Chapter 64 Lucy, Xander, Asher, Nitro, Fallon, & Kane #2
I revved the engine one last time, acknowledging the crowd's roars with a slight nod, though their faces blurred into an indistinguishable mass.
Only Lucy remained in sharp focus. I hated turning my head and losing sight of her.
The only thing that gave me the strength to do so was the fact Kane stood beside her now.
That was good. If something went wrong, he'd shield her from the worst of it.
The thought sent a chill through me that I quickly suppressed. No room for doubt. Not here. Not now.
I sucked in a deep breath, fortifying myself with the Cirque air.
Gasoline. Fire. Sweat. My mind calculated distances, angles, wind resistance—all the variables that would determine whether I'd be celebrating tonight or becoming reptile food.
The jump itself was approximately seventy feet—child's play under normal circumstances.
But add in the Rock Solid Backflip and the writhing mass of prehistoric predators below, and the margin for error became microscopically thin.
The announcer's voice faded to a distant buzz as I made my final mental preparations. Sometimes, it felt like I'd been performing stunts since before I could even walk, pushing the limits of what was possible, what was safe. But tonight, it felt different. My reason for doing this had shifted.
Before Lucy, the rush of adrenaline was chased by an inevitable emptiness.
The high never lasted, always leaving me hungry for something I could never define.
Now I knew what that something was. She gave the danger purpose beyond the thrill.
I wasn't just risking my life; I was proving I could protect hers.
Unfortunately, I also cared more about surviving than ever, and I couldn’t let that rob me of my edge, not if I wanted to keep being Xander of DemonX.
I released the clutch and gunned the throttle.
The motorcycle shot forward like a bullet, eating up the distance to the ramp in heartbeats.
Wind tore at my jacket, trying to slow me down, but I leaned lower, becoming one with my bike.
The front wheel hit the base of the ramp, and suddenly I was climbing, accelerating up the incline, the angle pushing me back against the seat.
Time slowed, stretching infinitely.
I’d done this a million times. Yet, right now it felt like the first time.
The front tire broke free of the ramp, and for a suspended moment, I hung between earth and sky, neither falling nor flying but something in between.
Below, the crocodiles sensed movement, their ancient eyes tracking my shadow.
One particularly massive beast slapped its tail against the water, as if daring me to fall.
Not today, you scaly bastard.
In the middle of the jump, at the maximum rise, I pushed off from the foot pegs, separating from the motorcycle.
My body rotated backward, the world spinning upside down.
The backflip was over in seconds, my hands grabbing the bars and pulling me down against the seat.
Then I went for the second trick, angling the bike down to the right as I pushed off, extending my legs to the left.
Two heartbeats exactly, and I pulled the bike back, straightening out and slamming my ass into the seat.
These were the moments I once lived for, when I was weightless and free, when gravity seemed more like a suggestion than a law. I took one hand from the bars, extending my arm in a brief wave to the crowd.
But it wasn't for the crowd at large. It was for Lucy.
Several heartbeats later, the bike was slamming onto the down ramp. Rear tire first, which meant it was a good landing. I felt a slight wobble in the frame when the front wheel hit, but I strong-armed the machine to keep it on the straight and narrow.
Relief and triumph surged through me simultaneously as the ramp gave way to solid ground. The crowd's roar swelled, washing over me in waves, but I was already turning, circling around to drive to the only thing that mattered. Not the screaming crowd, not the adrenaline high, but Lucy.
Gunning the engine, I headed straight for her. The look on her face—that beautiful mixture of relief, pride, and lingering anxiety—was worth every second of risk. I skidded to a dramatic stop, kicking up dirt.
I yanked my helmet off, sweat-dampened hair falling across my forehead.
Cool air hit my flushed face. My senses were alive tonight, reveling in more than just a successful jump.
My heart still hammered against my ribs, but now for reasons that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with the woman standing before me.
"That was for you, Venom!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Only for you!”
Her smile started small, tremulous at the corners, before blooming across her face. She blew me a kiss, and it felt like her lips actually hit my damn cheek. Those remarkable green eyes looked at me with love that I didn’t deserve. I was so fucking lucky.
I hated putting the helmet back on and leaving her, but I wasn’t done pleasing the Cirque crowd.
The next two jumps went smoothly, and then I zoomed out of the arena.
I rode through the back areas, past talent trailers and concession stands, until I was at the gate closest to where Lucy and Kane had been watching.
But I didn’t have to venture past the gate. Lucy was already outside, standing alone, looking around and waiting. Waiting for me. This stunning creature was part of my life now.
I dismounted, closing the distance between us with two long strides. My hand found the small of Lucy's back, feeling the leather of her Venom jacket. I pulled her into me, hungrily inhaling her Omega perfume.
“I knew you’d do amazing,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me.
"Liar," I murmured, close to her ear. "There was fear written all over your face.”
She tilted her chin up, defiance sparking in those eyes. "Can you blame me? Those weren't exactly rubber ducks down there."
I barked out a laugh. "Crocodiles or rubber ducks, the principle's the same. You just need enough height and speed."
"You're insane," she said, her tone affectionate.
"You knew that when you agreed to be ours," I countered, using my thumb to trace a small circle at the base of her spine.
Flush spread across her cheeks. The sight of it stirred primitive, possessive need inside me.
She was my reason to make it back to solid ground.
Dammit, I wanted to stay with her, but I needed to make sure Fallon and Kane were good to go.
They were riders too, whereas Asher and Nitro flew solo.
I knew jack and shit about fire and knives.
"Come on," I said, fighting every instinct that wanted me to stay with her. "Asher's show starts soon, and he'll give me hell if you miss it. I’ll walk you there.”
I kept my hand at her back as we moved through the throngs of spectators, feeling the heat of her body against my palm. The rush of the jump had already faded but touching her was enough to sustain me. I'd jump a hundred crocodile pits to keep Lucy with me.
ASHER.
I ran my thumb over the striker wheel of my favorite lighter, the small flame dancing to life then dying with each flick.
The big top’s backstage area was a labyrinth of equipment, props, and performers in various states of preparation.
I stood near the heavy curtains, one hand pushing between to form a gap, my eyes fixed on the entrance to the stands.
Where was she? Lucy had promised she'd be here for my show. I’d spent a lifetime avoiding emotional attachments, but now I found myself counting the minutes until a silver-haired Omega appeared.
The flame sparked again between my fingers, its warmth a poor substitute for what I was really craving.
"Fifteen minutes, Mr. Asher." One of the stagehands said as she walked behind me.
“Got it.” I nodded absently, still scanning the crowd filtering into the main tent.
The massive structure loomed above us all, crimson and black fabric stretched over metal bones.
Every performer had their ritual. Mine usually involved burning something to get in the mood.
But right now, I only wanted to see the woman worth burning for, the woman who saw beauty in fire.
"Where the hell are you, Lucy?" I muttered, widening the gap between the curtains, hoping I’d missed her coming in and she was now somewhere in the stands.
No luck. Disappointment flooded through me.
Tired of keeping my arm up to part the curtains, I walked through them to stand just inside the performance area.
Absentmindedly, I adjusted the straps of my fire-resistant undershirt.
The material hugged my torso almost too tightly, its specially treated fabric a necessity beneath the more elaborate performance costume I'd don later.
My three assistants were all experienced fire manipulators, otherwise I’d never work with them.
They were already on stage, running through final safety checks.
They moved with practiced efficiency. The youngest of them—a guy with a wicked scar running down his forearm, courtesy of an ill-advised experiment with alcohol-based accelerant—caught my eye after placing a prop on the stage. He approached cautiously.
"Gear's been checked twice. Everything's ready," he reported.
"Nothing's ready until I say it is," I replied, but there was no real bite to my words. I raised my voice when I spoke again, projecting to the stage and the other two performers. “Finish getting dressed, we start in ten!”
My eyes continued their restless search of the filling stands. Come on, Lucy. I realized, to my surprise, that I didn’t feel like burning anything if she didn’t show up.
The thought of her missing my performance shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did. Yet here I was, feeling like some lovesick teenager rather than a hardened Alpha.