For a second, I think I see something glint in his red eyes, but then he steps forward, his body pressing flush against mine. And just like that, I forget how to fucking breathe again.
“I’m not… I’m not…” I start to say, but it withers in my throat as he lifts a hand, slowly sliding it around the side of my neck. Gentle, almost too gentle.
The heat of it sinks into my skin like it shouldn’t belong to someone like him, someone this cold and terrifying, but it’s there, and my eyes flutter shut as my chest heaves, my body becoming traitorous and exposed. His hand keeps moving until his fingers thread into my hair, taking a handful and he pulls, tilting my head back.
When I open my eyes, his marker is already poised in the other hand, then he brings the tip to my chest and begins to pen one last thing.
I can’t see what he’s writing, but I let him, because stupidly, I want his response. I want his crazed reasoning.
My gaze sweeps over his face and god, I wish it didn’t. I soak in the black paint, those glowing red eyes, wondering what he looks like beneath it all. How soft his dark hair is. Hair I strangely want to run my fingers through and pull.
While riding that pierced tongue.
Jesus. Get your mind out of the gutter.
I let out a low growl, turning my eyes away, forcing myself to look anywhere else until he’s finished.
When it happens, he straightens, releasing my hair and I glance down to my chest, but the sound of him walking backward pulls my gaze up.
We hold eye contact as he backs away, until finally, he turns and walks out of the dressing room. Leaving me confused, shaken, panting and maybe, shamefully, a little bit aroused.
Looking down at myself, I realize he’s written backward again, so I turn to face the mirror, leaning in to read it.
You’re the first I’ve spoken to without my voice,
The first I’ve touched and left alive by choice.
The first to feel my mind unravel and unfold,
The first to live but still bound by my hold.
You’re the first to witness what’s buried deep—
And you’ll be the little corpse I’ll forever keep.
My breath gets caught in my throat, his poem seeping into me like a pretty poison.He’s telling me I’m the only one he’s ever let himself be like this with and it curls through me, both intoxicating and suffocating.
Something sick settles inside me, almost like I want to unravel and taunt that fucking monster in a way no one has ever dared. I want to continue getting too close and see what happens when I poke at the thing everyone else seems to run from.
And I know I shouldn’t. I should know better and keep my head down, avoiding him at all costs. But a part of me doesn’t want to. It’s clear he wants me for something and that in itself is a power I already have over him.
My hands shake violently as I quickly reach for a make-up wipe and after pulling one free, I hover it over the writing for a beat too long, the temptation to keep it gnawing at me.
But I can't. Ican’tlet it stay. I can’t let him in.
I lift my eyes to the mirror, lingering on the words one last time, before I force myself to scrub it away and erase the last trace of him from my skin.
Once I’m clean and finally have my contacts in, I straighten my circus outfit, taking a deep breath to steady myself and with one final glance at the mirror, I turn to leave, ready to start my first day of Oddity training.
Chapter Seven
Wrath
Sitting on my bike in the main tent, I watch her with Noir, trying to work on some possible talents. My gaze is locked, fixed and tracking every movement she makes. The way her body twists and fights for control. She doesn’t belong here, not yet, but she’s trying. Hard.
She looks good in that costume, too fucking good, with the black and gold clinging to every line of her body, the paints disguising her face like some eerie, beautiful nightmare.
My beautiful nightmare.