Page 37 of Ringmaster
I press my lips together. His eyes are bright and burning, filled with regret, a longing I never noticed until now. There’s something tender in the way he surveys my reaction to his confession. I bite my lip. These few words mean more to me than all the words we’ve spoken over the years. I forgot how easy our conversations used to be. The years of silence and yearning, all the isolation I’ve felt—it’s all melting away with that one word:always.
Maybe Azrael stopped speaking to me, but he never stopped being my friend. And even if the words I hoped for still remain unspoken, he said he cares for me. After everything—every flower, every forbidden brush of his hand against mine—how could I doubt him? He leans in closer, his control unraveling as his eyes darken from blue to black. My heart thuds as his hand drops to my neck. I tilt my chin to meet his lips as a lone teardrop rolls slowly down my cheek. All those shattered pieces of my heart begin to mend, pulling themselves back together until it beats whole again—wildly in my chest. It thrums, filled with hope and warmth, only beating for him… and the promise of freedom.
When his lips graze mine, it’s only for a second. Then his head snaps away, and shadows converge, swallowing the entire barn in darkness before he finds my parted lips again and devours them. I’m lost—so far gone in his kiss—mentally mapping every place our bodies touch. I arch into him, snaking my legs around his waist as he lifts me from the ground, deepening the kiss.
I want more than his lips against mine, and I can tell he does too. But our impending deadline looms, and like all good things, the kiss must end. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are as blackas soot—two onyx coals sparkling with desire. I shiver, not out of fear, but because he’s awakened a desire in me that carries grave consequences. Going through with this is irreversible—and forever is a very long time.
Once we’ve both caught our breath and straightened our clothing, Azrael offers me his hand. Together, we leave the sanctuary of the barn, traveling down the worn dirt path to the Ringmaster’s office, where unknown terrors wait. But with my monster by my side, I’ll be just fine, because his promise to me is true and unbreakable—a deeper magic within myself that I’ve only just begun to understand.
As we walk, I wonder how I grew up in a world filled with such unbelievable magic, yet never saw it. How could I have missed it? The answer gnaws at me, loud and clear: I didn’t see it because it was kept from me. And there are still secrets my mother is hiding. My eyes narrow as my suspicion grows. Tavien’s dagger must be magical too. No ordinary blade could’ve killed that thing. Tavien knows more than he lets on. Is Miriam in on it too?
I’m shaken from my thoughts when Azrael clears his throat. I look up and realize we’ve stopped in front of a door. We must be at the Ringmaster’s office.
“Are you ready, Mercy?” he asks, worry creasing his brows.
“Yes,” I say, holding my head high. “You promised to keep me safe.”
Azrael smiles. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Remember you’re strong, and nothing can hurt you unless you allow it.”
Tears fill my eyes as I draw a shaky breath and spring open the door.
Chapter 22
Azrael
Ilead us both into the Ringmaster’s dimly lit office. It’s like walking straight into the lion’s den. He sits behind his desk with a smug expression, clearly gloating—relishing the fact that he’s taken the one thing that matters to me and condemned her soul to Hell. Regret consumes my thoughts. What was I thinking? How could I be so selfish? I’ve sold Mercy’s soul, sentencing her to an eternity tied to me. But I didn’t have a choice. I fell right into his trap. Do I actually feel remorse? This is exactly what I wanted. I chose Mercy as my soulmate. It was bound to happen eventually.
Even though I want to blame Giselle for not doing her job, I can’t. I know how hard it is to deceive the Ringmaster. There’s still the matter of punishing her for failing—it can’t matter that she was destined to fail. I’ll send for her later and inform her of the sentence. Mercy will need to perform with the circus. Giselle can teach her how to be an acrobat. Once Mercy’s settled here,she’ll attend lessons with Giselle until she’s ready to take the stage.
We cross the room and sit in the tall leather chairs opposite the Ringmaster. Malicor stands beside him, ready to attentively oversee the entire contract process. The Ringmaster glances at an ornate pocket watch before stuffing it back into his breast pocket. He cracks his fingers in a smooth, practiced motion. “I see you took full liberty of my invitation to take your time. So nice of you to finally join us.”
A wicked grin slides over my lips. I get a sick amusement out of finding ways to annoy the Ringmaster—and keeping him waiting tops the list.
“Let’s begin,” the Ringmaster hisses, handing me a quill carved from bone and sliding an old, leather-bound book across the table.
The book of contracts. Magic crackles the moment my skin makes contact as I run my hand over the cover. It opens to a set of blank pages, waiting for my entry. Step one: record the contract in the book to bind her. I scrawl Mercy’s name across the top, initial beside it, then lay the quill in the book’s center crease so it won’t roll off the table and shatter.
The next step is less pleasant.
The Ringmaster passes me the nocturn blade. I turn it over in my hands, the weight of what I’m about to do pressing in me from all sides. Forged in Hell, the blade shimmers in the flickering lights.Runes and spells carved into the metal glitter as the magical blade awakens in my grip. On the pommel sits a large crimson ruby. Strips of worn black leather wrap over the prongs in the shape of a pentagram. The blade is heavy in my hands as I turn to face Mercy. It calls to me, a whisper so low I’m confident no one else can hear it.
“Dark prince,” it hisses, hunger dripping from every rune. “Oh, how I’ve missed the taste of your magic.”
I swallow hard. This blade always gives me the creeps.
It speaks again. “Slice her. Feed me.”
My grip tightens. My gaze glazes over, and I feel it stroking against my magic, coaxing me to lower my wards just enough to complete the binding. Reluctantly, I comply, opening a miniscule entry point.
“I’m starved. Take your sacrifice. Bind her soul to yours.” Its voice is hypnotic, taking hold of me until I’m barely in control.
It urges me forward, demanding I complete the ritual. It must sense my hesitation, not giving me a single second to reconsider the decision to take Mercy’s soul.
“Give me your arm, Mercy,” I whisper.
She flinches but slowly extends it toward me. I don’t dare look at her face. If I do, it might break me. Instead, I watch as the veinthrobs against her skin up and down. I’m so entranced, I don’t realize I’ve made the cut until the blood begins to trickle down her arm. It covers her skin in a bloody stream of liquid.
My fangs protrude from my gums, starved for her blood—the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever experienced. Angel blood. I wonder if the Ringmaster smells it too. I chance a glance at him. He seems disinterested in the bloodletting ceremony.
