Page 6 of Tamed By the Lion Freak

Chapter Three

Kitty jolted awake, her heart hammering against her ribs. Unfamiliar shadows loomed in the morning light, and for a moment, she could remember where she was. Then the memories crashed back, each one more bizarre than the other. The carnival. Madame Noir. The lion with the compelling and mysterious gaze.

Kitty's fingers clutched at the threadbare blanket, its rough texture grounding her in reality. She sat up on the narrow bunk, wincing as her muscles protested. Every inch of her body ached, as if she'd been thrown from a bucking bronco rather than sleeping.

The mobile trailer home Madame Noir had assigned her was claustrophobically small. Kitty could touch both walls if she stretched out her arms. A tiny dresser huddled in the corner, its drawers hanging askew. Faded circus posters peeled from the walls, their once-vibrant colors now as dull and lifeless as Kitty felt. But it was better than sleeping in her truck. At least it had a small kitchen area and a bathroom.

Through the grimy window, a kaleidoscope of movement caught her eye. Kitty leaned closer, her breath fogging the glass. Carnival workers scurried past like ants, their voices a low murmur beneath a persistent, unsettling hum that vibrated in her bones.

She took a quick five minute shower before the water in the tank ran out. As she dressed, her mind kept circling back to the lion – Leo. Those eyes haunted her, filled with an intelligence and torment that no animal should possess. Had there been a spark of connection between them? Or was she just projecting, desperate to find the same bond she had with Brutus?

Kitty shook her head, her tangled hair whipping against her cheeks. She couldn't afford to get distracted, not when her entire future balanced on a knife's edge. This was her second chance, possibly her last. She quickly braided her hair in a long plait down her back to get it out of her way.

Stepping out of her trailer, Kitty was immediately swept up in the controlled chaos of the carnival's morning routine. Workers rushed past, carrying equipment or pushing carts laden with supplies.

"Watch it, newbie," a gruff voice called as Kitty narrowly avoided collision with a burly man carrying a crate of what looked like severed hands. Kitty recoiled, then forced herself to take a closer look. Props, she realized with relief. Incredibly lifelike, but props, nonetheless.

"Sorry," she muttered, sidestepping out of the way. The man grunted and moved on, leaving Kitty to wonder just what kind of act used such gruesome things.

The flow of workers carried Kitty along like a leaf in a stream. She found herself in a large tent that served as a communal dining area. Long tables groaned under the weight of food platters, the aroma making Kitty's empty stomach clench painfully. When was the last time she'd eaten? Yesterday morning? The day before?

As Kitty filled a plate, the weight of curious stares prickled along her skin. Conversations hushed as she passed, only to erupt in excited whispers in her wake. Fragments of gossip reached her ears, each one a dagger to her already battered ego.

"That's her – the lion tamer."

"I heard her cat nearly killed someone."

"Wonder how long she'll last here?"

Kitty's hand tightened on her fork, knuckles white. She wanted to scream, to defend herself, to make them understand. But the words stuck in her throat, choking her with their futility.

"Over here, dear," a lilting voice called. Kitty turned to see an elderly woman waving her over. Despite her age, the woman's eyes were bright and alert, twinkling with mischief. "Don't mind those vultures. They'll find some new gossip soon enough."

Gratefully, Kitty slid into the seat across from the woman. "Thanks," she said. "I'm Kitty."

"Oh, I know who you are, child," the woman replied with a wink. "Sally the Seer, at your service. I'm the tarot reader here. And this surly gentleman," she gestured to the man beside her, a mountain of muscle with a shaved head and enough piercings to set off a metal detector, "is Boris, our strongman."

Boris grunted what might have been a greeting, not looking up from his plate. The table vibrated with each of his movements, making Kitty's water glass dance dangerously close to the edge.

"Don't mind him," Sally stage-whispered. "He's not a morning person. Or an afternoon person. Or really much of a person at all, come to think of it."

Despite herself, Kitty felt a smile tugging at her lips. "Nice to meet you both," she said. "So, um... how long have you been with the carnival?"

Sally's eyes took on a faraway look. "Longer than I care to remember. This place has a way of making time lose all meaning."

Before Kitty could ask what she meant by that, a hush fell over the tent. The very air seemed to still, growing heavy and oppressive. Madame Noir had entered, her presence a black hole, sucking all attention towards her. Her gaze swept the room, and Kitty felt it like a physical touch, cold and assessing.

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