Page 13 of The Carnival

I smile despite myself.

“You were stealing from my tent,” I feel his blade leave, the fight leaving him slightly as he steps away.

“I wasn’t stealing,” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “I was ... looking around.”

“With your hands in my mirror box? Skinny thing you were ... too much pride, and not enough sense.”

The tension falls away as we share a look across Emerson’s sleeping form. I step towards him, drawn to him as I’ve always been. Regardless if it’s the blade at my throat or –

“You could have let me go too,” he says, calling my attention from my thoughts and following me back into the main room of my tent. The mirrors catch our reflections, multiplying us infinitely. “Instead, you showed me that mirror ... and led me to The Ringmaster.”

I reach for a bottle of whiskey I keep hidden behind a false panel and pour us each a glass. Okay, maybe I did show him that particular mirror too because … well I liked what I saw in them. I was young … younger. “I saw something in you I hadn’t in a very long time ... the same thing I saw in her.”

Kenan takes the glass, his fingers lingering against mine longer than necessary. “You mean you wanted to fuck me.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That too.” I take a drink.

“She should sleep through the rest of the night,” he says, changing the subject and downing his own drink.

“Thanks to you.”

“A small mercy.”

Kenan’s eyes darken as he approaches, the familiar tension between us filling the space. “Was it mercy when you found me? Or a game to you?”

“Both, perhaps,” I smile and pour myself another drink.

He’s close enough now that I watch as he moves to pour himself another drink as well. His performance attire is still on and highlighting every muscle I know by memory.

I reach out to trace the brand on his forearm. The mark has faded to a silver against his skin. “Do you remember that night when The Carnival was in Barcelona?”

“The knife thrower who wanted to punish someone,” he says, catching my hand in his. His fingers are warm, calloused from years of blades, ropes, and motorcycles. “And The Illusionist who wouldn’t die. I did want to kill you that night.”

His touch lingers, thumb brushing over my knuckles in that familiar pattern that still makes my pulse quicken after all this time. The mirrors around us capture the moment — two immortal souls bound by more than just The Carnival’s dark curse.

“The night on the rooftop,” I continue, stepping closer until I smell the whiskey on his breath. “You said you’d rather die than spend eternity trapped here. You only had a day left.”

His green eyes catch the light. “And you said eternity wouldn’t be so bad if we were trapped together.”

I laugh softly, “I was a romantic fool.”

“You’re still a fool,” he releases my hand but doesn’t step away. “Just a different kind now.”

Chapter 11

I wake to the sensation of silk against my skin and the scent of burnt sugar in the air. For a blissful moment, I can’t remember where I am — however, fragments start filtering through. Kenan’s hand on mine, Tobias’s voice, and the branding iron on my skin.

I sit up quickly with a gasp, my head pounding and my arm pulsing in pain. The world around me swims.

“She’s awake,” a voice says, and I turn my head too quickly.

The pain in my arm shoots up into my chest. Looking down, I notice a bandage on my arm. It’s fresh and clean, and for some reason that shocks me. I guess because I expected it to be rotten like the rest of what I’ve seen here. My eyes adjust to the dim light in the small room. I narrow my eyes, seeing mirrors outside in the hall. Oh, I’m in Tobias’s tent.

“Easy, Kitten,” Kenan says, coming into view, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossing over his chest. The skull mask is nowhere in sight, revealing his strong jawline and those piercing green eyes. So he must only wear that for performances. “You’ve been asleep for hours, which is more than most of us get.”

Tobias comes beside him, his face clean of the diamond paint he wore when we first met. The startling view of him is something I wasn’t ready for. While he’s a smaller build than Kenan, I wouldn’t call him … small. He’s tall, and I bet if they stood side by side he’d be just an inch shorter than Kenan. His blonde hair isn’t slicked back, but hangs in almost short waves around his face. His cheekbones are sharper than Kenan’s blades, and his blue eyes are intense beneath his dark brows. It feels as though they see into my soul, and maybe they do.

“What happened?” My voice sounds like my throat is nothing but sandpaper.