it and the hunk of bread were all the free room and board Hastings was prepared to give his performers. He needed them alive, but well-fed wasn’t a requirement.
Quinn padded over to the rickety ladder at the back of her dressing room and climbed up to the small loft where a lumpy bed and old blanket resided. She sighed softly, not happy, but content for the moment. Tonight would be her last night here after the stunt she had pulled in the market. It was only a matter of time until the guards came looking for her, and while Hastings might not rat her out, she wasn’t so sure about Caine. The boy was an opportunist if there ever was one. Regardless of whoever’s expense his small gain came from. Then there was the fact that she had seen the man in the audience tonight. But there was no way he would be allowed back here. Hastings never let audience members meet the performers.
She settled into her makeshift sleeping area and struck a match, lighting the oil lamp at her bedside. Picking up her book, she let it fall open to wherever she had left it last and began softly reciting the story aloud in her native language. The one she had not spoken to another in over ten years, but she refused to forget.
Because one day she would need it again.
A knock came and Quinn frowned, her eyes snapping up to the door. When it didn’t immediately open, her lips pressed together. No one bothered her after a show, not when fear was still running so rampant in her system. It didn’t affect her as it did them, instead acting as a drug that lowered the barriers containing her dark power as the magic tried to rise.
No one who knew better would disturb her right now.
Quinn closed her book and set it aside, clambering down the ladder.
There was another knock, and she braced herself as her fingers curled around the wobbly handle. Standing partially behind the door, she twisted the knob and opened it a crack.
A hand paused before the door, obviously raised to knock again, then lowered.
Her heart pounded faster as the dark eyes of the stranger from the market settled on her.
“Who are you?” she asked, her fingers curling around the doorframe as he slipped his boot into the tight space to stop her from possibly slamming it shut on him. How had he been allowed backstage?
“That remains to be seen,” he murmured. Quinn cocked an eyebrow, tilting her head. She’d met some determined ones in her time. Silver hair and cream-colored skin made her an oddity in Dumas. One considered exotic, beautiful even, if not for her brands.
Never had there been a man that could find her when she didn’t want to be found.
Nor one that had the audacity to stop her from shutting him out.
“Why are you following me?” she asked quietly, not as perturbed as she should have been. Quinn was paranoid by nature, but she’d be leaving tomorrow.
There would be no finding her after that.
“Because I’m intrigued by you,” he replied, as though that meant something to her.
“And do you regularly follow women and knock on their doors in the middle of the night if they intrigue you…” She trailed off, searching for the name he clearly wasn’t going to give. “Sir?”
“You aren’t like most women…” He left it open-ended, waiting for her to give her name first.
“Mirior,” she obliged, offering him the only name he currently knew her as, “and if that’s the best you can come up with, I’ll have to pass. If you’re looking for a quick fuck, the brothel is two doors down.” Quinn stepped back, prepared to force his foot through the door when a large, gloved hand closed around the frame. He pushed, and try as she might, she was forced to yield with a scowl.
“I’m not looking for the brothel,” the stranger said. There was no hesitation in the man’s expression, no apology on his lips as he barged in. Quinn crossed her arms as his eyes dropped from her face to her bare legs. She didn’t blush or even reach for her robe. Modesty, after all, was for the privileged.
“If you lay a hand on me, I’ll make what happened in the square look gentle,” she said with a narrowed look. Her hip smacked against the side of the door, and it swung shut. He lifted an eyebrow, the makings of a smirk ghosting across