Chapter 1

Chapter One

C lara

Steam billows from the hood of my old car, curling into the night air like ghosts escaping a crypt. I slam my hands on the steering wheel, frustration and exhaustion flooding my veins. Tears streak down my face, hot and bitter. The desolation of the rural country road stretches out before me, an endless ribbon of darkness. The faint glow of the distant circus is the only thing that breaks the oppressive black.

I step out of the car, my boots crunching on the gravel. The cold air hits me, but it does nothing to cool the fiery storm inside. I kick the tire, the impact jarring up my leg but offering no real solace.

"Damn it!" My voice echoes, swallowed quickly by the surrounding emptiness.

I sit on the hood, my sobs the only sound in the night. They come in waves, each one dragging me deeper into despair. The argument with my roommate, the draining day at work—it's all too much. And now this. The car breaking down feels like the universe's cruel joke.

Footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me, sudden and unexpected. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I spin around, eyes wide, to see a figure emerging from the shadows. He's illuminated by the soft, ethereal glow of the circus lights in the distance.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice is calm, soothing, a balm on my frayed nerves.

He steps closer, and I see him clearly. He's dressed in a slightly disheveled costume, a mix of theatrical flair and practical wear. His dark hair falls in loose waves, and his eyes—there's something mesmerizing about them, like they hold secrets. I suck in a breath, suddenly feeling at a loss for oxygen.

"I… I'm fine," I manage to say, though my voice betrays me with its shakiness.

He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to me. "Here."

I hesitate, the need for comfort warring with my instinct to keep my distance. But I take it, wiping my tears away. The fabric is soft, and it smells faintly of something sweet and exotic.

"Thank you," I say, my voice barely a whisper.

"I'm Marcus," he says, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "I saw you from the circus grounds. Thought you might need some help."

"Clara," I reply, my name feeling foreign on my tongue in this strange, intimate moment. "My car broke down. I was on my way home from a shift at the diner, but…"

Marcus nods, his expression understanding. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea." The words spill out before I can stop them. "It's been one thing after another. And drunk customers do not tip well. And now this." I gesture to the car, the symbol of my frustration.

"Well, Clara, how about we get you to some place warm and figure things out from there?" He glances towards the circus, the lights twinkling like stars. "The circus isn't far. You can relax there for a bit."

I should refuse. I should insist on calling for a tow truck, on getting home as soon as possible, I can hardly afford a tank of gas these days much less a tow. But there's something about Marcus, something that makes me want to follow him. Maybe it's the way he looks at me, like he really sees me. Or maybe it's the allure of the circus, a place where magic feels real. My parents always made a point of taking me to the Misfit Cabaret every autumn when they came to town, and without much else to do in our little slice of Ohio, the circus became my favorite time of year.

"Okay," I finally agree, my voice firmer this time.

We start walking down the road, the night air crisp around us. The sounds of the circus grow louder with each step—music, laughter, the hum of life. It's a stark contrast to the lonely silence of the road and the belligerent customers at the diner.

Marcus talks as we walk, his voice a soothing rhythm. He tells me about the circus, its long history, the way it moves from town to town like a wandering spirit. He talks about his role as an illusionist, the tricks he performs, the joy he brings to the audience and how the laughter and oohs and awws make him feel alive like nothing else.

I listen, the cadence of his words calming the turmoil inside me. For a while, I forget about my problems, lost in the stories he weaves. But as we get closer to the circus, the reality of my situation seeps back in.

"I had a fight with my roommate before work," I admit, the words heavy. "And the diner… the diner was hell today. Everything just feels like it's falling apart."

Marcus glances at me, his eyes soft with understanding. "Sometimes life feels that way," he says. "Like the whole world is conspiring against you."

"Exactly." I exhale, the weight of my confession lifting slightly. "And then there's this other thing… I'm an empath. I feel everything. Everyone's emotions. It's… so overwhelming on the best days and unbearable on the worst ones."

His steps falter for a moment, and he looks at me with new intensity. "An empath? That's a rare gift."

"Gift?" I scoff, the bitterness returning. "It feels more like a curse."

Marcus stops walking, turning to face me. "It's a powerful thing, feeling what others feel. But it's also a heavy burden. You're not alone in this, Clara. You don't have to carry it by yourself."

His words touch something deep inside me, a place I've kept hidden for so long. I meet his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of hope.

We reach the edge of the circus grounds, the vibrant tents and performers creating a surreal, dreamlike landscape. It's a world apart from the lonely road we just left. Marcus leads me through the bustling grounds, past performers practicing their acts and the colorful tents filled with laughter and magic.

We find a quiet corner near Marcus's caravan, away from the prying eyes of other circus members. The atmosphere is a blend of enchantment and secrecy, the air thick with unspoken promises.

"Thank you," I say, my voice soft. "For everything."

Marcus smiles, a slow, seductive curve of his lips. "The night is still young, Clara. Let's see where it takes us." He nudges at my shoulder with a charming smile. "I have to perform soon, you should stay and watch."

"I'd love to," I say without a second thought.

The air around the circus is electric, buzzing with a symphony of emotions that crash into me like waves. I struggle to control my empathic abilities, the intensity of the performers' and audience's feelings nearly overwhelming. Joy, excitement, anticipation—they all blend together, a whirlwind that leaves me dizzy and breathless.

Marcus heads in the direction of the main tent as I navigate through the vibrant chaos, my senses in overdrive. The lights are too bright, the sounds too loud, the emotions too raw. But amidst the sensory overload, one feeling stands out—a magnetic pull towards Marcus whenever he's nearby. I can't explain it, but his presence anchors me, a beacon in the storm.

I spot him near the center ring, preparing for his performance. Even from a distance, Marcus exudes an aura of mystery and allure that's impossible to ignore. His dark hair falls over his forehead, and his eyes, intense and mesmerizing, seem to find me in the crowd. A shiver runs down my spine, a mix of anticipation and desire.

As he steps into the spotlight, the world around me fades. His movements are fluid, hypnotic, each gesture precise and full of purpose. The audience holds its breath, captivated by the illusionist weaving magic before their eyes. I can't take my eyes off him, drawn in by the seductive dance of light and shadow.

He pulls a silk handkerchief from his sleeve, transforming it into a dove with a flick of his wrist. The crowd erupts in applause, but I'm fixated on him, on the way his fingers move, the intensity in his gaze. There's something about Marcus, something deeper than the tricks and illusions. An undercurrent of pain and vulnerability that calls to me.

After the performance, Marcus finds me lingering near the edge of the tent.

"Enjoy the show?" His voice is smooth, teasing, but there's a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

"It was incredible," I reply, struggling to keep my voice steady. "You were incredible."

He smiles, a slow, seductive curve of his lips that makes my heart skip a beat. "I'm glad you think so. How are you holding up? I know it can be a lot, especially for someone like you."

I nod, unable to hide the truth. "It's overwhelming. But I'm managing."

"Come with me," he says, taking my hand. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I follow him, unable to resist.

We weave through the circus grounds, the noise and chaos fading as we reach a secluded corner. His caravan is a haven, filled with the scent of incense and the soft glow of lanterns. It's intimate, personal, a stark contrast to the public spectacle of the circus.

"Sit," he says, guiding me to a plush chair. "You need to relax, Clara. Let me help you."

I sit, my heart pounding. The air between us is thick with tension, as if charged with unspoken desires. Marcus kneels before me, his hands gentle but firm as they rest on my knees.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs.

I obey, the world falling away. His hands move to my shoulders, his touch soothing, grounding. "Breathe," he instructs, his voice a soft command. "In and out. Focus on my voice."

I do as he says, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. The chaos inside me begins to calm, the emotions of the circus receding. All I can feel is Marcus, his presence a warm, comforting embrace.

"Better?" he asks, his breath hot against my ear.

"Yes," I whisper, opening my eyes to find his face inches from mine. The desire in his eyes mirrors my own, a burning need that we can't deny.

"Good," he says, his voice low and husky. "You're special, Clara. I knew it the moment I saw you."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

"I recognize your gift," he replies. "I've seen it before. My parents… they had similar abilities."

"Your parents?" I echo, sensing the pain behind his words.

He nods, his expression shadowed. "They died in a snowstorm. I was just a boy. Their powers… they were a blessing and a curse."

"I'm sorry," I say, my heart aching for him.

He shakes his head. "It's the past. But you, Clara… you need to learn to control your gift. It's powerful, but it doesn't have to control you."

His words resonate with me, a truth I've been afraid to face.

"Can you help me?" I ask, my voice trembling with hope and fear.

"I can try," he says, his eyes locking onto mine. "But you have to trust me."

"I do," I whisper, the weight of the confession settling between us.

"Good," he says, his hand sliding up my arm, sending shivers of pleasure through me. "Then let's start now."

His lips meet mine, and the world disappears. The kiss is slow, tantalizing, a dance of tongues and breath. His hands roam my body, igniting fires wherever they touch. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

We break apart, gasping for air, our foreheads resting together.

"Marcus…" I breathe, my voice a plea.

"Clara," he replies, his tone equally desperate. "I can't explain what I'm feeling, but I know the entire time I was out there performing, my mind was on you. I want you."

"Then take me," I say, surrendering to the moment, to him. For the first time in a long while, I feel alive, truly alive.

"Not yet. Not now. But soon." His eyes twinkle with mischief, melting my heart piece by piece.