Page 3 of Slay Me

Well, almost anyone. The Ringmaster takes the cake on that one. None of us knows how she actually came to belong to him, and it’s not a story she will tell. My guess is it’s similar to mine. She was cast out for being different.

“Stay the hell out of it, animal,” Valentina quips.

Fiona grins at her. “Keep pushing on me, and I’ll rip your wings off.”

The pixie rolls her eyes but glides away quickly.Smart move.

“Great show tonight.” Fiona pulls a blade off of her hip and begins to cut slices from a green apple. She pops them into her mouth and chews, the crunching sound making my stomach rumble. When was the last time I ate?

I’m fairly certain I had breakfast. But not lunch, right?

“Incoming,” Fiona whispers as heavy bootsteps echo in my mind.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and a shiver runs up my spine, ghostly fingertips that elicit far more heat within me than there should be.

Unwanted as it is, I’ve still come to expect this response to the man who pulled me from that alley a dozen years ago. The Ringmaster makes his way into the room, commanding a presence without ordering one. His copper eyes find me almost instantly, and a low growl leaves his lips. “I hate to interrupt your nap,” he growls. “But your job is not over.”

“We’re just catching our breath before the final performance,” Apollo replies.

The Ringmaster takes a step closer, and I sit up, fear spurring my movements. “We were just getting up to prepare,” I say quickly. His gaze rakes over my body as it does every time we’re in the same room. His appraisal makes my blood run cold, my chest constrict.

“Then get the fuck on,” he snaps before turning and heading for the curtain again.

Fiona lets out a breath. “You’re going to get your nuts cut off, Apollo.”

“He can try,” my partner replies. The bravado is false. Apollo knows our owner will not hesitate to kill him. We’re disposable to the Ringmaster, each and every one of us merely toys in his game. Performers in his circus.

And if my time here has taught me anything, it’s that there is no shortage in supernaturals needing a place to go.

“Let’s get this over with.” Apollo stands and presses his hand to my lower back. The contact is innocent, but I move away from him quickly. It took me a year before I could perform with anyone without vomiting. It hurts— to know that I will likely never get to experience physical intimacy again.

Ernesto saw to that when he broke me. Something I will not allow to happen again.

Mind on the performance ahead, I make my way up the stairs and through the curtain. The lights are bright as they shine down at Thomas and Jenny. Thomas, a wolf shifter, chases Jenny, a kitsune, around the ring. She manages to sneak past him then proceeds to leap from button to button, sending an array of glitter shooting at him until he stands before her, covered head to toe in bright red.

The crowd erupts with laughter.

We continue ascending the metal stairs until we reach the top where Uma offers a wave and smile. Once I reach the edge of the railing where my lyra awaits, tied to a pole, I look down to watch the remainder of the ‘cat and mouse’ type performance.

Jenny and Thomas jump down behind boxes. When they emerge again, they’re both wearing bright red jumpsuits. With a bow, they flip back behind the boxes and disappear through a trapdoor shielded behind them.

The big top is plunged into darkness save a handful of dim lights aimed at the ceiling.

I grip my lyra.

“Good luck, partner. I’ll be right behind you.” Apollo winks and then waits for me to climb inside. I sit on it as though it’s a chair, and he releases me.

Time to shine.

* * *

The endof our show passes quickly, and soon, I’m moving as fast as I can toward the exit. People are chatting as they leave the stands, though their words all blur together as background noise.

Until— “Liv!”

I stiffen at an unfamiliar female voice calling my name. Slowly, I turn, fear crashing down on me. The only people who would know my name are those who knew me through him. My past, my monster, my nightmare.

The woman positions herself in the stands just beside my exit. Her hair is long, the dark brown strands loose around her face. She wears all black–jeans, T-shirt, and even a black lace choker adorns her neck.

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