Hot Blooded (Wolf Springs Chronicles) - By Nancy Holder Page 0,47

room, where Trick sat on the edge of the couch, muzzy and all bed-head — for someone with short hair. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants and his chest was bare. She felt herself blushing.

“Did you use all the hot water?” Trick asked, rolling his shoulders and cricking his neck. She blushed again as she looked harder.

“Find out for yourself,” she said tartly.

When he walked past her she couldn’t help but sneak a peek at his retreating back.

No scars on him.

She grimaced, mortified, when she saw her grandfather taking it all in, no expression on his face.

A day of sightseeing flew by, and before she knew it the three of them were standing in line for Cirque. She was in her new black dress, her grandfather had on his suit, and Trick was wearing a white formal shirt, black jeans, and a really nice black jacket. He had on polished black cowboy boots, and she was sorry he’d left his hat back in the hotel.

“I couldn’t get the third ticket in the same row, but it’s close,” Mordecai said, squinting at the seat numbers. “You and Trick can sit together.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” he said. He wrinkled his nose. “Figure he’ll probably appreciate it more than I will.”

The moment they sat down, Trick began to reach for her hand, then put his hands in his lap. She was bereft, and the kaleidoscope of feelings inside her twisted again.

“Your grandfather told me what this means to you,” he said, voice serious. “I’m glad I can be here.”

The green of his eyes pulled her in. “Me, too,” she said, not trusting herself to say anything else.

Then the lights dimmed and the music began; music she knew, music she had moved to. Beautifully costumed performers defied gravity — and reality — and she was swept up in the magic of it. Everything in her yearned to be up there, to move like that. The conversation with Mr. Fenner and Justin chafed at her, and only made her want it all more as her heart swelled and ached with every moment. She felt as if she was watching her life, the life she had dreamed of, rushing by, and she wanted to reach out and catch it, make it go more slowly, beg it to wait for her to figure out how she could still be a part of it.

“Incredible,” Trick whispered, and she looked — really looked — at him. She saw how moved he was, and looked at the planes and angles of light and dark playing on his face.

He understands; he sees the other world that this is. Surely she could tell him about her new world. She could.

Her breath wouldn’t come.

He wanted to help. He would help. He was already involved.

She closed her eyes. Could she risk Trick’s life over this? Was she risking Cordelia’s life if she didn’t?

If she didn’t tell him, and he discovered the truth anyway, what would happen?

The room began to spin and she could barely see. Her heart was beating too fast and sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt incredibly sick and she could barely force herself to sit in her chair. Something was happening to her. All the objects in the room — the people, the seats, the stage, the rigging — burst into white light, then reds and oranges. It looked like fire. And then a girl appeared, high in the sky, seated in the center of thick, fibrous ropes. Katelyn began to tremble, then shake. Her ears began to buzz.

Then the girl on the swing performed the final movement, the leap.

And she began to plummet toward the ground below.

“No!” Katelyn screamed.

It all happened so fast: the girl, falling; Katelyn, screaming; and Trick’s arms around her, tightly, as the crowd burst into laughter and applause. They had assumed her scream was part of the act.

Trick pressed her face against his neck as he put his lips up to her ear. He said, “I’ll get you out of here.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up as he stood.

Then he was cradling her against himself as he hurried her up the aisle, out into the lobby. She was biting her lip to keep from sobbing aloud, but she couldn’t stop the tears. He kept walking, and she felt a blast of cold air. They were outside, and a sullen moon and gray-fisted clouds hovered overhead. The chill stung her face and she was dimly aware