“Try again tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe they all went into town.”
“Can you find out when the performances are?” Bella asked. Chances were good they coincided with Renaldi’s, but there might be one she could slip away for.
“I will see what I can find out,” he said.
Before he could say more, the ringmaster strutted up, his belly thrust out in front of him. “Your act is next, Franco,” he said.
“I’m ready,” he said.
The ringmaster looked at Bella, his eyes running up and down her body, checking her costume and make-up. “Where is your partner?” he barked.
“Over there,” Bella said, pointing to where Boris slouched against one of the tent posts.
“You haven’t been practising together lately,” he said, turning to study Boris.
“You should talk to Boris about that,” Bella said. “I think he’s been . . . distracted.”
As Bella spoke, Jade sauntered by, resplendent in a green sequined bodysuit that hugged her slim body. Boris stood at attention as Jade sent him a sidelong look from her heavily made-up eyes.
“I see,” said the ringmaster in a chilly tone of voice. “I will speak to him after the act.” He strode away. A few minutes later, Boris and Bella strode into the spotlight together to perform before stands only half-filled – and devoid of the chestnut-haired man who had watched her perform last night.
“You talked to him about me, didn’t you?” Boris demanded as he and Bella waited behind the scenes that night, preparing for their second performance of the day. Outside, the icy wind blew, the temperature even lower with the sun below the horizon. But inside, the heaters roared, making it almost too warm despite Bella’s brief leotard. The tent was packed tonight; there was an almost tangible sense of excitement from the audience. Though it would mean nothing – the circus would be packing up in a few days – Bella was hoping that last night’s spectator would be among the faces ranged around the stage.
“Talked to who?” Bella asked Boris. Her partner’s face was bright red, to match the veins in his eyes.
“The ringmaster. He told me I’ve been slacking off.”
Bella shrugged a narrow shoulder. “I haven’t said anything. But you have been missing a lot of rehearsals lately.”
“You want to replace me, don’t you?” His face was red with anger. “I hear what you say about me – that I smell bad, that you don’t like me.”
Bella stepped back. “Boris,” she said in a low voice. “We have to go on in a minute. This is not the time.”
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked, a crafty glint in his eye.
“Boris! Bella!” One of the jugglers was waving at them frantically. Bella could hear the ringmaster’s voice rolling, echoing through the tent, preparing the audience for their act.
“Let’s go,” she hissed, grabbing Boris’ chalky hand and pulling him towards the entrance. As the ringmaster gave the two aerialists their cue and they stepped into the glaring spotlights, Boris plastered a smile onto his face; but Bella could feel the anger radiating off of him.
She could feel something else, too. As she strutted to the rope ladder, her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for that gleaming brown hair. She couldn’t locate him, but she knew he was there.
As she had last night, she performed with Boris, but every move of her body, every leap, every arch of her slender back, was an act of seduction, directed at a man she had never really seen. Her focus during the last leap was split between the hidden presence in the audience and the demands of the physical task. Her body sang with pleasure as she flew through the air.
They were on the last minute of the song, the routine perfectly synchronized with the sultry music, when it happened. Bella propelled herself through the air, clinging to the trapeze with her knees and, at the very apex of the swing, released her grip and sailed into the air, just as she had a thousand times before.
Only Boris wasn’t there.
The crowd caught its breath in a collective sigh as Bella tumbled. The net flexed beneath her, the spell broken – by Boris. Fuming, Bella slid off the net onto the mats and quickly climbed the rigging again, but with only thirty seconds left in the act, there was little she could do to recover.
“Bella and Boris!” the ringmaster announced as they took their last bow. Bella smiled, but her face felt wooden. The applause died quickly, and they turned and strutted out of the public eye.
“How could you miss that?” she asked once they were safely backstage.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I got the timing wrong.”
“You drank too much last night, you haven’t slept, and you haven’t practised,” she said, seething. Falling to the net was better than plummeting to the mats, but it was still dangerous – and embarrassing.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking belligerent. “You’ve missed a time or two before.”
“Not for two years,” she shot back. “And nobody fell.”
“Whatever,” he said, and turned and stalked away.
Bella took a few deep breaths, trying to control her anger. Irina gave her a slow, cruel smile. News of her fall had spread quickly. Bella usually stayed to the end of the night, to talk with Franco. Tonight though, she wrapped her coat around her and left the tent, heading back to her tiny trailer.
The cold wind needled Bella as she hurried across the packed snow towards her trailer. Quickly, she climbed the two metal steps to her door and fumbled with the key. Wedged into the crack beneath the door was an envelope. She reached down and grabbed it, then hurried inside and slammed the door behind her, happy for the warmth of the crowded space and the absence of other performers.
Bella shrugged off her coat and lowered herself onto her bed, examining the envelope. It was thick, creamy linen, and her name – Ms Bella Volynski – was written on the front in a firm, old-fashioned script. She tore it open with a fingernail, and swallowed hard at the letterhead.
Le Cirque de la Nuit.
She devoured the note, heart hammering against her ribcage.
Dear Ms Volynski
Your recent performance on the aerial silks has come to our attention. We are pleased to extend an invitation to audition for the position of aerialist for le Cirque de la Nuit.
Silks? But her act was on the trapeze. Unless . . .
Goosebumps rose on her arms as she remembered her solitary practice of last night.
This is an unusual invitation, as an opening is very rare. If you are interested, please arrive, prepared to audition, between eleven pm and one am tonight or tomorrow. We eagerly anticipate your visit.
Cordially,
M. Rideau
Ringmaster
Cirque de la Nuit
Bella read it three times. Eagerly anticipate your visit. Had they somehow known she’d visited today? Had M. Rideau – the ringmaster – been the silent observer in the big top? And why such strange hours for an audition?
She checked the clock on the bedside table. Not quite ten. Another hour until eleven. She’d arrive at midnight, she decided. So she looked interested . . . but not desperate.
Bella turned to her mirror and reached for her make-up case.
It was a different driver this time. She decided not to ask him to wait; she had taken her cell phone, and would call another cab when she was done.
The blue tent glowed under the spotlight, the silver moons shimmering in the white lights. Despite the late hour, the place was anything but deserted. Although the audience had long since driven home, a few figures hurried from the main tent to the midway, and lights glowed in many of the trailers. Bella paid the taxi driver and slammed the door behind her, taking a deep breath of the icy air before hurrying forwards, her coat pulled tight around her, the audition invitation jammed into her pocket.
She paused near the big tent, wondering where to go. A man in a long overcoat was striding by. She called out to him as he passed her.
“Excuse me, sir.”
He turned quickly, st
aring at her in a strange way – almost hungrily – and took a step towards her. Bella lifted her chin. “I’m supposed to see the ringmaster for an audition,” she said. “Can you tell me where to find him?”
The look on the man’s face went from hunger to something different – curiosity? “He’s in the big top,” he said. Then he smiled. Even in the darkness, his teeth seemed very white. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” she said, and hurried on, bracing herself against the wind and the nervousness that coiled in her stomach.
The entrance to the big top was unlaced tonight. Bella pushed the flap aside and ducked inside.
It was as if she had stepped into a tropical night. The air was warm and lush, and overhead, a swath of stars twinkled, shining through the rigging suspended from the top of the tent. Three rows of plush seats ringed the centre stage, above which dangled a flashing crescent moon. Two red silks hung from the centre of the tent, puddling on the black mat and billowing slightly in the breeze from the doorway.
“Hello?” she called out, starting tentatively down the walkway towards the stage.
When no one answered, she climbed to the centre platform and walked across the mats to the hanging silks, caressing them with one hand. To perform here, under that magical, twinkling starlight . . .
“You came.”
Bella whirled around, still holding one of the silks. She knew before she saw him that it was the man with the chestnut hair.
He stood at least six feet tall, his brown hair tumbling over a face that took her breath away. Her trained eye took in the rest of him at a sweep; broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, well muscled under his tailored black suit. Overall, he gave the impression of barely restrained power. His dark eyes seemed to consume her. Again, she felt the erotic charge that had filled the tent at Circus Renaldi just last night.
“Are you Mr Rideau?” she asked, head held high.
He nodded. “I am pleased that you responded to my invitation, Bella.” His voice was deep and smooth, with a faint accent. “The name suits you.”
Bella felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, hearing the throatiness in her own voice. She hadn’t taken her eyes from his face. Those intense eyes, the half-smile.
“I have prepared the stage for you,” he said quietly, gesturing to the silks she still held in her hand. “Do you need time to warm up?”
“Yes, please,” she said.
“I will watch, if you do not mind,” he said.
“Of course.” Conscious of his eyes on her, she shrugged off her heavy coat, letting it slide down her shoulders with as much grace as she could muster. Rideau moved to the edge of the stage, extending a hand to take it from her. She surrendered it to him, revealing the blue velvet leotard, sprinkled with sequins, that she had borrowed from wardrobe.
“Lovely,” he breathed.
Aware of his eyes on her, she performed an abbreviated set of stretches, her mind awash in the thrill of anticipation – and many questions. Why had the lot been empty earlier that day? Why was this audition at night? Would she accept the job if it was offered?
When her muscles had warmed up, she glanced back at Rideau, at the dark hair tumbling over his brow, the desire in his eyes, and felt an answering frisson in her body. Then she stood tall and approached the silks, grasping the fabric in her hands.
And just as it had the previous night, the dance began.
She climbed the silks slowly, sensuously, and moved through the routine she had been perfecting for months, feeling his eyes on every glissade, every drop, every caress of the silk against the bare skin of her thighs. Despite the two performances, her body was singing with strength and grace, singing its siren song to the man who sat, still and quiet, in the front row. She could almost feel his touch against her skin as she wrapped the silky fabric around her.
She emerged from the silks, which she’d held like a veil before her, her body humming with desire, when she realized something had changed. Rideau was no longer sitting in the front row. He had mounted the stage, and now stood beneath her, looking up. The world suddenly contracted. There was Bella, and the two red silks she clutched in her hands, and the magnetic presence of him on the mats beneath. She swung around one more time, one foot hooked in the silk, describing a slow circle around the centre of the stage and the man beneath her. Then, still gripping the fabric, she lowered herself slowly, gracefully, until she was standing mere inches away from Rideau’s tall, silent form. Her breath came in short gasps.
He stared at her, then reached with one hand, pupils dilated, to touch her flushed cheek. “So beautiful,” he whispered. Then, in one fluid movement, he pulled her towards him, lowering his mouth to hers. She could sense his hunger; it fed her own raw desire. Slowly, slowly, he traced a trail down her neck with fervent kisses. Something sharp grazed her skin. Startled, she pulled away.
“You are irresistible,” he said, his voice husky. “I am sorry.”
“No,” Bella said, reaching for him. “It’s fine. Really.”
He smiled then, and she drew in her breath at the sight of his teeth, sharp and pointed, against the red of his full lips. “You’re . . . ”
He studied her. “Yes,” he said.
Bella took an involuntary step back. Everything pointed to one thing – he had confirmed it himself – but how could it be? It wasn’t possible. “When I was here earlier . . . and everything was closed. No one was out . . . ”
“We were asleep. That is why we are le Cirque de la Nuit.” He reached out, ran a long finger down her jaw. “So beautiful, so exotic . . . so very, very talented . . . ”
She drew in her breath. “You liked the routine?”
“It set my blood on fire,” he said, his voice again hoarse.
“But . . . ” Bella started, then trailed off.
“You are asking if everyone who works with the Cirque is subject to my condition,” he finished.
Bella nodded, feeling caught between twin urges: the impulse to flee, and the desire to succumb.
“I think you know the answer to that,” he said.
She was silent.
“The position is yours, if you desire it,” he said, still looking at her with that dark, smouldering gaze.
“What’s it like?” she asked, her voice a whisper. It was too much, too sudden. But to be with Rideau, and to perform before him every night, under that spangled tent . . .
“I can show you,” he said and, before she could respond, he pulled her to him, his mouth hot against the fragile skin of her neck. She gasped as his teeth punctured her, but after a flash of pain, there was a warm, flooding ecstasy.
With a palpable effort, he withdrew, breathing hard; Bella watched through half-lidded eyes as he took something from his pocket and bared his own neck. He made a quick slicing movement. A moment later, red droplets appeared against his pale skin, like a string of dark pearls.
“Drink,” he commanded.
She hesitated.
“It won’t make you like me. It will only give you a taste. Drink,” he repeated, reaching for her head, guiding her mouth to his neck.
The taste was salty, coppery, repellent. At first she gagged. Then she took a breath, inhaling Rideau’s clean musk scent, and something stirred in her. The blood was flowing more freely now, and as she pressed her lips to his neck, warmth suffused her, a warmth that pulled her closer to the tall vampire, until their bodies were pressed against one another. Bella drank hungrily now, intoxicated with his blood, and resisted when he pulled her head away.
“Enough,” he said, his voice rough, pressing one hand to the gash on his neck.
She pulled back then, the spell broken, and held one hand to her mouth. When she lowered it, it was stained with blood.
“Can you feel it now?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking up from her bloodstained hand, the horror at what she’d done fading. Every detail in the tent seemed a little sharper, a little more luminous. The stars ov
erhead glowed like trapped fireflies. Even the howl of the wind past the canvas seemed to contain a hidden melody. “Is it like this all the time for you?”
“Always,” he said. “Only more intense.” He reached to touch her skin again; the contact felt like an electric charge. “Come with me. Perform for me every night, never dying, never fading. A perfect, ageless rose. For ever Bella.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice a moan. “Yes. I want it.”
He drew closer, the scent of him intoxicating. Her eyes were drawn to the cut on his neck, already healing.
“Are you certain?” he whispered.
She hesitated then. “Will I ever see the sun again?”
He shook his head. “The moon will be your sun, Bella.”
Her eyes moved from the gash on his throat to his teeth. She remembered the feel of them on her neck, and the hungry look of the man – the vampire. “I would have to kill people,” she said slowly.
“There is always a cost,” he said. “But it is a gentle kill – a release. A dark blessing.”
The desire to succumb was overwhelming . . . but to never see the sun again? To consent to becoming a killer. “Can I change my mind?”
He laughed, then lowered his mouth to her neck again. The same dark ecstasy flowed through her as he suckled from her, an act somehow more intimate even than sex. She never wanted it to end. Finally though, he pulled away, his breath coming in rough gasps, his pupils dilated with desire.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
He smiled then, her blood stained his white teeth. “Take one more day, my Bella.” He pulled his collar away, proffered his neck to her again. “This will help you regain your strength.” Hungrily, she latched on to him, feeling no disgust this time. She sucked hard until he reached down and detached her with a firm hand. “Tomorrow,” he said.
She reached for him again, but he held her away, his hands on her shoulders. “I would have you come willingly,” he said. “Take one last look at the sun, Bella. Enjoy one last day among your companions. And then, when the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, when you are truly ready . . . come to me.”
He leaned down then and kissed her. Bella’s entire body seemed to dissolve at his touch. She did not resist as he led her to the chair where he had laid her coat. He bundled her in it. “Go home now,” he said. “Tomorrow night, we will be together.”
Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2) Page 10