5. Colt

5

COLT

T he winter chill bites through my jacket as I adjust the white skull mask over my face. Our first night in Easthollow is different—there is no show, just the carnival's Christmas masquerade ball. Colored lights dance across the snow, casting shadows between the food stalls and rides.

I scan the crowds, watching families laugh and couples kissing. Then, my eyes snag on a figure standing alone, her thin jacket barely protecting against December's bite. She has a small backpack on her shoulder, which she clutches for dear life.

Her mask is cheap and frayed at the edges, but something about her pulls me in. She holds herself like she's ready to bolt at any moment.

My feet move before my brain catches up. Haven't felt this instant attraction since... well, since Nash.

"That mask's seen better days." I stop beside her, close enough to catch a hint of vanilla. "We've got plenty of spares in the costume tent."

She startles, taking a half-step back. "Oh, I... I'm fine."

"Come on." I gesture toward the back area. "Consider it a Christmas gift. Can't have you wearing that sad thing at our masquerade."

Her fingers trace the edge of her mask. "Why would you?—"

"Because you caught my eye." I lean against the carousel's railing. "And I always take care of what interests me."

She shifts her weight, studying me through those mask holes. Even with most of her face hidden, I can tell she's beautiful. But it's more than that—there's something familiar in how she carries herself, her pain almost palpable.

"I'm Colt." I hold out my hand.

She hesitates before placing her smaller one in mine. "Flora."

Her skin is ice cold. Without thinking, I wrap both my hands around hers. "Jesus, you're freezing. Let's get you that mask and maybe some hot chocolate after?"

I guide Flora toward the costume tent, keeping enough distance so she won't feel crowded. With each step, I notice how she tracks my movements from the corner of her eye, like prey watching a predator.

"Here we are." I open the tent flap, letting her choose whether to enter first. She pauses, then slips inside.

The tent smells of dusty fabric and sequins glisten everywhere. Racks of costumes are lined up like soldiers. I reach for a box of masks on a high shelf, and Flora jumps at my sudden movement.

"These are the good ones." I set the box on a table between us, giving her space. "Take your pick."

Her fingers hover over a delicate white mask with silver accents. When I shift to get a better look, my arm brushes hers. She flinches hard enough to knock into the box.

I catch it before it falls, my jaw clenching. Someone's hurt this girl. Badly.

"Sorry about that." I step back, hands raised. "I'll give you some space to choose."

Relief floods her posture as I move away; her body sighs visibly with relief. She picks up the white mask again, holding it like it might shatter.

"That one suits you," I say softly. " Would you like to try it on?"

She nods, fingers trembling as she unties her old mask. For a split second, I glimpse her face—stunning, but with shadows in her eyes that make my blood boil.

The new mask fits perfectly, transforming her into something ethereal. But I can't shake what I've seen—how she startles at sudden movements, keeps her back to walls, flinches from touch.

I know those signs. I've seen them in others. The carnival has become a refuge for many who are running from their demons.

"Thank you," she whispers, touching the mask's edge. "It's beautiful."

"Keep it." I resist the urge to reach out, to offer comfort she's not ready to accept. "Consider it a gift."

"Do you work here?" Flora asks, her voice delicate, sweet.

"Yeah, I'm one of the performers." I lean against a costume rack, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. "Acrobatics, mainly."

She fidgets with the edge of her sleeve. "I was hoping to talk to someone about... about joining."

And there it is. I've seen it before. Desperate souls looking for sanctuary in our twisted little family. But something about Flora's fear feels different. Raw. Fresh.

"That'd be Tyson you want, our ringmaster." I study her through my mask. "But maybe you could tell me why, first? Not everyone's cut out for carnival life."

Her shoulders tense. "I just... I need to leave. To get away."

"From what?"

"Everything." The word comes out choked. She wraps her arms around herself, and I have to fight the urge to step closer, to offer comfort.

"Listen, angel," I keep my voice gentle, "I'm not trying to pry. But if you're running from something, we need to know. The carnival... we protect our own. But we have to know what we're dealing with."

She shakes her head. "I can't... I shouldn't have..."

"Hey." I raise my hands, palms out. "You don't have to tell me everything. Just enough so I know helping you won't bring trouble down on my family here."

Flora's quiet for a long moment, her breathing unsteady. "My foster family. I can legally leave. But they... they won't let me go easily."

The way she says it, the waiver in her voice as it almost crackles tells me everything she's not saying. My hands curl into fists, but I force them to relax. "Are they here tonight?"

"No." She glances toward the tent entrance. "But they'll notice I'm gone soon."

"Right. Let's go talk to Tyson." I push off from the costume rack. "He'll want to meet you anyway, and better now before your family starts searching."

Flora's fingers twist in her sleeve. "Is he... what's he like?"

"Fair." I choose my words carefully. "He looks out for his people. And he's got a good sense about who belongs here."

I lead her out of the costume tent, staying close but not touching. The crowd's thickened, and I notice how she shrinks from brushing shoulders with strangers. Without thinking, I position myself to block the worst of it, creating a buffer between her and the thicket of bodies.

"Ty's usually in his office this time of night." I guide her toward the back of the grounds where the trailers are parked. "He will finish the business while everyone else enjoys the masquerade."

We pass the carousel again, its lights painting Flora's white mask in shifting colors. She stumbles on a patch of ice, and my hand steadies her elbow. She goes rigid under my touch.

"Sorry." I drop my hand. "Just didn't want you falling."

She nods, but her breathing's quick and shallow. I curse myself for the slip-up. Every instinct screams to protect her, but that means keeping my distance right now.

"Almost there." I point to Tyson's trailer, its windows glowing warm against the dark. "You ready?"

Flora takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "Yes."

That single word carries more strength than she probably realizes. Whatever's happened to her, she's survived. And now she's choosing to fight.

"Then let's introduce you to your new boss." I climb the trailer steps first, knocking on the door. "Because something tells me you belong here with us."

The porch light catches something in Flora's eyes as she looks up at me—a flicker of something raw that wasn't there before. My breath catches. For the first time since I saw her, that perpetual fear gives way to something else. Desire.

It hits me like a punch to the gut. After years of keeping my urges locked down, this slip of a girl sparks something primal in me. Something that wants to possess, to claim, to mark.

Her lips open as I tower over her on the steps. Despite her terror of touch, she doesn't back away. If anything, she sways closer, like a moth drawn to a flame.

"You're safe here," I murmur, watching her pupils dilate behind that delicate mask. "No one will hurt you again."

A shiver runs through her that has nothing to do with cold. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my control nearly snaps. After so long burning for Nash, drowning in wants I can never voice, this pure shot of desire for someone else is intoxicating.

Maybe this is what I need—someone soft and broken that I can protect, possess, and rebuild. Someone to help me forget how Nash's body moves when we perform, the electricity when our skin touches, the years of denying what I feel.

But even as the thought forms, I know it's a lie. Nothing could make me forget Nash. This pull toward Flora is different—not a replacement, but something new entirely.

She's still staring up at me, breath coming faster, that spark of curiosity clear in her gaze. Before I can stop myself, my hand traces the edge of her mask.

This time, she doesn't flinch.

I pull back from that charged moment, remembering why we're here. "You might want to take the mask off before we go in. Ty likes to see who he's talking to."

The spell breaks. Flora's hand flies to the white mask, fingers trembling slightly as they trace its edges. "Right. Of course."

"Hey." I keep my voice low and gentle. "You've got this. Just be honest with him."

She nods, taking a deep breath before untying the ribbon. The mask comes away, and my chest tightens. Even in the dim porch light, she's stunning—high cheekbones, full lips, eyes that shift between green and gold. The shadows beneath that beauty catch me—the slight tension around her mouth, the wariness in her gaze.

"Better." I take the mask from her shaking hands, careful not to let our fingers brush. "Ready?"

Flora smooths her hair, squaring those delicate shoulders. "Yes. I need to do this."

There's determination in her voice now. Something inside me growls in approval. This one's a survivor.

"Just remember," I say as I grab the door handle, "Tyson might seem intimidating, but he's fair. Tell him what you can and let him make his decision."

She wets her lips, nervous but resolved. "Thank you, Colt. For the mask, for bringing me here... for everything."

The way she says my name sends heat down my spine. I grip the door handle harder, fighting the urge to pull her close, to shelter her with my body.

"Don't thank me yet, angel." I turn the handle. "Let's see what Ty has to say first."