Page 33 of Slay Me

“Sit,” he orders, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

I sink down, keeping the heel of my palm pressed against the wound.

Within seconds, the Ringmaster is back. “May I?” With a gloved hand, he holds a wet washcloth the color of an emerald.

Swallowing hard, I drop my hand and tilt my face.

Tender is not a word I ever would have used to describe this brutal man. Yet, that’s exactly what he is as he dabs the cloth to my injured head. The contact stings, but with each touch, I find myself more enchanted, studying his sharp features.

His jaw is strong and square, his nose pointed, though a bump in the middle is evidence that it has likely been broken more than once. Surprising, really, especially now that I know what he is.

“Who broke your nose?”

The Ringmaster stops and glares down at me. “Excuse me?”

“Your nose has been broken before, right?” I question, instantly wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

He eyes me suspiciously then leans back against his desk, cloth in hand. “My younger brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Had a brother,” he corrects before pushing off his desk.

Guilt settles heavily on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“Not painful,” The Ringmaster replies. “Because I choose to not let them be.” He disappears through a door, returning less than a minute later with a vial of something in his hand. “This will heal it before tonight’s performance.”

“Good idea. Can’t have me looking like Apollo dropped me,” I joke.

The Ringmaster stills. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“It was,” I reply. “Though I see it fell flat.”

The Ringmaster leans in with a cotton ball in his hand, applies some of the contents of the vial to it, and presses it against my forehead. Once again, he’s tender. “Does it feel better?”

I look up at him, and he doesn’t pull away. The air between us thickens, and suddenly, I can feel nothing but the heat pooling in my belly. “Much.”

Still, he remains where he is, frozen in place by whatever strange connection we seem to have found. It makes no sense. I’ve been here for twelve years now, and aside from thinking he was attractive from a physical standpoint, I’ve never harbored anything but anger toward the man.

How ironic is it that, on the cusp of me seeking escape, I find—whatever the hell this is.

“Have you spoken to anyone about last night?” he questions.

That snaps me back. “Of course not.”

The Ringmaster puts some space between us and takes a seat behind his desk. “And you won’t.”

“I told you last night that I wouldn’t. That’s not who I am.”

The Ringmaster leans in closer. “I find myself intrigued by your personality. You keep to yourself, for the most part, avoid most of the group outside of the ring and mealtime, and yet you have the courage to come up here and challenge me because I stuck up for you in regards to your partner.”

“Stuck up for me?” I glare at him. “Are you serious? Apollo and I were just trying to make things more interesting—with a routineIinsisted on, by the way—and you assaulted him.” The very energy around him is completely different from the man I touched last night. He’s angrier now, harder, and apparently wants to pretend like he didn’t just tell me less than twelve hours ago that he wanted to bend me over his desk and screw my brains out.

The corners of the Ringmaster’s lips twitch. “Assaulted him?”

“Yes. He didn’t do anything we hadn’t previously agreed on.”

“No?” He straightens. “Should it have been your throat I wrapped my hand around, then? You I threatened? Because I do not take kindly to others attempting to steal my control. And had last night gone wrong, his actions would have ripped it right out of my hands when it comes to you.”

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