—our problem.
Jude’s eyes widened. Just a fraction, just enough for me to see I’d surprised him. He hadn’t expected that at all.
His mouth opened with silent words, and I watched as his eyebrows furrowed under all that face paint.
But fucking Jude was never one to be outdone.
His hand shot out, fisted the strap of my tactical vest and yanked me down.
His mouth crashed against mine.
The crowd went absolutely fucking feral, but I could barely hear them over the blood roaring in my ears.
Jude kissed me like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it in public, and I melted into him.
My hand went to his hair, messing up the gel and pulling until his mouth opened under mine.
I tasted mint and adrenaline and the chemical tang of his face paint.
It smeared and blurred where our skin met, black and white mixing into gray and seeping into our mouths.
I couldn’t give a flying fuck; I’d lick it from his skin if he asked me to.
Jude’s fingers dug into my vest, and my other hand found his jaw, holding him like he might disappear if I let go. There was no hiding now. No pretending this was just physical or just a good time. A dirty little secret made for dark corridors and grimy bathrooms.
This was everything.
His teeth caught my bottom lip, and I groaned into his mouth.
“How’s that for a finale?” Jude’s voice was wrecked, just for me, and even though I was addicted to the sound, I was more hooked on his lips.
I kissed him again before he could say anything else.