Page 27 of Runt's Haunted Ride
The footsteps were too light, too quick. And there were two sets. Not my Jack.
I quickly arranged my face into the blank, defeated expression I'd perfected over three years. The mask that said I'd given up, that I was no threat, that I was exactly the compliant prisoner Mortis wanted me to be. I'd learned this lesson the hard way. Showing any sign of hope, any hint of rebellion, any indication that I might be planning something would be immediately reported to Mortis. Everyone in the carnival was loyal to him. Completely, one thousand percent loyal.
The tent flaps opened, and Sandra stepped inside. She was one of the carnival's performers—a contortionist with serpent tattoos. I'd never seen her act, but I'd overheard others talk about how she could move her body in unhuman ways. She'd always been kind to me in the small ways she could be. I knew she was somehow bound to Mortis, just not like me. He'd never offered me a position with the carnival. Not once. My sole purpose for being here was so he could entertain the closing night crowd and reap my gold at the same time.
Today she looked sad as she carried in a tray with a bowl of oatmeal, two pieces of toast, and an apple.
"Morning, bird," Sandra said softly, setting the tray on the small table by my bed. She never used my name, and I suspected Mortis had forbidden it—another way to dehumanize me.
"Morning," I replied, my voice flat and lifeless. I climbed down from the beam with practiced ease, landing silently on the layered rugs.
Sandra watched me approach the food, and I saw something flicker in her expression. Pity? Regret? Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment I thought she might say something. Butinstead, she just did her customary nod and left, the tent flap falling closed behind her.
Usually, the hours in my day crawled by with agonizing slowness. I had a routine of stretching to keep my muscles from atrophying, running through flying sequences in my mind, counting the symbols carved into Mortis' throne, and listening.
Every footstep outside the tent made my heart race. Every voice made me strain to hear what was going on. Every creak of the tent made me look toward the entrance. Today, all of my focus was on Jack coming through the tent flap. He'd said he would come back. Promised we would come up with a plan. So far, I was failing—everything I thought of sounded amazing until I went through it step by step. By the time I was halfway through the plan, it already had more holes in it than a colander.
Maybe he'd come to his senses, thought better of it. Maybe in the cold light of day, he'd realized how hopeless it was. Maybe he'd decided his life wasn't worth risking for a mate he'd only just met.
I couldn't blame him if he had. It was the smart choice. The safe choice. The choice that would break my heart but at least keep him alive.
Hours passed. The light changed from dawn pink to afternoon gold to the deeper amber of late day. Sandra returned briefly with more water and lunch, which consisted of a pork chop, a baked potato, and green beans. Like normal, she left without acknowledging me.
No Jack.
I climbed back to my perch on the wooden beam, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my chin on them. From here, I could see the entire tent and hear everything outside. If Jack came, I would know.
But he didn't come. Mortis did.
I felt the magic in the binding buzz, the familiar pattern that foretold his arrival. I forced my normal blank mask on again, but inside, my emotions were a chaotic mess. Taking several deep breaths to calm myself before he arrived. Disappointment that it wasn't Jack. Relief that it wasn't Jack. Terror that Mortis might have discovered something. All of it I hustled to suppress and hide from him.
The tent flap opened, and he glided inside in all his terrible glory. Today he was in his normal form—six-foot-six, wisp-thin, moving with that unnatural grace. The skulls on his hat clinked softly as he moved, and his enormous black eyes immediately found me on the beam.
"Come down," he said, his voice sounding like razor blades.
It wasn't a request. I climbed down, landing on the rug. Every instinct screamed to fight, to resist, but three years had taught me the cost of defiance.
"Look at me."
I raised my eyes to meet his, and immediately felt his power washing over me. He was assessing me, studying me, looking for something.
"You seem different today," he said, circling me slowly. "There's something... brighter about you. As if a spark has been rekindled."
My blood turned to ice, but I kept my expression neutral. "I don't know what you mean."
"Hmmm." He completed his circle, standing directly in front of me now. Those black eyes searched mine.
Then I felt it—that oily, invasive sensation of his mind magic probing at my thoughts. After three years, I knew exactly what it felt like when he tried to read my mind. The magic slithered against my consciousness like cold snakes, trying to find cracks, weaknesses, ways to slither inside.
Instinctively, before I had a chance to think differently, I shoved everything to do with Jack under layers of emptiness and despair. The sadness I would feel being on my own after meeting him. The anger of being kept away. I sunk Jack so deep and piled so many emotions on top that no one would ever find him. He was mine, and no way was I going to allow this monster to hurt him. I might not be able to do much to keep my mate safe, but this—this I could do. I'd mastered this game. Then, when I felt Jack was safe, I did what I'd learned to do. I shut down. Built walls around my thoughts and emotions, sealing everything away behind barriers I'd spent three years constructing. Think of nothing. Feel nothing. Be nothing but an empty vessel. Mentally stare at the wall.
Mortis' eyes narrowed, and I felt the pressure of his magic increase. It pushed harder against my mental barriers, and I gritted my teeth against the pain that came with resisting. Small bursts of agony shot through my skull as his power battered against my defenses.
But silently, I held on.
After what felt like an eternity, he withdrew. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"You're getting better," he said, almost admiringly. "Very impressive. Had I more time and inclination, we could have continued this game. But alas..." He leaned toward the right skull, listening. "Yes, quite right. Other matters do require my attention."
