by S. K. Yule
“I didn’t do all that much, and it’s no burden being detained here in your beautiful house.”
Scarlett smiled before slowly getting to her feet. She thanked Cyrus and Isabelle yet again for their understanding and promised to try to make it down later for dinner. Isabelle watched Scarlett leave the room, wondering how old she actually was. The lack of the unusually heavy makeup that normally covered her face allowed many of the wrinkles and flaws in her skin to become more visible.
Isabelle took a deep breath and studied Cyrus’s body as he walked to a large window covered by heavy golden drapes. His movements were intentional, all male…predatory. She trembled when the memory of his hands on her body played through her brain.
He pushed one fabric panel aside and stared out into the still-raging blizzard. The slight bunch of his shoulders told her that he was aware she was about to rain another assault of questions on him. Too bad. She wanted some answers. She had slept with him, wanted to sleep with him again, but before she did, she had to know the answer to the huge secret that lay between them.
“You have to tell me,” she said.
He shrugged. “It’s still snowing.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
He let the drapes fall back into place, and watched her from under his thick lashes. “Can’t you just let it be, Izzy?”
“When I got here, you were quick to dismiss me as a fake. Yet you obviously have a few gifts of your own. That being said, why, I wonder, were you so quick to assume I was a fraud?”
He blew out a long breath. “Look, I told you I can do certain things, but I don’t want to discuss what, or why.”
Was he nuts? What he’d done was spectacular, unbelievable, unheard of…at least to her. “Do certain things?” she repeated. “You know damn well that what you did was extraordinary. I know for a fact that a human soul cannot leave its living body for any amount of time without that body dying. Yet that’s exactly what you did, and you are still standing here alive. How the hell did you do it?”
* * * *
Human was the defining factor here. Cyrus’s soul wasn’t, and he could do plenty of things human souls, dead or alive, could not.
“First, that’s not entirely true, Izzy. Human souls leave their bodies all the time. Haven’t you ever heard of out-of-body experiences?”
“Of course. But I’m talking about under normal circumstances. Not when someone is comatose.”
“I saved you from the Havoc spirit. You should know, by the way, how much potential danger you are putting yourself into every time you invite something in. Just leave it alone.”
Right now, he wanted to wring her pretty neck for taking such risks, but she was stubborn, and she was going to do what she wanted, no matter what he said.
Suddenly a thought occurred to him. She genuinely wanted answers from him. Maybe he should give her some. Maybe he could give her a minimal amount of information in exchange for her safety. He just wouldn’t tell her he was a demon. He didn’t want to see her beautiful eyes cloud over with disgust, as most humans did when they found out what he was.
“Leave what alone? You mean Stephen? He’s just some miserable asshole who refused to cross over, and for some reason or other has decided to make my life a living hell once again.”
Cyrus grabbed her by the arms and shook her gently. “Once again?” He clenched his jaw. “Are you telling me that the Havoc has done this to you before? And yet you continue to take risks with your own life? What the hell is wrong with you? If I hadn’t been there earlier, you would have died.”
She shrank away from him. “I beat him before. I would have done it again.”
She was lying. She’d be dead right now if he hadn’t been there to jerk the Havoc out of her. Cyrus was sure she hadn’t bothered to use her anchoring potion. It would at least have provided her some sort of protection.
Izzy chewed her lip and stared at the floor. “What is a Havoc spirit, anyway?”
His muscles tensed with anger, and his breath caught at her naivety. “Are you telling me you’ve been inviting ghosts to share your body for fuck knows how long, and you have no idea what a Havoc spirit is?”
He hoped the snap of his harsh words drove home how angry he was. When she frowned at him, he continued on. “Let me fill you in. A Havoc spirit is a malicious, evil soul who has decided to take on a specific mission in the afterlife, that mission being to possess as many bodies, cause as much pain, and wreak as much havoc as possible. And I’m not talking about the kind of possession you allowed with Harry. I’m talking full-on exorcism, kill-your-vessel type possession. When one takes over your body, you die. Maybe not at that very moment, but soon enough. End of story.”
Isabelle shivered.
Cyrus’s anger was quickly replaced by the need to protect. He reached for her, pulling her to him. He stroked her soft hair and kissed the top of her head. “Hell, Izzy. I don’t know what I would have done had you died.”
He still wasn’t sure how she had survived. Her soul was stronger and brighter than that of any human he had ever seen. Still, she would not be standing here at this moment had he not happened to come along at the right time.
She stepped back out of his embrace. “That still doesn’t explain how you did what you did. Please tell me.”
Her pleading eyes nearly brought him to his knees. He almost cracked at that moment.
He couldn’t, though, damn it!
She would be appalled. He could deal with her anger, but he didn’t know if he’d survive her rejection. This tiny woman had burrowed under his skin quickly and efficiently, and he wasn’t quite sure how to cope with the intense feelings he already had for her. He had never felt this way, had never cared this much for a woman…for anyone.
“No,” he said finally. “I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?” She retreated further. “I was beginning to care for you, despite telling myself I shouldn’t. But I can’t be with someone who lies to me.”
“Come on, Izzy.”
A lone tear pooled in the corner of her eye.
Shit! He was such a dick for making her cry. But he wasn’t hurting her intentionally. Maybe he was being a coward, plain and simple, for not telling her.
“How about this,” he continued. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know if you promise never to invite another soul into your body.”
He was fairly certain she wouldn’t agree, but he had to try.
“I can’t promise that. That is an utterly ridiculous thing to ask of me. I help people. That’s all I’ve ever known.”
He reached out and ran his fingertips along the soft skin of her cheek. “But at what cost?”
* * * *
Isabelle wanted to give in. She wanted to tell him she’d never put herself in danger again if he’d continue to touch her. But she could never keep such a promise. Her gift wasn’t simply a tool she used. It was a part of her, a part of who she was. Without it, she wasn’t Isabelle.
She stepped back from his scalding touch. “No. Unless you are going to tell me everything, stay away from me.”
It broke her heart to say it. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she was pretty sure she was falling in love with him. Isabelle had never believed in love at first sight. Now…she wasn’t certain.
No. It was a crazy notion. A silly fairytale. And something not for her.
Isabelle turned, made her way to the stairs, and sprinted up them to her room. She had to leave before she did something stupid, such as cry, or throw herself on him and tell him she didn’t care what he could or couldn’t do.
But she couldn’t lie to herself. There wasn’t a chance in hell for them if there was no honesty between them.
Once inside her room, she locked the door, shutting out Cyrus and the rest of the world.
* * * *
Cyrus’s chest ached, and he rubbed at it. What was that all about? The peculiar, tingly, deep pain was unfamiliar. His heart thumped
loud in his ears, and he fought hard not to run after Izzy. She needed time to cool down. Hell, she may never settle down.
Regardless of the outcome, he didn’t regret not telling her what he was. At least this way, maybe he had a chance with her. If she found out exactly who he was, she’d hate him. No matter the curious way she had of separating evil from kindness, once the reality of the situation hit her in the face, she would condemn him.
The pressing question now was, what the hell was he going to do? He was worried about her and the Havoc. If it had been the same one who attacked her both times, as she claimed, he didn’t doubt the bastard would be back to try again. For some reason, this particular spirit had his full attention on Izzy.
Cyrus was certain the first possession had been a convenience—right place, right time, open person. However, the second time had been focused on revenge. The simple fact that Izzy had defeated the spirit once would be enough to whet an appetite for revenge that could only be snuffed out by death…the permanent kind.
And now that she didn’t want him near her, how was he supposed to protect her? He blew out a breath in frustration. I’ll find a way, Izzy. Whatever I have to do, I will do it.
* * * *
Two days later Isabelle carried her bag down the stairs of Scarlett’s mansion for the last time. The snowstorm had finally passed the night before, and the roads were cleared enough for travel. She had barely seen Cyrus since their argument—of course, that had a lot to do with barricading herself in her room and only sneaking out for food here and there—and she planned to go home and lick her wounds in private. She was pissed that she’d missed seeing him so much, and to her dismay, doubted that feeling would cease anytime soon. It was ridiculous to have a connection as deep as she felt to someone she barely knew. She would shake him off, detox her system of him once and for all after she got home.
Scarlett frowned when Isabelle inquired about Cyrus. “He left about an hour ago, dear. Said something unexpected had come up.”
Isabelle’s heart dropped. While everything inside her had screamed to stay away, she couldn’t deny that she’d wanted to catch one last glimpse of him before she left.
I guess that’s that.
If he had cared at all about her, he wouldn’t have left without saying a word.
You did tell him to stay away from you, then avoid him like the plague.
Isabelle hoped Scarlett couldn’t see the disappointment on her face. “I thought Cyrus was going to be staying with you longer?”
“I thought so too, Isabelle. I’m going to hate being in this place all alone again, but keeping my fingers crossed that won’t be for long. I’ve decided to find a small place in Paris and start over.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you. I will miss you, Scarlett. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to meet you. You are a remarkable woman.”
Scarlett hugged her. “You are the special one, Isabelle.”
After a few more well wishes, Isabelle made her way out to her BMW, which was thoroughly cleaned off. She had to smile. She’d bet anything that Cyrus had done that for her. Maybe it had been his way of saying goodbye.
* * * *
Cyrus shifted the Challenger and punched the gas, speeding along the interstate. He wasn’t done with Izzy, but staging a showdown at Scarlett’s would have proven worthless. He had gotten Izzy’s number from Scarlett. He was fairly certain she would hang up on him, but he was persistent, if nothing else. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. That had been the lesser of the two evils at the time.
Fate was a bitch that had a way of taking one’s plans, shoving dynamite in its ass, and blowing it into so many pieces it was unrecognizable.
A few hours later he stopped to buy gas. After paying, he made a stop in the restroom, and before he knew what had happened, a knife was buried deep in his back, the tip piercing his heart. Cyrus floated from the body he had occupied for a short time and watched the brown-haired man crouching over it.
“Eh, Jimmy.” The man’s Russian accent was thick. “You don’t think you get away with stealing money from big boss, do you? You always such a righteous son of bitch.”
Cyrus looked into the man’s mind. Hell, he was more fucked up than Jimmy had been. Rapes, murders, drug dealing—he had done a little of everything and had enjoyed every single minute of it. He savored anything violent, fed off it, lived for the adrenaline rush of hurting others, of playing God.
Fate was a bitch, but so was karma. Cyrus sank into Johnny’s back—Johnny, Jimmy, did all these guys have names that began with J and ended with Y?
Johnny’s soul was black, blacker than Jimmy’s had been, and it was ready for Cyrus’s arrival. He wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl because he relished a good fight.
Johnny Boy, your time is up, you filthy bastard. You fucked with the wrong entity this time.
Johnny’s black soul engulfed Cyrus, but he merely laughed and shook it off like a dog might shake off water after an unwanted bath. Cyrus drew energy from the atmosphere, expanding, then engulfed Johnny in a death grip of dark blue. Within seconds, Johnny weakened, his mouth gaping open as his soul fled in defeat and terror.
Cyrus took his first breath in his new body and watched Johnny’s soul float away instead of sink into the ground. That wasn’t good. Obviously, Johnny’s soul wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.
Cyrus retrieved his personal belongings from Jimmy’s body, then stood and looked in the mirror. Not too bad. It seemed the unsavory liked to keep in shape.
His nose crinkled. Too bad they didn’t like to stay clean.
He sighed and pushed his fingers through his now dark brown hair and cringed. What was the fucking deal with greasy hair? His eyes were green, and he had a chipped front tooth. That was okay. It gave him a little character. At least Johnny was close to the same build and size as Jimmy, which meant that Cyrus wouldn’t have to buy new clothes again.
Now to deal with the bigger problem…Izzy. She wouldn’t have a clue who the hell he was now.
Then again, maybe that would work to his advantage.
Chapter Nine
The eight-hour drive home the night before had been exhausting. Isabelle had barely had the energy to call Nina and shower before falling into bed—she’d even left her bag in the car, too tired to carry it in.
Unfortunately, the exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares away. She shivered as she recalled Stephen’s menacing voice calling to her.
“Issssabelllllle. I’m getting closer. Next time I’ll have you.”
The memory of the sound echoed and scraped her nerve endings, sending shivers down her spine.
“Issssabelle. I will have your soul, and I will make you suffer. Don’t think that demon will keep me away forever.”
Now she stood under the stream of the shower, washing the sweat from her body, trying to scrub the memory from her brain and heat her chilled bones. She still didn’t understand how she could be cold and sweaty at the same time, but the dreams of Stephen always left her both.
Now that she had had time to think it over, she realized that when the dreams had first started up again, she had been too focused on the mystery man—Cyrus—and not focused enough on Stephen. His showing up had not been a mere visit of unwanted memories. It had been a warning, a warning she had mistakenly thought was a simple revisiting of a bad experience.
Stephen wanted her. But why? Was it really all about revenge?
She remembered what Cyrus told her about Havoc spirits. Surely Stephen could find someone other than her to burden? Isabelle supposed if she were dead, and as evil as Cyrus claimed Stephen to be, revenge would be an easy outlet for the inescapable anger that would, no doubt, plague her. It was obvious that he didn’t like to be beaten at his own game, and if he was set on getting her soul, she was in trouble. She had no idea how to fight off a Havoc spirit, had never even heard of one until she’d met Cyrus.
Now she was seriously starting to question her decision
to turn her back on the one person who could help her most in this situation. Cyrus had protected her from Stephen, had given her information that could potentially be life-saving. However, without details, she had little to go on. Had she not allowed her emotions to get in the way…
She sighed. No sense in dwelling on something she could do nothing about. Maybe she could talk to Nina about it later. Maybe together, they’d be able to come up with some kind of protection potion or spell, or both.
After Isabelle flipped off the water and stepped out of the shower, she remembered something else from her dream. What had Stephen meant by that demon? Was Stephen giving Cyrus the title as a means of insult? Or had it been something more…?
Cyrus had claimed that he could do things.
Talk about an overactive imagination. Sheesh. Cyrus had a gift—true, one she’d never seen firsthand—but so did she. That did not make him a demon.
Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. After everything she’d been through and seen, she had entertained the silly notion that Cyrus was a demon? Laughable.
The weird thing was that that hadn’t been the most disturbing part of the dream. Apart from Stephen, another man had visited her—actually two. First, Cyrus had been there, with his tall frame and piercing gray eyes. Within seconds, his face had appeared to melt and morph into the face of another man. And like Cyrus, she hadn’t been able to make out this man’s features clearly either. The only features she could remember were his build, similar to Cyrus’s, and his dark brown hair.
Who the hell am I dreaming about now? And why had the image of the new man intermingled and melded with Cyrus’s? It was as if one became the other.
She thought about it until her brain hurt, then gave up for the sake of her sanity.
On her way to the kitchen, the phone started ringing. She got to it on the third ring. “Hello.”
“Hello?”
The man on the other line had a deep, soothing voice. He sounded calm and laid back.
“Yes. Who is this?”
