Chapter 1

Chapter One

S ophia

The air inside The Misfit Cabaret is thick and heady, an intoxicating blend of sweat, smoke, and the sweet, cloying scent of spun sugar. It clings to the skin, seeping into every pore, saturating the senses until reality blurs at the edges. The laughter and gasps of the audience mix with the sultry hum of music, creating a hypnotic rhythm that pulses through the tent like a living thing. Performers glide through the crowd, their bodies adorned in glittering scraps of fabric that reveal more than they conceal. They move with a languid grace, each step a calculated seduction, their eyes promising secrets and pleasures only found within these canvas walls.

I walk through the backstage area, my boots clicking against the floor in a steady, deliberate beat. The tight leather of my outfit hugs my curves, the gold accents catching the dim light and drawing eyes like moths to a flame. I can feel the weight of their gazes—some filled with curiosity, others with barely concealed desire. But I keep my expression impassive, my focus sharp. They may look, they may want, but they will never have. I am here for one reason only, and he is waiting for me.

Zeus.

My lion, my companion, my protector. The only soul I allow close.

As I approach his cage, I can sense his presence even before I see him, a low rumble vibrating through the metal bars. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the cold steel, and he responds with a deep, guttural purr that resonates in my chest. Zeus rises from his resting place, his powerful form moving with a fluid grace that belies his size. His golden mane glows in the low light, and his amber eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes the rest of the world fade away.

I open the cage, stepping inside without hesitation. The heavy door closes behind me with a definitive clang, sealing us in together, just the two of us. I trust Zeus with my life, and he trusts me with his. It’s a bond that goes beyond words, beyond commands. It’s an unspoken understanding, forged through years of training, through every brush with danger, through every shared moment in the spotlight.

The crowd falls silent as we step into the center ring. The lights dim, narrowing to a single beam that follows our every movement. I can feel their anticipation, their hunger for the thrill, for the spectacle. But for me, this is more than a performance. It’s a dance, a ritual, a moment of connection that I can’t find anywhere else.

I raise my hand, a silent command, and Zeus responds instantly, his body coiling with raw power as he circles me. The audience gasps, but I don’t flinch. Instead, I move with him, our steps perfectly in sync, a testament to the trust that binds us. Each gesture I make is deliberate, precise, a blend of grace and authority. And with every move, I feel the tension building, not just in the crowd, but within myself.

I guide Zeus through a series of complex maneuvers, my body flowing with a feline grace that mirrors his own. The air between us is charged, thick with an unspoken sensuality that the audience can only glimpse. But for me, it’s tangible, a living thing that wraps around us, drawing us closer, binding us tighter.

As Zeus rises on his hind legs, towering over me, I reach out, my fingers brushing through his mane. The soft, coarse fur against my skin sends a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the power he holds—and the control I wield. There’s a breathless moment where I can feel the weight of his presence, the danger and the safety intertwined, and in that instant, I allow myself to be vulnerable, if only for him.

But the vulnerability is fleeting. As quickly as it comes, I lock it away, burying it beneath layers of steel. I’ve learned the hard way that allowing anyone too close only ends in pain. I’ve been burned before, and I’ve sworn never to let it happen again. Zeus is the only one I trust, the only one I’ll ever trust.

The act reaches its climax, and the crowd erupts into applause, their cheers washing over me like a wave. But their approval means nothing to me. I do not perform for them. I do this for Zeus, for the connection that keeps me grounded, that keeps me whole.

As we exit the ring, the lights shift, and I catch sight of the next performer stepping into the spotlight—Alex, the firebreather. I’ve seen him around the circus, felt the burn of his gaze more than once, but I’ve kept my distance. He’s new, and new is dangerous. New is unknown.

But tonight, as the flames lick at his skin, illuminating the bronzed planes of his body, I can’t help but look. His eyes find mine through the haze of smoke, and for a brief moment, the air between us crackles with something that feels like a challenge, a dare. He holds my gaze, unflinching, as if he’s trying to see past the walls I’ve built.

I know better than to engage. I know better than to let anyone in. But as the heat from his flames washes over me, I feel something stir deep inside—something I thought I’d long buried.

The applause rises again, but I’m already moving, turning my back on the fire and the man who wields it. I have no time for games, no time for desires that can only lead to ruin.

But as I walk away, the memory of his gaze lingers, a burn that won’t easily fade.

The applause is still ringing in my ears as I step out of the ring, the taste of victory sweet on my tongue, though I remain as detached as ever. Zeus trails beside me, his massive form a comforting presence. His golden mane brushes against my thigh, reminding me of our unbreakable bond—one that’s kept me anchored when everything else has threatened to pull me under.

But as I exit the spotlight, something new draws my attention. The crowd’s energy shifts, and I follow their gaze to the next act.

Alex.

There’s no denying the instant pull he commands. The lights dim as the ring transforms into a stage for his fire, and I feel the temperature rise, though I’m certain it has nothing to do with the flames he’s about to unleash.

He strides into the center, every movement fluid, confident, commanding. The fire torches in his hands flicker to life, casting an orange glow that dances across his bronzed skin. My breath catches as I see him clearly for the first time—his body is chiseled perfection, muscles honed from hours of grueling practice, each ripple a testament to his strength and control. Control that, for a moment, I imagine being on the receiving end of.

I shake the thought away, chastising myself for the slip. I’ve sworn off this kind of distraction. No entanglements. No weakness.

But then Alex exhales, sending a plume of flame into the air, and the heat seems to ripple outwards, touching every part of me. The flames are nothing compared to the fire in his eyes when they lock onto mine across the ring.

Damn.

I can’t help the way my pulse quickens, the way my skin prickles under his gaze. It’s as though his eyes are stripping away every layer of protection I’ve built, searching for the vulnerability I keep buried deep. And for a second, just a second, I wonder what it would feel like to let someone in again.

I stiffen, pulling back from the thought as though I’ve touched a live wire. No. I refuse to be that woman again, the one who lets her guard down and ends up shattered. My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms, grounding me.

But it’s impossible to ignore the way Alex moves, the way the firelight dances off his bronzed skin, highlighting every defined muscle as he spins and twirls the flames. He’s pure sin, and the way he commands the fire, bending it to his will, sends a rush of heat through me that has nothing to do with the temperature in the tent.

Our eyes meet again, and this time, I don’t look away. The connection between us is magnetic, and I can’t fight it—not fully. The crowd fades into the background, their cheers and gasps a distant echo as Alex’s gaze pins me in place.

It’s dangerous, this pull I feel. But instead of running, I hold my ground, meeting his stare with one of my own, challenging him in silence. His lips curl into a slight smirk, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, as if he can sense the conflict raging inside me.

I hate that he sees me. Really sees me.

But I can’t deny it. There’s a flicker of something in me that I thought had been extinguished long ago, a spark that Alex has somehow reignited with nothing more than a glance. My breath catches, and I remind myself who I am—who I need to be. Strong. Unyielding. Unaffected.

Yet, as Alex swallows another mouthful of fire, his eyes never leaving mine, I feel my resolve waver. Just for a moment, but it’s enough to shake me. I want to touch him. I want to feel the heat of his skin against mine, to know if the fire between us is real or just another illusion.

But I don’t move. I can’t. Not yet.

So I stand there, rooted to the spot, watching him like he’s the flame and I’m the moth, desperately trying to resist the light that could burn me alive.