by Karin Shah
He heard the man’s croaky breathing and low swearing as he ricocheted off a mirror. He must be as impaired as Roan was. He shrank back. Which way should he go?
The muttering, crashing sounds of the man’s bull in a china shop advance came nearer and further as he charged in Roan’s direction through the maze.
Voices sounded from the area where Roan had slept. I’m cornered.
He tensed his muscles, ready to shoulder past the man in front of him if he had to. But the main doors banged and slammed several more times. He no longer faced a single man.
And then several tough-looking guys crowded in front of him, their faces steely, hands fisted. The narrow space forced them into a knot. The bald leader was shorter than Roan, but broader by a foot with muscles stacked on muscles.
Roan retreated, pasting his spine against a mirror. Maybe if he didn’t look threatening, they wouldn’t hurt him or call the cops. Confronted with the agitated group, he was suddenly conscious of his state of undress.
And the harsh bulb filtering from over the entrance highlighted the tiny, brown scales over every inch of skin it hit. There was no hiding his bizarre appearance. Worse, the light revealed the bumps had a shimmering, opalescent undertone he hadn’t noticed before.
The brawny bald man stared at him and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “What the fuck are you?”
Roan had no answer to that. He held up his hands, palms out. “Please.” His voice sounded high and young even to his own ears. “I just needed a place to sleep. I don’t mean any harm.”
A rhythmic stomping thud came from the entrance and the carnies parted as if cut with a knife. An old woman, medium-brown skin draped like curtains over dramatic cheekbones, peered at him, her raisin-dark eyes shrewd under her crepey lids. “Que pasa, Slim?”
The large man answered, a hint of a Mexican accent coloring his deep voice. “We have a—a trespasser, Señora Flores.”
“Ah, that seems harsh.” She issued a wheezy laugh. “Who among us hasn’t trespassed when there’s a need?”
The man sent her a questioning glance, as if surprised by her magnanimity.
Señora Flores hobbled closer to Roan, who was still pinned against the mirror. “How tall are you, niño?”
Her question eased some of his fear. She didn’t seem likely to order him thrown out or call the police, but why was she asking? What did she care? He straightened and adjusted his weight, inching away from the wall. “I—I’m not sure.”
The old woman squinted at him in the manner of a man about to buy a horse. “I’d say seven feet.” She raised her voice. “What do you think, Slim?”
The big man took a step forward, his arms had dropped to his sides, his fists loose. He no longer seemed ready to attack. His keen gaze skimmed over Roan. “I’d say around that.”
The woman extended a gnarled hand and probed Roan’s forearm. He flinched, but allowed the touch.
Her fingers skated up his arm. “Aye, Dios Mio! This workmanship! I’d swear I can feel the scales.” She leveled another slicing glance at him. “Who did your work?”
His work? She thought he’d asked for this?
Helpless rage loomed up, dark and oppressive, poised to swamp him, but he bit back the angry denial teetering on his tongue. She was obviously in charge. Maybe she owned the outfit? He couldn’t afford to offend her.
Instead, the truth spilled from him like water over a dam. “I don’t know. It’s all a blur. One minute I was on the street, then it was nothing but needles and pain. I don’t know for how long, but it seemed like a year or more. When I woke up, I was in an alley near here. I don’t even know where I am.”
Her wispy, gray eyebrows lifted, then the expression on her weathered face turned calculating for second, but it was immediately replaced by a warm smile stretching her bony features. “Don’t fret, m’ijo.” She gripped his hand. “You’re home.”
Chapter 1
The present
A strong hand slid up her thigh, goosebumps blooming in its wake. Sofia panted, contracting around the welcome caress, urging her lover on. A rich chuckle danced over her. She shivered with pleasure.
“Crap!” Sofia Flores resisted the urge to fan her hot face with her hand, leaning closer to the cold breeze from her brand-new RV’s excellent AC, and clamping her grasp tighter around the oversized steering wheel.
Secure in the directions of the GPS, she’d zoned out for a minute and almost missed her turn. Gravel pinged against her wheels as she entered a parking lot.
Last night’s dream had been a doozy. She shook her head. The dreams had begun a few months ago and she usually couldn’t remember much. This one was already slipping away, but she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. The heated dreams were merely a result of her dismal social life. She snorted. Dismal. More like non-existent.
“You are at your destination,” a bossy female computer voice announced.
Sofia stomped on the brakes of her motorhome and winced as it skidded a bit before stopping. She must have been going faster than she’d thought. She had to get used to driving the massive vehicle with her Fiat hitched behind. This was part of her life now.
A tall, bald man waved at her next to the chipped, white metal bar of a lift gate. She released the brake slightly, rolling forward. When she was next to him, he gestured for her to retract her window. As soon as the glass whirred into the door, she leaned out, her elbow resting on the sun-heated sill.
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed the back of his tan, bull-like neck “This area is for carnival personnel only.”
Sofia smiled. “That’s me. I’m Sofia Flores.”
The man grimaced and then groaned. “Shit! We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” He extended his large mitt through the high window. “I’m Slim. Nice to finally meet you.”
Sofia had heard many tales about Slim. She pumped his hand. “Back at you. Where should I park?”
Slim pulled a white paper covered in rectangles from his back pocket. A printed site map. He placed the map on her windowsill beside her elbow and pointed to a spot marked with an X. “Here next to your aunt. It’s got electric, but no water, but we won’t be here much longer. Your water tank full?”
Sofia nodded. He handed her the map. “Welcome to the carnival!” He didn’t wait for her thanks, walking in front of the vehicle to lift the gate.
A twinge of nerves coursed through her as she navigated the vehicle past rows of tents, trailers, vans, and RVs. It kind of felt like the first day of school, and being the fat girl, she’d always hated the first day of school.
Her aunt’s trailer was unmistakable, covered from stem to stern in multicolored paint. A Colombian flag sprawled across the whole back end. Beautifully detailed, stylized patterns of lizards and fish and birds packed the sides. A woman with a flower behind her ear and a wide flowing crimson and gold skirt danced across the door and the rear up to the flag. Even under an ash-gray winter sky, the paintings dazzled.
Sofia took her time parking, until she was exactly in the space allotted and shut off the engine.
Before she could descend the steps of her vehicle, her tia had thrown open her colorful door and was slowly making her way down to the crunchy, gray gravel of the lot. Tia placed her tiny feet on the ground with a sigh and settled onto the cane she held in the crabbed hand not on the handle beside the door. She wore a wide bright-green skirt similar to that of the woman immortalized on her trailer, but without the spinning movement of the dance, it fell in long folds about her hips and legs.
Her smile seemed to crack the aged leather of her face, but it was rare and Sofia welcomed the gesture. The butterflies in her stomach stopped darting so merrily, and she jumped down the steps to envelop her petite aunt in her arms, careful not to squeeze too hard.
The next few minutes w
ere a barrage of questions flung at her in her tia’s Bogota-accented Spanish. After Sofia had fielded the usual: How was your trip? Did you eat? And the like, her tia quickly got down to brass tacks. “Are you ready to get started?”
Shoving her insecurities aside, Sofia nodded. “I was born ready.”
~ ~ ~
Terrifying. Sofia peered up at the man in front of her. There was no other way to describe him. Roan Byrne, the prime draw of her aunt’s sideshow, was terrifying. Danger! Run! something urged inside her.
Adrenaline jacked Sofia’s heart rate and prickling the skin at her nape.
His uncannily green eyes with their vertical pupils seemed to pin her in place. She was tall, five-ten, but he towered over her, dwarfing the RV behind him.
Tiny iridescent-looking, bronze scales plated his arms, face, and every inch of exposed skin. His cheeks and chin were bony prominences. Long blue-black hair fell past his shoulders. A forelock almost covered his forehead, nearly obscuring his left eye, the strands parting just enough for his eye to be visible behind the curtain of hair.
Until him, her introduction to the carnies and performers had been ho-hum, no different than meeting her co-workers at other places she’d worked, but now Sofia’s knees jellied and the blue and pink streaked evening sky spun around her.
She drummed her fingers on her blue-jeaned thigh, resisting the urge to slap herself. Calm down, idiot!
He was just a very tall man with contacts, and extensive, albeit incredibly realistic body mods. He was as human as she.
The self-talk and a deep inhale slightly curtailed her rampaging pulse.
Shit. Sofia blinked. How long had she been staring at the poor man? Just because she was an irrational twit, there was no call to be rude.
She gathered her wits, the soles of her sneakers grating on the gravel, and stuck out her hand. “Hi.”
She forced a smile until it became genuine, but after a few seconds her cheek muscles started to stiffen. Her hand had been out for at least ten seconds.
Was he going to take it? She cleared her throat.
Finally he stretched out his big hand and enclosed her fingers.
She swallowed. His palm was warm and pleasant against hers. A frisson of awareness buzzed through her. She squashed the feeling, noting the particulars of his hand. The tattooed scales on the back of his hand and his fingers looked glossy, but they didn’t feel like normal skin or even her boa constrictor, Sheba. It was almost like microscopically short velvet.
She shook her head inwardly. She was really losing it. The scales were an optical illusion. His fingers felt like regular skin, anything else was pure visual deceit.
As for the attraction, two seconds ago she’d been having a panic attack. From terrified to turned on over the course of a few seconds?
Make up your mind, Sofia. She was giving herself whiplash.
Besides, she’d come here to work. Now was so not the time.
She scraped up her reluctant voice, taking refuge in the usual pleasantries. “It’s nice to meet you, Roan.”
A facsimile of a smile revealed a hint of fang. “Same.”
His quick dropping of her hand, and transfer of attention to her tia, gave lie to that bit of civility.
It seemed he hadn’t felt the same spark she had. She brushed off the tiny inner voice that whispered, “Why did you think he would? You’re still just the fat girl.”
If he wasn’t interested, it was his problem, not hers.
He gestured somewhere over his shoulder with a thumb. “I’ve finished checking the sideshow tent supports. Unless you have a job for me, I’ll be in my trailer until showtime.”
His words were subservient, but his tone was clipped. It was clear he wasn’t really asking for permission. Tia waved one gnarled hand in the air, leaning heavily on her cane with the other. “That’s fine, m’ijo.”
He jerked his head in an approximation of a nod and stalked toward his lair.
Trailer. She meant trailer.
His departing figure captured her gaze, his movements almost unnaturally graceful, broad shoulders silhouetted against the variety of tents, RVs, and campers as he strode away. When he was out of sight, she fought the urge to examine the palm he’d released. Why did it suddenly feel so empty? Had she forgotten something in her RV?
She groped the back pocket of her jeans for the bulge of her cellphone and found it. Not her cellphone, then. Unable to come up with a reason for the feeling, she cleared her throat a second time, turned to her tia and took her arm.
The forearm under her hand was as thin and delicate as a wine glass stem. God, the old woman had become frail since she’d last seen her. Her tia had always seemed so tough, like old shoe leather. Indestructible, but now age wore her down.
Sofia shoved down a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t been playing around while she was gone. No, no one could accuse her of that. If anything she’d been too dedicated. Her roommates had often accused her of being a total killjoy.
She shoved away more angsty thoughts. What the hell was the problem with her today? She hadn’t been so maudlin in years. The stress of starting a new job was obviously bringing out the worst in her.
She repressed the urge to shake her head at her own foolishness, and gestured ahead with her free arm. “Well, on to meet the rest.”
They ambled along the path between the setups and Tia patted the fingers Sofia had placed on her wrist. “It’s good you’re here.” The addendum “at last” wasn’t spoken, but it hovered in the air.
Sofia ignored the sting. The separation had been necessary and she wouldn’t apologize for it. Still, she couldn’t help replying, “Staying in one place to finish my schooling and get some outside experience was invaluable. I fully intend to devote all my time to the carnival from now on.”
As they walked through the encampment, Sofia couldn’t stop her thoughts from circling back to Roan. “Your star attraction didn’t seem very happy to meet me.”
Tia clucked her tongue. “Aye. Dios mio! Don’t mind him, he’s been on edge for a while now. It’s just as well the others give him a wide berth. The slightest thing sets him off these days. You’d think he really was a beast.”
A pang strafed Sofia’s chest. She’d experienced the pain of being shunned and wouldn’t wish it in her worst enemy. “The others ostracize him?”
Tia’s curls trembled with the force of her shrug. “Only Lu Mirayeva, the fire eater, is brave enough to hang around him these days.”
Something eased in Sofia’s chest and she grinned. “I’ll have to meet this brave man.”
“It’s a woman.”
Sofia didn’t know why, but the information made her pause mid-step before continuing her forward momentum. “Really?” That pang was back now, but it didn’t feel like empathy.
“Ah, she’s a firecracker. Former combat medic.”
That ache opened further and Sofia held back a sigh. The other woman’s accomplishments had nothing to do with her. There was no reason to be intimidated. A little voice challenged, “Intimidation. Right. That’s what it is.” She forced a smile. “That’s impressive.”
Tia nodded and thrust a hand toward a nearby tent. “Let’s see if Carl and his family are home.” Tia went into a monologue about the particulars of how Carl and his wife and daughter had joined the carnival, but Sofia couldn’t have repeated her explanation under threat of torture.
Her brain was too focused on a burning question she failed to dismiss no matter how hard she tried.
Why the hell couldn’t she stop thinking about Roan Byrne and what was it about him that had her so tied up in knots?
~ ~ ~
Roan forged toward his trailer. Two new roustabouts chatted in the narrow gap between his home and the one in the next row. Taking an unofficial bre
ak judging by the tools and equipment scattered at their feet.
Not even a child could have squeezed past and no one could mistake him for a child.
“If you’re finished slacking off, some of us have places to be.” His chastisement held the tonal dissonance of a growl.
Perhaps unaware of his approach until he spoke, both men flinched, their attention turning to the perceived threat, faces whitening under their dark complexions, as if someone had dusted them with chalk.
The stench his crazy brain labeled “fear” tainted the air. They scrambled to collect their gadgets and materials, scooping them up and hurrying away to their respective tasks.
They must have found their courage once they were out of sight. “Eat shit, you ugly asshole,” Roan heard as he opened his trailer door.
He closed his eyes. Sometimes his keen hearing was a curse.
Stifling a snarl, he slammed his trailer door, restraining the kick he aimed at the obstacle just enough to keep from making contact. He couldn’t risk breaking the thing. It was the only barrier keeping the outside world safe from his temper.
His lingering fury was not at the lazy workers or the insult, though. It was directed squarely at himself.
Damn it. He should have been nicer to Sofia. She was now a co-owner. A couple minutes of chitchat wouldn’t have killed him. But the moment he’d looked into her beautiful, dark eyes, words had failed him.
For once anger hadn’t been the problem. Oh, if only.
No. The woman Señora Flores had presented him to minutes before had taken his breath away. Why had his heart staggered into a jog at the sight of her?
Sure. She was pretty. Those inky dark curls, silky, brown skin, rounded cheeks with their elusive dimple, enormous brown eyes with just a tiny bit of green. Not to mention her long, curvy form, complete with full breasts, lush hips, and a generous bottom.
