Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Her words are a balm, soothing the raw edges of my pain. I look at her, seeing not just an empath, but someone who truly understands the weight of carrying abilities that set us apart from the world.
"My parents' abilities," I continue, "were similar to yours. They could feel what others felt, sense the emotions around them. It’s a powerful gift, but also a heavy burden. I see that in you, and it scares me. Not because of what you can do, but because of what it means for us."
Our bond deepens with every word, the shared understanding feels like we’re creating a connection that feels both fragile and unbreakable. The moment is intimate, charged with a mix of sadness, hope, and an unspoken promise.
The distant sound of the circus music starting up for the night’s performance interrupts the moment. We exchange a look, the spell broken, but the connection still solidified between us. There’s fear in her eyes, and I know she sees the same in mine.
"We should get ready," I say, my voice steady but my heart racing. "The show’s about to start."
Clara nods, but she doesn’t move to get up. Instead, she leans in, her lips brushing against mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s a promise, a reassurance, and a plea all rolled into one. When she pulls back, her eyes are filled with determination.
I hum, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. As we stand and prepare to join the rest of the circus, I know that our journey is just beginning. The road ahead is uncertain, filled with challenges and fears, but for the first time, I don’t feel so alone. Clara and I are bound by more than just our abilities—we’re bound by something deeper, the promise of a future together. I can feel it in my bones, like I’ve waited an eternity for her.
Clara is the only woman for me.
Chapter Three
Clara
The circus tent is alive with anticipation, the air thick with the excitement of an eager audience. The spotlight finds us, casting a dramatic glow on Marcus and me as we take our positions. My heart pounds in sync with the rhythmic pulse of the music, a steady reminder of the life thrumming around us.
Marcus stands tall beside me, his presence commanding and magnetic. I can feel the energy of the crowd feeding into him, but tonight there’s something off. His usual confidence feels strained, his smile a touch too forced. I try to shake off the unease creeping into my thoughts, focusing on the act we’ve perfected together.
“Ready?” Marcus’s voice is low, meant only for me.
“Always,” I reply, injecting as much assurance as I can muster. The act begins, and we move as one, each step and gesture choreographed to perfection. The illusions we create are seamless, our chemistry captivating the audience.
We weave through the performance, every move precise, every illusion flawlessly executed. The crowd reacts just as we hoped—gasps of awe, murmurs of amazement, bursts of applause. Their energy is intoxicating, amplifying the magic we’re crafting on stage.
But as we move through the act, I sense an undercurrent of tension in Marcus. His grip on my hand is a fraction too tight, his movements a bit too sharp. My empathic abilities pick up on his unease, a swirling mix of guilt and something darker. Doubts gnaw at me, questions I’ve tried to bury resurfacing with a vengeance. Is Marcus using our act to distract himself from his guilt, or is there something more sinister at play?
Despite my internal turmoil, I maintain my composure, my performance as mesmerizing as ever. The audience’s reactions fuel me, a heady mix of validation and exhilaration. But behind the façade, my mind races, torn between the intensity of my feelings for Marcus and the persistent suspicion that shadows our relationship. It feels like he carries more secrets.
The act reaches its climax with a dramatic flourish. We stand side by side, our hands intertwined, the spotlight intensifying the connection between us. The audience erupts into thunderous applause, their appreciation a tangible wave that washes over us.
Marcus leans in, his whisper brushing against my ear. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes reflecting a complex mix of gratitude and something deeper, more conflicted.
I smile, but my mind spins, the applause a distant roar as my thoughts spiral. The intensity of the performance, the connection with Marcus—it all overwhelms me. Feeling a surge of brazen boldness, I turn to him, our faces inches apart. The world narrows down to the space between us, charged with unresolved tension and unspoken desire.
I close the gap, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that’s long, intimate, and utterly consuming. The heat of the moment engulfs us, a flame that burns bright and fierce. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. The world falls away, leaving just us in the center of the maelstrom.