After fever had passed and Amelda was sure that the girl would live after all, she had the Giant (an enormous teddy bear of a man) and Shagur (the Elephant man) stand guard outside and went to find Night. As much as she loved the boy, she had made up her mind that Night should see a girl as more than a pretty toy. Amelda had told him just that and she had told him the rest as well, tasking him to stand guard over her from any who would frighten her.
Night had never felt so grim in his life and had wished that Amelda had trusted him enough in the first place to nurse the girl back to health, but she had laughed at that and told him no girl in that position wanted anything to do with a man— on one of her wakeful moments, she had caught glimpse of the ringmaster checking on Amelda and her panic had been so strong that Amelda had to pin the girl and sing to her for fear that she would tear open her wounds so close to healing.
“So… why do you think she would trust me now?” Night had asked.
Amelda had laughed at that mirthfully and Night had crossed his arms and frowned until her fit had died down. “Oh, boy, I never said she would TRUST you, I just said that whether she likes it or not, she needs you. And in a way that has nothing to do with sex, you need her too. You promise me that you keep your hands off of her, Night. Not a single finger, got it?”
Night was a bit hurt but smiled and shrugged, his mood suddenly darkening. “Whatever women might think about me, I’ve never ever forced them,” Night said through clenched teeth.
“They’ve never said no to you either,” Amelda pointed out but she patted his arm reassuringly. “I never once thought you were that kind and I even think if you knew that kind, you would see him dead. Women are like flowers to you; things to be tended to, enjoyed, and woe befall any who would dare to crush them.”
Night did not argue with that.
When the girl had first come out of the tent, she was wobbly and squinting at the sunlight, wrapped up in a clean conservative gown. Night had been shocked to see her and had run over without thinking to help her. She had shrunk from his touch but he had to catch her to keep her from hitting the ground hard. She still looked far too fragile to take a fall. He wouldn’t let go until he was sure she had her feet again and she had fought him like a hellcat while he did.
“Hey, hey, sorry! Amelda asked me to keep an eye on you, okay? From the look of it, a fall isn’t the best option for you right now. Here,” Night said kindly, holding out his arm. “At least hold on while I walk you around so that I don’t end up getting clawed trying to help you again.”
Night had been surprised at his own voice. Usually when he talked to girls, it was all flirting and innuendos, but with this girl, his voice became submissive and genuine.
He didn’t want to scare her off— as kind as Amelda was most of the time, he imagined she could tear his head from his body if he screwed this up. Amelda couldn’t have kids either and she had taken to mothering this girl. You don’t cross a mother, blood or not, a mother was a mother. Yet it wasn’t fear or a conscious effort— Night had discovered he was a bit of a nurturer himself.
The girl’s big eyes were lowered to dark slits as she struggled with her options and had decided to take his arm, keeping as much distance as she could. Night let her decide the pace.
“Do you have a name?” Night had asked after they took a few steps. The girl halted, her eyes going as round as pie plates and she looked terrified.
“Hey, it’s okay, if you don’t remember! I didn’t have a name either, but the Ringmaster named me Night. I’m pretty good with names; shall I make one for you?” Night asked, doing his best to console her.
The girl looked as if she had calmed down, but kept watching Night suspiciously, then nodded her consent.
Night dropped her arm and looked around thoughtfully.
“Ah, I have it! Wait here!” Night had exclaimed and hurried over to the side of a tent, plucking a modest, beautiful bloom he found there. He hurried back over and handed it to her.
She took it reluctantly and looked at him as if he weren’t very bright. He laughed and shook his head.
“Your namesake now. It’s a freesia,” Night explained.
“Freesia…” she repeated with wonder. “I like it. Okay, you can call me Freesia.”
Night had cared for Freesia but she struggled with being comfortable around him, doing her best to be polite. She seemed to like hanging out with the other female acrobats; the trapeze artists, the tightrope walkers, and the contortionists were helping her strengthen up and Night was not allowed to go anywhere near them when they were practicing. He would have been offended but they had taken to Freesia like a sister and they still sought him out for a little fun at night. It was a relief that they were so protective of her. Some of the female performers could get downright catty, so it was one less concern.
One night, Calia, the tightrope walker, had foregone pillow talk to let him know that Freesia had a real knack for the ropes and she had never seen a novice fly like that; when she had fallen she had whipped herself around the ropes and landed on her feet without stumbling. She was sure that Freesia had been a dancer before. She had also pouted and told him not to get any ideas about Freesia; he had replied with a smack to her ass and another romp in the sack.
For many months, Night would hear little things about Freesia coming out of her shell and the timid girl was starting to get mouthy with him. He knew it was a matter of time before she realized he was a playboy, but he hadn’t expected her to be so sharp-tongued. At first she would simply point out that she hardly needed his help and didn’t he have some other girl to chase after? So in return he let himself get a little flirtier towards her; it was petty but he liked getting her hackles up a bit. Still, she always had a great witty way to shut him down and he actually started to like the game after a while.
Freesia wasn’t entirely cold— much to his surprise, he would casually throw out an invitation for lunch or to ask if she wanted to help him put up a tent at a new spot (and yes, her eyes had narrowed at putting up a tent, but it turns out it wasn’t innuendo) and she would surprise him with a shrug and a ‘why not?’
She seemed casual enough but he noticed that her physical comfort zone was very strict where men were concerned and he was not an exception. He couldn’t help but notice she always kept her skin covered—maybe to not draw unwanted attention, but he knew it was mostly to cover the silvery scars all over her. Even in warm weather, long sleeves and covered legs, although she would make use of lycra, which was about the thinnest material you could get away with that still covered skin.
Even when he had reason to touch her, like trying to stop her from stumbling or walking into something, she would return it with a smack. She would look apologetic but grumble something about handling herself.
The day finally came when Calia was excited to announce that Freesia could perform her own act and it was unlike anything they had ever seen. Night was secretly excited to see her pull it off. They had tried trapeze and vertical ropes and all of those acts were a bad deal for Freesia because at some point, the acts would require her to come in contact with the male performers. The horizontal rope was a perfect fit for a lone act and Freesia worked hard at it. Amelda had assured Freesia that she hadn’t needed to push so hard; that she could have just taken tickets to earn her keep, but Freesia had insisted. She wanted to give back more to Amelda for saving her life, for being the first person in her life to really care enough to not give up on her.
Night had taken a spot up in the nests that night, little baskets where the light operators sat to spotlight the acts. He wanted to be as close to Freesia as possible to see this act.
After Night had opened the mystic part of the act with his sword display, he had hurried up the beam and hid in the nest. The tightrope wire was mere feet away but the light ought to have hid him well enough. The crowds had hushed at one point and it did not take him long to wonder why. His own breath had stopped and he only heard the thundering of his heartbeat as
he saw Freesia, in that tight purple bikini and covered in prismatic sparkles, she was as beautiful as a sea nymph. He smiled that she found such a seductive way to cover those scars.
Without hesitation, she had dived off the wire and his breath caught again as she caught it at the last moment from behind her and swung up around it. Her movements were so precise that he could not see a moment of tension and her body looked as if it spun and flew limply on the wind. She twisted and balanced and hung above and below and not for a moment did she falter or miss a beat. Her face was serene as if she were truly flying rather than concentrating on not plunging to the ground below. Night was suddenly angry as he realized they were letting her do it without a safety net. When her flight was finished, she perched on top of the rope and the audience applauded wildly. When Freesia glanced up, she caught Night gawping at her and something in his gaze must have frightened her for she started losing her balance.
Without thinking, Night launched himself out of the nest as Freesia began to fall and he caught the wire as he caught her wrist. The thin wire had sliced into his hand and he winced but held on. Freesia’s hands had been protected by the gloves she wore but Night had no such protection. Freesia’s eyes were round with terror but she didn’t struggle, knowing it might cost him a few fingers if she did. Night managed a wink and a smile and pulled her up so that she could hold onto his neck. Night could now hear the screams and gasps as he fought to save them both. He drew the dagger that he kept in his belt and cut the wire, grabbing it with both hands as Freesia clung to him with arms and legs both while they swung towards the ground. Once they got close enough, Night let go (not without sliding several feet down the wire, leaving a gory trail) and used his acrobatics training to roll them safely onto the floor, amid gasps of relief and more applause.
Freesia wobbled to her feet, her eyes wet with angry tears and she slapped Night hard across the face, as he knew she would. Amelda had rushed over and he braced for another slap but she grabbed at his hands that he hadn’t realized were bleeding steadily from the deep gashes the wire had left. Freesia’s anger chilled as she saw the damage and her face went pale with worry. As Amelda hurried him off of the floor into a changing room, Freesia was right on their heels.
Amelda had thrown a kit at Freesia and got to work on his right hand. Freesia pursed her lips and checked the bleeding cuts for fibers and quickly cleaned up. The blood was coming too fast for her liking, pulsing in gushes with the beat of his own heart forcing it out. She threw together needle and thread and braced herself before she began stitching him up. Freesia looked as if she would be ill but kept to her task. Night only had eyes for her at the moment and she was so bent into her task she did not notice he watched her so intently. When she had finished the sutures, not bad at all for a novice, she didn’t have scissors so she bent and bit the thread with her teeth. She used a cloth to clean up the blood-Amelda had apparently finished before this time, for she was gone and the hand was dressed, leaving the two of them alone while Freesia struggled to finish up.
“Hey, you’re pretty good at this too. Any other talents I should know about?” Night joked weakly, blood loss making him a little loopy.
Freesia didn’t answer at first but kept to her task. “I don’t think this is the first time I’ve had to do this, but I don’t think I liked it any more then than I do now,” she wrapped his hand, trying to keep it from wrapping too loose or tight even though she trembled at the task.
Night didn’t want her to bring up the past now— it always made her withdrawn and grim. Tonight, he wanted to see her smile.
“You were amazing out there. I’m sorry that I distracted you-you had it all under control until you saw me,” he said apologetically.
“I’ve never… seen you look at me like that before, Night. You scared me. It’s like you were… seeing me for the first time. I don’t mean like lust; I know what that looks like—” Freesia struggled to name it.
Night couldn’t move his fingers well, but his index finger was still working on the hand she worked on now and though it wobbled unsteadily, he traced a visible scar on her arm under the sparkle paint that had rubbed off there. Her whole body went rigid and he could see her hold her breath sharply. He stopped and let her finish tending to his wounds.
Night didn’t want her to know either. Truth be told, Night hadn’t before felt what he was feeling when he looked at her then. He wasn’t quite ready to admit he had fallen in love with her. It had swallowed him like a great abyss and it scared the shit out of him too.
“I was in awe, so I probably looked like a fool,” he laughed it off, but couldn’t look in her eye, wished she was any other girl that he could sweep into his lap and kiss her questions away. He knew that he was a poor liar when he was covering up big messes, and love was the biggest mess in the world. “Damn it, Freesia, I was terrified you were going to fall because of me. I just saw you catching that rope like you were flying and then the next minute you couldn’t find it with all four of your limbs. Why the hell didn’t they put up a net?”
Night was suddenly angrier than she had been.
Freesia stood abruptly and started to clean his blood off of her. She stopped, blushing when the paint came off. She was painfully aware that her costume was little more than glorified lingerie. She wanted to trust him but she certainly wouldn’t dare to tempt him by being too overconfident in his restraint.
“I asked them not to. I could do that routine in my sleep,” she said a bit guiltily. Night’s nostrils flared with annoyance.
“You had never done it in front of a crowd, with those damn spotlights at that!” Night countered, then sighed selfdeprecatingly. “Or with a creepy pervert staring you down.”
Freesia’s head snapped up and caught his eyes. He looked so pathetic that she couldn’t help but laugh. Night thought that laugh was the loveliest sound he had ever heard. Well worth the selfabuse. He liked the shy way she hid her mouth when she did it and he ached with that strange feeling in his chest again.
Night’s eyes were darkening with that look Freesia did know well and she suddenly felt more self-conscious wearing so little clothing and painted glitter so she looked around and grabbed at a robe on the wall. Only, it wasn’t just lust; he had been looking at her scars with a mixture of anger and curiosity. She would never know just how much he wanted to trace those scars with his fingers, his tongue, to erase the pain behind them.
“You really shouldn’t have been there,” Freesia scolded him half-heartedly as she struggled to find more to say. She shuffled and tried not to look at him just yet. Her head then snapped up long enough to say “I… I’m sorry about your hands, Night. Thank you for, ah, not letting me fall.”
He knew she was becoming skittish, about to flee the room so he shot up and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, careful not to press his wrapped and wounded hands against her, just holding her against him with his forearms. He could feel her stiffen, but he laid his cheek against her ear and rocked slightly.
“I will never let you fall, Freesia. If I have any purpose in life, I will always see you fly,” Night whispered to her.
He was shocked to feel her relax slightly and her hands trembled as they pressed against his back to return the embrace. She turned her head just enough to plant a kiss on his cheek. She pushed away and he felt like he was floating away from her, like a boat embarking from a dock. Just like that, she slipped out of the room and left him mesmerized.
Freesia would stop by from time to time, to make idle conversation or to change his bandages and she would go on and on about how much they had loved her in the last show and how scary and exciting it was to transition from a ticket-taker to one of the performers. He barely heard a word she said— he would watch her lips, catch a glimpse at her modest displays of cleavage, and concentrate on the feel of her fingers on his skin as she tested his wounds. He knew he had it bad and that was no good. Night avoided her as much as he could; he was out of commission while he healed so i
t was easy enough to avoid her at shows or while she worked hard to keep her act up. Sometimes she would scold him for trying to practice, so much silk destroyed by bloodstains for his stubbornness. Still, he worried about her falling again even without him proving as a distraction so he arranged it with the Giant to rig and conceal one and not tell a soul. As good as he was with most secrets, he was terrified that Freesia would discover his. She had been so close to it that first night that he did his best to take great care.
Calia and the other pretty limber girls still paid him visits after shows and not having fully working hands did not prove a hindrance at all. It made things a little more interesting and mouths had a lot more delicious uses anyway. As much as he tried not to, when he would close his eyes, it was always Freesia he pictured straddling him. When he would look into their eyes, he could still almost see her face and it drove him mad. So careful he was not to say her name, but he knew that the throes of lust did not always leave much room for keeping resolutions. He took to clenching his teeth so he wouldn’t say anything at all. It would only take one slip-up for it to get back to her or to get the other girls disliking her.
Time is sometimes the only thing that can temper us to the most difficult things and Night found it was getting easier to conceal and control his feelings, if you could call it easy. He felt like a schoolboy when she came around but he was able to keep up his normal routine of teasing her and bantering with her. He was relieved that she wasn’t uneasy around him. Sometimes he would casually touch a scar peeking out and she would freeze up, but not from fear. it as wonder. through him when he played with fire like this, but he doubted it had such an impact on her.
The Truth about Heroes: Complete Trilogy (Heroes Trilogy) Page 15