When I glanced at my brother, he had the same intense stare that I probably wore, his jaw set, eyes locked on the way Nix’s body responded. As I glanced back at Nix, Athris was already twirling his tongue around one of her nipples, lapping at the burn mark with firm, insistent pressure.

He sucked it into his mouth, drawing a sharp gasp from her as her back bowed, her fingers threading into his dark hair. She squirmed under the teasing flicks of his tongue, her nipple peaking harder, the skin renewing under his fiery saliva.

He repeated the same process with the other nipple, his mouth hot and unyielding, sucking until she whimpered, her thighs pressing together instinctively. Then he trailed lower, his lips brushing a path down her quivering abdomen, over the faint ridges of old scars hidden beneath the new burns.

Soon enough, he had ended up on his knees before her, his large hands parting her legs gently but firmly. He placed open-mouthed kisses on the handprints between her thighs, each one lingering, his tongue darting out to soothe the inflamed skin. She had to spread her thighs wider, revealing her pussy to him—swollen folds glistening already, the burn mark there a cruel brand just above her clit.

“It seems your little pussy was also burned,” he growled, his voice rough with desire, inhaling her scent deeply.

“It was, but I don’t think—oh god,” she cried out, her words cutting off as he buried his head between her thighs.

His tongue plunged into her folds without hesitation, lapping at her slick entrance with broad, hungry strokes. Her whole body jolted as if lightning had struck her, a little whimper slipping from her lips as pleasure crashed through the pain. He devoured her, tongue circling her clit, flicking over the healing burn, his hands gripping her ass to hold her steady as her hips bucked against his face.

The wet sounds filled the tent, mingling with her escalating moans, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as waves of heat—both his fire and her building orgasm—threatened to consume her entirely. As my brother and I watched her being pleased, I could tell that both of us wished it were us in there with her.

Though it had started with him just using his tongue to heal her, he persisted, relentless, his muscular hands pinning her thighs wider, until her climax shattered through her like a whip-crack. She came hard on his tongue, her cries sharp and breathless, flooding his mouth with her release as tremors wracked her lithe, acrobatic frame.

For a lingering moment, Nix stood there trembling, her fingers still tangled in his coarse black hair, panting raggedly against the cool air of their private alcove behind the big top. Gradually, they disentangled, the heat of his breath lingering on her sensitive skin. Athris rose fluidly to his feet, his towering demonic form—broad shoulders etched with glowing runes, eyes like smoldering coals—casting a shadow over her.

With surprising gentleness, he steadied her on wobbly legs, guiding her trembling hands to the sheer fabric of her performer’s costume, helping her slip back into the skimpy leotard that clung to her curves like a second skin, the material whispering against her freshly healed flesh.

Right on cue, the ringmaster burst into the tent with two other men. Their argument hit the air like thunder—sharp, loud, and ugly—but the moment they saw Nix, everyone went still. The silence that followed had a pulse of its own. Even from here, I could see the tension in the air. The tent canvas rustled softly in the breeze, a sound suddenly deafening in the absence of voices.

Athris stepped forward, his tone slicing clean through the quiet.

“If he doesn’t want to continue the investment,” he said coolly, “then I will. However, I don’t want my investment to be touched by anyone but me.”

******

I froze, every muscle locking in place. His words weren’t brave—they were dangerous. My heart slammed against my ribs as I turned toward his voice, glare sharp enough to cut. He didn’t understand. If the ringmaster couldn’t use me—if I stopped being his prized possession—the deal would shatter. And with it, Hearth’s safety.

That was the only thing keeping my brother alive: my obedience, my silence, my body. As long as the ringmaster could claim me, show me off, and break me in front of others, Hearth was untouchable. But if Athris stripped him of that power—if I stopped being useful—then the ringmaster would destroy everything I’d been bleeding to protect.

Either Athris didn’t realize what he was doing, or he didn’t care. His voice stayed maddeningly calm, as though he weren’t standing toe-to-toe with a monster.

“I’ll double the original investment if that’s what it takes,” he said.

“Like hell you will,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

The words burned out of me like a spark from dry tinder. The tent went silent again—the silence that hums in your bones. I could hear every shift of breath, every heartbeat. The ringmaster’s grin was almost audible—the greedy inhale through his nose, the soft scrape of his boot on sawdust as he stepped closer. He loved this. To him, my defiance was part of the show—a rare spark from his most obedient toy.

It had been so long since I’d spoken out. So long since I’d done anything but endure. My pulse roared in my ears, and for one dizzy second, I couldn’t tell if the tremor running through me was fear or fury.

Someone—Athris, by the sound of his stride—moved in front of me. His presence blocked what little warmth the lanterns gave. The air shifted as his body placed itself between me and the ringmaster’s hungry gaze.

“As I said,” Athris repeated, voice colder now, “if you want my investment, then only I can touch her.”

A long, suffocating silence followed. The ringmaster was thinking—calculating. I could almost hear his mind working, boots tapping softly as he paced across the rug, fingers clicking against one another. He was weighing his greed against his pride, deciding if Athris’s gold outweighed the pleasure of keeping me under his thumb.

I half expected him to say no, to throw it all away out of spite. I was his favorite—his centerpiece, his proof of control. Men paid more for time with me. Giving that up meant cutting deep into his profits and his ego.

“Fine,” the ringmaster finally said, voice slick as oil. “I will make sure no one touches your investment.”

My breath caught in my throat. I opened my mouth to protest, to warn Athris of the danger he’d just painted on both of us—but before a single word could escape, a warm, firm hand covered my mouth, silencing me.

Leather and smoke filled my nose. His palm pressed softly against my lips, the skin of his hand rough with faint calluses. His voice came low and close, brushing against my ear.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “Please, Nix. Not here.”

Annoyance flared hot in my chest, stronger than fear. He didn’t understand what he’d done, and now he was silencing me for it. I sank my teeth into his hand, a sharp warning bite that tasted faintly of dust and sweat.

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he tightened his hold, his body angling closer until I could feel the heat of him through my thin costume.

“If you bite me again,” he growled under his breath, “I might just bite back.”

Heat shot through me at the sound of it—low, dark, dangerous. My cheeks burned. Damn him. Especially when the image of his tongue between my thighs only minutes earlier flashed through my mind, a memory that shouldn’t have made my breath catch the way it did.

He finally let me go, the ghost of his touch still lingering against my mouth. The ringmaster’s voice broke the moment like the crack of a whip.

“I’m going to need you to sign a contract,” he said, his tone suddenly smooth, transactional. “Why don’t you come to my trailer—and bring Nix with you?”

Athris didn’t miss a beat. “Actually,” he replied, steady and polite, “I’ll sign the contract without her. I imagine she’s exhausted from her performance earlier.”

The ringmaster chuckled, oily amusement dripping from every word. “Of course. Nix, go and rest in your trailer. I’ll visit you later to discuss the contract.”

I didn’t respond. What could I say? My throat was tight, my mind a storm of anger, confusion, and something else—something warmer and infinitely more dangerous.

Athris led me outside before I could say another word. The sudden rush of cool night air hit my skin like a balm, but the quiet that followed was too heavy, too absolute. The circus had gone still. The guests were long gone, the performers asleep or licking their wounds. The only sounds were the creak of distant ropes and the faint flutter of banners above the empty ring.

He stopped walking, and I heard him exhale softly—frustration, guilt, maybe both.

“I’ll fix this,” he said, but the words sounded like a promise he didn’t know how to keep.

Before I could reply, his footsteps faded, leaving me standing alone in the chilly night air.

The silence pressed close again. Without the music, the applause, the murmurs of the crowd, the circus felt hollow—just a skeleton of tents, ropes, and empty promises. My boots brushed against the dirt path as I made my way toward my trailer, each step measured by memory.

The night smelled faintly of rain and burnt sugar, of metal and misery. I reached out as I walked, fingertips grazing the rough canvas walls and the wooden posts that marked the way. I wished I had something—anything—to listen to. Music, laughter, a heartbeat. Instead, it was just me and the ghosts of sound.

My thoughts drifted back to Athris. To his voice, his touch, the danger in both.