Chapter Nine
Cyrus didn’t appear to be home. I was kind of glad. After the last encounter we had, I was a little bit terrified of him. It would take a while to be able to sleep in the room across from him if he had a habit of dragging people out of bed in the middle of the night like some kind of bogeyman.
Renée helped me unpack my bags after we had breakfast and didn’t say anything about Cyrus as we filled up the wardrobe. It was a small walk in wardrobe with cubby holes for extra clothes, which we ended up filling too. I had a lot of clothes. Renée and Damian had packed everything. I’m surprised she didn’t comment on the amount I had. Perhaps her wardrobe was overflowing with dresses and shoes. She looked like the kind of person who had a vast fashion collection.
The bedroom was a bit smaller than the one I stayed in at Damian’s. At least I still had a double bed. Downgrading to a single would have been unfortunate so I was glad that wasn’t the case. The walls were a basic cream with no patterns, no posters, no artwork, nothing. There was only one window that looked out into the front yard, a simplistic garden that was well maintained; no overgrown weeds.
What I loved most about my new room was it had its own bathroom. I didn’t have to share the space, which was brilliant. I could spend as much time in the shower as I wanted without worrying about the queue forming in the hallway. Isabelle screaming to use the shower would be a distant memory.
I was hoping that I left a scar on Isabelle’s pretty face. Immortals healed quickly but if bones weren’t set back into place properly, there was a chance of scarring or a possibility of another break to fix the misalignment.
After the encounter I had with Cyrus, broken bones were probably unavoidable. He was ruthless. Maybe after Damian’s brutal rough up, Cyrus would be a bit more careful with me. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t want to see that side of Damian ever again. Seeing Damian lose his temper was incredibly frightening. He had been so fast and had Cyrus – who was a professional killer – pinned in a few seconds. That was scary. My mind was refusing to believe it, that Damian was once a killer. To move as fast as he did, with no hesitation, surely that meant he had done something like that before?
I needed to think about something else.
“You feeling a little better?” Renée asked when we finished unpacking.
“Yeah, maybe,” I replied, unsure.
“Just remember that satisfying feeling of breaking Isabelle’s nose and hold onto it. That will undoubtedly cheer you up.”
I snickered. “I wish I caught it on camera, action replay.”
“You break her nose with just one punch?” Renée asked as we left the wardrobe confinements. She put the empty suitcases in front of the double doors.
“Yup.”
“Never been taught how to fight?”
“Nope.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t break your hand. I’ve had that misfortune after breaking someone’s jaw with a wicked punch.”
“Damian said I got lucky. Whose jaw did you break?”
“Mine,” Cyrus’s velvet voice joined in on our conversation.
Cyrus was incredibly light on his feet. I hadn’t heard his approach, not even the creak of floorboards. He was standing in the doorway, leaning up against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.
“I gave her a free hit and told her to give me her best shot,” Cyrus said; those Arctic eyes never left my face.
Renée beamed. “I didn’t disappoint, that’s for sure.”
“I think you were more concerned about breaking a nail than your hand,” Cyrus mentioned snidely, cracking a small smile.
Even a smile as small as that made my heart flutter. He was gorgeous. I knew that he was a complete psychopath but that didn’t stop him from being so scrumptious.
Oh god, he can read minds, can’t he? Shut up. Shut up brain.
“At least I’m smart enough not to anger the only person on the planet capable of kicking your ass. You’re a stupid, egotistical tool. I hope almost getting stabbed through the heart or coming close to having your throat torn out made you wise enough not to piss Damian off again,” Renée scolded him.
“I was merely testing the waters. I heard rumours that Damian had gone soft. That is far from the truth,” Cyrus retorted, letting his arms drop to his side when he pressed himself off the doorframe.
Why was he so mesmerising? The way he moved was elegant, like a flawless dancer. His long golden hair was tied in a braid that was slanted to the right, not a strand out of place. He was definitely a perfectionist.
“Testing the waters?” Renée repeated, laughing after she spoke. “Try the seven seas in one hit. He’s out of your league, will always be out of your league, and thinking otherwise will get you killed. Just because you have a tendency to be better than everyone else doesn’t mean you can go around trying to prove that you are. You know your limits. Thinking you could outsmart Damian was probably one of the stupidest things you’ve done.”
Cyrus simply shrugged. His handsome face gave nothing away. “I like to live dangerously.”
“Obviously,” Renée muttered. “What do you want? I know you didn’t come here to gloat.”
“I’d like to make a start with Joan.”
“She just got here. There’s tim–”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted Renée softly. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“Okay. Don’t overdo it.” Her response was reluctant but she didn’t convince me not to go.
“She can handle it. Come,” Cyrus said, gesturing to follow with a tilt of his head before leaving the room.
“Just be careful with him,” Renée murmured quietly in my ear.
“Yeah, I know,” I replied in an equally quiet tone, leaving the room.
I already knew the kind of man Cyrus was. After the stunt he pulled when we first met, well, it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was crazy. Undoubtedly his pastime had made him that way, but for all I knew, he could have been like that before he started killing people for a living.
I was beginning to wonder if Damian had bruised Cyrus’s ego. Cyrus didn’t seem too cut up about the whole ordeal. If I had a blade resting against my heart or was dangled by my throat, I would be a lot more freaked out. I guess he had nerves of steel. Would I inherit that trait after training with him? I knew I would need it for what lay ahead. If I cracked under pressure and lost my cool, that would not be good and possibly lead to my demise. I had to be careful and never underestimate my opponents.
“This way,” Cyrus said, unlocking a door. He held it open for me and moved aside, a gesture for me to go first.
The light was on but I couldn’t see what was down there, only stairs that went into the basement. The walls were bare, giving me no indication of what to expect.
“What’s down there?”
“Find out,” he helpfully said, standing close behind me so he could shut the door.
There was only one way to go: down. I wasn’t turning back and bumping into Cyrus.
I skimmed my fingers across the handrail as I moved down the stairs. My stomach had butterflies. They fluttered around anxiously, not knowing what was coming.
The air was clean. Like Damian’s attic, there was no dusty aroma. The room was maintained and kept tidy; it wasn’t damp either. I could smell leather and some other scents I couldn’t quite put my finger on, maybe metallic. For all I knew, Cyrus kept dead bodies down here. Like I said before, he was on the psychotic side of the fence.
The room was divided into two sections. The section closest to the stairs was a glass rectangular box, a shooting area, the kind you saw inside a police academy, with cardboard targets hanging from rails. There were multiple bullet holes through the heads and hearts, nowhere else. Cyrus never missed. That was clear to see. He spent a lot of time in that glass box shooting things.
The other section of the room consisted of red square mats that took up the majority of the floor, creating one large fighting ring. Beside the ma
ts was a rack stocked with items. Thin boxing gloves and fencing gear were the only things I recognised, and fancy pole like sticks, tall and short ones. A punching bag hung above the centre of the arena, up high on a chain that held it in place. There was a red button on the wall that I assumed was responsible for lowering the punching bag. The button didn’t look like a light switch.
Cyrus wandered towards the rack and removed two sets of gloves, throwing a pair at me.
“Suit up. Show me what you’ve got,” he said, slipping his hands into the gloves.
“I haven’t done this before. I’m probably better off using the bag,” I admitted, squishing the padding on the gloves before slipping into them. “You’ll kick my ass otherwise. The bag doesn’t hit back.”
“I’ll go easy on you,” he promised. “Fix your stance for starters.”
“To what?”
Cyrus rolled those Arctic eyes at me and shook his head, the disappointment visible on his handsome face. He set his hands on my stomach and back, making me stand straight with a sudden push. I was no longer slouching.
Cyrus dropped his hands and moved away a little, putting his fists up in front of him, ready to begin. “Hands in front, like this.”
I mirrored his stance the best I could.
“Good. Begin.”
I knew little about fighting, other than it was good to put your weight behind a punch if you wanted to have full force, which I did when I broke Isabelle’s nose. I knew I wouldn’t have quite the same outcome with Cyrus because he was a professional and I was a novice. Well, I’d give it my best shot.
I threw the first punch, as requested.
Cyrus caught my arm and flipped me onto the floor. Even though the mats were cushioned, that hurt my back and winded me, making me splutter for breath.
“What happened to going easy on me?” I stammered in between gasps.
“I lied,” he said, yanking me onto my feet. “Going easy on you isn’t going to make you stronger. Try again.”
“So you can flip me over again? I don’t think so.”
I blocked his punch to my shoulder by colliding my fist with his. The force behind his punch was unreal and my arm almost buckled. His attack had been immediate, right after I spoke.
I evaded the follow up punch by ducking and aiming a kick to his stomach. He caught my leg and spun me around. I ended up on my back, yet again, but it didn’t knock the air out of me this time.
“Better. Again,” he said, not helping me up; I managed on my own.
Not a second after I was steady on my feet, he threw another punch. I blocked and kept blocking. At least he wasn’t kicking me while I was down. I noticed he waited until I was ready. In a real fight your opponent didn’t give you that luxury.
“You’re being unreasonable!” I exclaimed in between blocks and punches.
“You’re learning.”
“How am I supposed to learn if you don’t teach me properly!” It was a statement, not a question.
“If you spend time observing your opponents fighting style, you can easily counter their attacks. Watch how they move, their tell signs, patterns. Professionals rely on techniques. Others flail wildly with no thought but to hurt or kill. Those two types are easily distinguishable if you know what to look for.”
“How do I observe if they’re beating the crap out of me?”
“Block or evade.” He made it sound like I asked a stupid question. “You’re small and weak. If you learn both offensive and defence, you’ll survive. I’ll make sure you do.”
“Only because if I die, Damian will make you suffer in ways you couldn’t even imagine.”
“Oh, I do imagine, because I know what torture is,” he said, flipping me onto my back, yet again. “Get up.”
“You just keep flipping me over like some sort of pancake. Are you taking pleasure in beating a fifteen-year-old girl or do you think you have a solid teaching style? I have news for you, buddy, your style sucks.”
Cyrus ripped off his gloves and heaved them back into the rack with a sudden jolt. The force of his throw made the rack wobble.
“The world out there, you fight for survival. The world out there doesn’t give you the chance to catch your breath. You get thrown into the middle of something and try your damn best to pull through and survive. This isn’t a game, Joan. I am trying to prepare you for what’s out there. If you want me to change my teaching style, then fine. I will teach you every martial art form I know and until you can perform those techniques flawlessly, this room is going to be your cage. Until you beat me, you will be stuck in here learning unarmed combat until your limbs feel like they’re going to fall off. I’ll give you breaks because you’re just a pampered little princess and if I don’t give you time to recuperate, you’ll keel over before we make a solid breakthrough in your training.”
“I am not a pampered little princess!” I declared, jumping up from the mat.
I threw a punch straight at his chest. He caught my hand in an enclosed fist before I even made contact. He did the same to my other hand and didn’t let go. My hands were stuck.
“I am the prophecy child who’s supposed to bring about world bloody peace! How dare you stand there and accuse me of being something I’m not! You don’t know a damn thing about me and you don’t even care. You just want to turn me into a weapon. You don’t give a crap about what happens to me in the process because all you care about is destroying the agency. What do you gain from turning me into a weapon, huh? Why is it so important that you’re the one that trains me, that you’re the one who turns me into a killer? What do you get out of this, Cyrus?” I practically screamed it.
“Closure,” he replied from between his teeth.
Cyrus walked away before our fighting turned into something none of us would come back from.
“Take a breather and my advice to you... don’t you ever take that tone with me again. Next time, I won’t walk away,” he warned me, disappearing around the corner and up the stairs.
I counted to ten in my head to calm down, letting out a soft breath through my nose with each number. Sometimes counting helped, other times it made me more annoyed. I was sitting on the fence with this one.
Not only was Cyrus psychotic, he was an arrogant jerk. Screaming at him didn’t help matters but it did make me feel a little better. Flipping me like a pancake didn’t teach me anything. It only showed me that I was the weakling he believed me to be, only because I hadn’t been trained. It was to be expected. It’s not like he told me to take karate lessons.
I pushed the button on the wall. The punching bag dropped lower and stopped on its own before it touched the ground. I had to be careful with how hard I punched so the bag didn’t swing back and knock me over. I’d increase the power behind my punches to test the momentum, that way I’d know the limit.
I started off with single punches to release some steam. When the bag didn’t budge, I increased the power. I put my whole weight into it. Something stirred inside me. A boiling wave of flames washed through my limbs, smothering me with power so raw, my whole body shivered.
The force of my punch snapped the chain, sending the bag flying. It smacked up against the far wall with a loud bang and fell to the ground. Grain rapidly poured onto the floor from the hole my fist made.
The gloves were sizzling. I ripped them off before they melted onto my skin and threw them away.
I didn’t know what to do. I was freaking out. I just stared at my glowing hands, unable to believe what I was seeing was real.
What the hell was that?
What the hell is this?
Why does it feel like my whole body is on fire and only my hands are glowing?
Why was it so hard to breathe?
Why was it so hot in here?
“Hey, you can’t just barge in here unannounced!” Cyrus yelled down the basement stairs.
“That’s rich coming from you. Hypocrisy at its finest,” Damian snapped back. “Do me a favour and stay up there. You’l
l only get in the way and I’m sure one ass kicking from me was enough to last you a lifetime.”
I was so relieved to hear Damian’s voice.
Damian appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Joan, dear. Sit down and keep your hands away from the mats. Don’t touch anything else,” he said as he approached me, stepping through the grains. “Breathe, relax, or you’ll start hyperventilating.”
I was frantic. “What’s happening to me?”
“Relax,” he repeated gently, rolling up his sleeves. “Sit down. Take it easy.”
I sat down, being careful not to touch anything. It was like standing mere inches away from a blazing forest fire, except I was the fire.
Damian sat across from me. I moved back when he tried to grab my hands. I didn’t want to hurt him.
“Trust me,” he said, giving me a small smile. “You won’t hurt me.”
“Okay,” I murmured. “Why are you here?”
“To help.”
Damian’s hands turned completely blue with magic sparks before he held my hands. They were ice cold in comparison with mine. My skin turned back to normal but I could still feel a sweltering heat. I was dizzy, tired and overwhelmed.
“Close your eyes. There’s something I need to do so that doesn’t happen again,” Damian said, dropping my hands.
“What do you need to do?”
“What’s important is that it will help you. Just trust me, Joan.”
“Alright, fine,” I mumbled, closing my eyes.
Damian pressed the tips of his fingers to my forehead. His other hand did the same to my chest, just below the collarbone, near my heart. Electric sparks zapped my skin, making me jump. An ocean of power crashed through me, dousing the flames and chasing them back, locking them away into a little box. My skin was no longer sweltering and I could breathe a lot easier.
“There. All done,” he said. “The flames will behave now. The magic is untamed but I restricted its boundaries. This doesn’t generally happen so early on.”
“If I have magic inside me, does that mean I’m like you?”
“No, Joan. Your immortality comes from an unstable magic source. I’m glad I caught this before things got out of hand. You’ll be fine now. I’ll leave you be.”
I caught his wrist before he had the chance to move. “Why did this happen to me now and so early on, as you said?”
He shrugged. “It usually happens between the age of eighteen and twenty. I don’t know why. That’s the way it has always been. Perhaps stress brought it on earlier than usual. You have been through quite a lot in the past month. You’ll be ok. I’ve toned down the magic,” he paused to sigh. “If I stay any longer I may be tempted to carry you out with me. Take care of yourself. I’ll miss you.”
“I’m already missing you,” I admitted, hugging him tightly. “I’ll always miss you, Damian.”
“It’s not forever. We will meet again,” he said, pulling away. He rested his hand on the top of my head. “I have eyes in the back of my head, Cyrus. That knife will hit your face quicker than you can blink. I wouldn’t.”
Sure enough, I spotted Cyrus standing at the foot of the stairs, spinning a blade in his hand. He slipped the blade behind his back and innocently folded his arms. He glanced down at the deflating bag that was still pouring out grains. The entire floor was covered in them.
“You truly are a monster,” Cyrus muttered.
“Only if I need to be,” Damian said.
Damian stood to his feet in a graceful hop. He held out his hand to help me. I graciously accepted because I was exhausted and wasn’t sure I would have managed on my own.
“That burst bag wasn’t me. That was my little tiger. You better watch out. You might receive the same treatment if you’re not careful. Our bloodline is feisty,” Damian mentioned.
“You don’t have to tell me twice. No wonder the council keeps a close eye on you,” Cyrus said, trying to adjust the punching bag to stop the grains from leaking onto the floor. No matter which way he put it, they just kept pouring out.
With a wave of Damian’s hand, the grains slithered back through the hole like marching ants. The bag filled and filled to its original state before the hole knitted itself back together. Good as new.
I blinked, still struggling to believe that just happened. The ground was completely spotless and the bag was in perfect condition. This world truly was mad.
“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble dragging that bag back to where it belongs. After all, you do drag dead bodies for a living,” Damian said, tone mocking.
“Be careful yours isn’t next,” Cyrus responded, voice as cold as death.
Damian laughed loudly; his surprise and disbelief echoed around the room. “Good luck with that. You wouldn’t make it past the first strike. I already proved that to you last night.”
“Cyrus, for pity’s sake. Stop digging your own grave and keep your mouth shut,” Renée interjected, smacking Cyrus on the back of the head. “Remember who it is you’re speaking to. Idle threats are going to get you seriously hurt.”
“Who said they were idle?” Cyrus questioned, dodging the follow up smack by ducking.
“We good here?” Renée said, directing her comment at Damian.
“Yup. I just came here for damage control. All done. I’m heading off,” Damian answered.
“Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?” Renée asked.
“No thank you. Like I said to Joan, the longer I stay here, the more compelled I am to take her with me. It will be best for all of us if I leave now and not come back again. This was a one time deal. Joan needed my help. None of you were equipped to deal with the issue. It’s fixed now.”
“Alright...” Renée said, voice trailing off. “Cyrus, what is your punching bag doing lying up against the wall?”
“That was me,” I admitted shyly. “I punched a little too hard.”
Renée laughed. “Oh, you never cease to amaze me, Joan.”
Damian hugged me. “Don’t expect me to come back. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
I hugged him back. “I know. Thank you for coming. You’ve never let me down before.”
“It’s time to look out for yourself now. Don’t rely on me. Become stronger but don’t lose yourself in the process. I love you, Joan.”
I tried not to cry but tears started to run down my cheeks. “I love you too.”
Damian would always be my undoing. He would always be my weakness. He was the one person I cared about most in this world. That was never going to change. He was the last piece of family I had left. I was letting him go to become the person I was destined to be. There was no going back now.
Everlasting Flame Page 9
