"There's a lock on the door," Cyrus gave the bedroom doorknob a twist. "That ought to help you relax a bit."

Irene was not going to relax in a building full of vampires.

"Ensuite with a shower over there," he pointed to a partially open sliding door to the left. "And leave the blackout curtains where they are, if you please." The curtains had been taped and pinned at the edges, keeping natural light at bay. "You also might want to change out of that shirt."

"I don't have anything to change into." Her overnight bag was still probably lying by the trees back near her house. Irene imagined Silver curling up on it, since it smelled of her. All that trouble she put herself through, and she still didn't have a chance to feed the cat.

Cyrus shrugged his shoulders. "I'd ask Cynthia to lend you something of hers, but she'd sooner swallow a wasp's nest from the looks she was giving you. Also, her clothes probably wouldn't fit - not shaming, just saying." He walked over to an old fashioned wardrobe, pulling it open. A scooting noise attracted Irene's attention as he moved some hangers around, then took down a short-sleeve shirt with a collar and tossed it to her. Irene caught it, staring at it a moment. It'd be a little baggy, but it would fit well enough.

Wait. Wasn't he wearing this when he was pretending to be my tutor?

Irene squinted and wrinkled her nose. "Isn't this yours?" She looked at the wardrobe. Lots of black, with a few items of neutral colours, and one bright red shiny silky shirt.

"Yes, but I assure you it's clean."

Irene then looked around the room with greater scrutiny. "Is this... your room?"

"I don't mind sharing," Cyrus replied with a chuckle.

Irene dropped the shirt and turned around to leave, forgetting the door was locked. By the time she pushed in the knob and untwisted it, Cyrus was right behind her.

"What's the rush?"

Irene did not bother responding. He knows very well what the rush is. She hurried out into the hall, but didn't make it far before she came to a halt. Cynthia loitered at the end of the corridor. The vampiress crossed her arms and licked her lips with a predatory leer. Irene stepped back into the room and slammed the door, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart.

Cyrus picked up the discarded shirt and held it out. "Come now! We can be mature adults about this."

Irene snatched the shirt and squinted. "I'm not an adult, and you aren't mature."

"But between the two of us we can make one mature adult!" Cyrus chimed in merrily. Irene shook her head and walked past him, heading for the ensuite. She slid the door closed so forcefully it hit the edge and slid back open again. She sighed and closed it with less force, twisting the ineffectual lock.

Irene filled the sink with cold water and tried to rinse her shirt out as best she could. Once again, she had thought she was rid of Cyrus. Once again, she was wrong.

Father will be home soon. Will he be alright with Gabriel's minions lurking? Irene just had to believe he would be alright so long as she led the danger elsewhere. Unfortunately, she was certain that he'd be distressed by the broken window and her absence. Why hadn't he come home yet? Did Gloria never actually get in contact with him? With all of these concerns in her mind, she stepped out, smoothing out the olive green shirt as she did so.

"Cyrus, tomorrow I need to go back to my house to grab a few things and leave a note for my father." Irene adjusted her shirt. It was a little loose, and the shoulders sat weird. But it covered what it needed to cover. She looked up when she didn't hear a response.

Cyrus was sitting on the bed, staring pensively at the door. After a moment, his gaze shifted to her. "Oh. Yes. Sure. I'll arrange an escort for you."

Cyrus slid off the bed and looked Irene in the eye. Irene tilted her head questioningly. By the time she remembered the danger of making prolonged eye contact with him, it was too late. She felt that odd sense of things slowing down, and an inability to look away.

"Come here, Irene."

First one foot, then the other, and Irene felt herself moving closer.

"What is it?" She had noticed his expression prior to their locking gazes. Something was on his mind. He stared at her silently for a moment. She waited patiently, her thoughts seeming to congeal into a lethargic sludge, rather than the usual rapid cycling she experienced.

"Let's talk. Here. Sit," Cyrus instructed, patting the bed. Irene shrugged. Mild curiosity tickled her brain, just barely parting the sea of indifferent serenity. She wanted him to go away, but she could be patient. He remained standing, keeping his eyes on her as she sat upon the edge of the bed.

"I'm listening," Irene prompted. While at the same time things felt thick and heavy, her mind also felt light and airy, as if it had risen far, far above the deep thoughts that kept her grounded.

"I have this little theory about something, but I'll get to that in a moment. Humour me. I know you don't like it when I prod into your personal life..."

"I don't like it," Irene confirmed in a matter-of-fact tone. Yet the usual urge to get up and leave in a huff was bound and suppressed, leaving her with just her most surface thoughts and impressions, letting the situation pass like leaves on a stream.

"I know you were concerned about Jordan."

Irene flinched. The deep feelings that writhed in her core were venting, disrupting the air balloon that her consciousness floated upon. But it wasn't enough to bring it down. She furrowed her eyebrows, but did not tear her gaze away. Silently, she offered a minor nod.

Cyrus continued, his tone lacking its usual animated cadence. "So it may be painful, but I'd like you to focus on him for a moment. Think of his face, his voice, how he makes you feel. Conjure him up. Imagine he was here."

At this suggestion, it was hard not to think about Jordan. And it was painful. Irene's eyes watered. "I miss him..." she whimpered, completely unguarded. "I wish he were here." Cyrus nodded, keeping his face unusually devoid of expression. She thought of Jordan, weakened, frightened, and battered.

No.

That's not how Irene wanted to remember him. She thought of him as healthy, athletic, and confident! She thought of the warm smile he greeted her with, or the cocky grin he wore when he was resolved. She thought of his hazel eyes, not brown, not quite green, but freely passing off as either on a whim. She remembered his laugh, and found herself laughing with him.

"Close your eyes, keep that thought," Cyrus instructed in a calm, soothing voice. Irene hesitated. Cyrus's voice did not belong. His presence did not belong. But eventually, her eyes fluttered and then closed. She didn't want to see Cyrus anyway. She had eyes only for Jordan.

Irene surrendered herself to happy memories of Jordan, but they were tinged with sadness and a fear of impending loss. There was pressure on her shoulder; a reassuring hand. In her altered state of consciousness, she didn't connect it with Cyrus. She freely covered the hand with her own.

"I'm sorry, Jordan. I never meant to burden you; I should have kept it to myself until you were better," Irene said remorsefully, squeezing the hand. She heard a shushing noise and she drew in a deep breath. The illusion was so real to her. She relaxed, wrapping herself in the false sense of security, as strong arms wrapped around her. She wanted to believe it was Jordan, although there was still a part of her that knew it was impossible. It was a dream. A daydream. But it was a pleasant escape.

"Don't worry about that..." came a whisper. Irene wrapped her arms about Jordan. No. It wasn't Jordan. Who else could it be? No... no... Hands rubbed her back, and it was slow and soothing. She needed comfort. More importantly, she needed to allow herself to need comfort. Irene dipped her chin and rested her forehead against a clavicle, feeling safe. But something didn't feel right. Just as the illusion was wavering, she felt a hand on her bare skin, in the small of her back. A mote of irritation arose among other uncomfortable feelings. The hand slowly traveled under her shirt to the front, a thumb rubbing softly just under her navel.

Eyebrows furrowed. Heart raced. Anxiety swelled. Warmth spread like liquid through Irene's body, but the feelings that arose were unwelcome, like the itch of a bug bite rather than the joy of being tickled. "We talked about this... I don't want to make the same mistakes my parents made... " she muttered.

Wait. We who? Jordan and I? Or...

Irene's eyes burst open and she froze. She tilted her head up, seeing Cyrus's face. There wasn't the leer she was expecting, but a searching, analytical expression.

No... no! Irene shook her head, pressing her hands against his chest and pushing away. He didn't move, and instead she ended up pushing herself back, causing her to flop onto the bed. She quickly backed away from him, knees up, ready to kick him if he approached.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"What is wrong with you!?" Irene screeched.

"Ah ah ah!" Cyrus wagged a finger, his seeking expression giving way to smug epiphany. "No, my dear Irene, it's not what is wrong with me, but what's wrong with you!" He clapped his hands together, seeming absolutely delighted.

Irene sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. "That was... that was low, even for you! How dare you?!" she vented, the anger that had been waiting in the wings finally coming out to play. Probing into her feelings about Jordan and using them in such a way was a new level of violation.

Irene stood up quickly and slapped Cyrus. Or tried. An inch away from his cheek, her hand was halted, a tight grip on her wrist. She winced as he squeezed.

"Remember what I said about slapping me." Cyrus pointed his finger at her with his free hand, the merriment dropping from his demeanour. "I will put up with a lot of abuse, but not that."

Irene took in three sharp breaths, each one coming out in a heavy vent. What about the abuse I've been enduring? On the fourth, she drew in a long, steadying breath, letting it out slowly as she pushed the rage away. It could only get her into trouble. The grip on her wrist grew slack, and she slipped it free, massaging the now sore joint with her other hand.

"You're right, though, that was pretty low. But it got me another piece of the puzzle, and a picture is finally forming," Cyrus said, his previous excitement returning.

"What are you talking about?" Irene blurted before she realized she didn't really want to know. But it was too late. He began to pace in front of her, hands neatly clasped behind his back.

"I am a moderately powerful vampire in my own right. But lately, after the horrible beat down I got, I'd begun to worry that my powers were..." Cyrus held up a hand, wobbling it, "...slipping."

Irene crossed her arms. She would leave, but she was, as usual, his captive audience.

"I tried to control you on several occasions. But you kept breaking free. And it was draining me. Then when going toe to toe with your father, he was starting to break free from my grasp as well. I had to use up my reserves, which is why I needed blood so desperately after."

Irene swallowed hard, as it reminded her of a shameful thing she wanted to forget. Robin.

"I was horrified," Cyrus continued. "That was it. I was finished. I couldn't take on Gabriel if I was past my prime." He lifted up his hands to the ceiling and shook his head. He let them fall and returned to pacing. "I gave myself time, made sure I was well fed, meditated even! I tried to relax you, get you warm to the idea, have a little fun as well."

Irene made a sound of disgust and turned her head to the side. But she still watched Cyrus out of the corner of her eye, wary lest he were to make any more moves she did not like. "Get to the point."

"I'm getting there, Breaches." Cyrus stopped pacing, standing in front of Irene. She wanted to step back, but the bed obstructed her. "Something occurred to me while we were talking that time you walked in on me in the shower."

"I didn't walk in on you, you came into the hall naked!" Irene protested crossly.

"Eh, whatever. But still, I mean, who could see this naked bod and not want it?" Irene narrowed her eyes. "You, of course." She huffed in disgust and looked way. "No, no, hear me out. I detected a sort of... detachment from you. And something clicked. Of course, I had to troubleshoot a little. You don't want me. You don't love me. But you do love Jordan."

"Yes! I love Jordan, not you! So don't you give up?"

"Well besides loving a challenge, there's more going on here than just my lust. I mean, yeah, my inexorable libido is a big part of it. But I digress. What I theorised is that I wasn't weakened. You were just... well, you!" Cyrus was very animated as he spoke. "My mistake was using the same approach by monopolising on the human sex drive - at least when it came to women. Men, well, I dive into their machoism and defensiveness. But you aren't wired like most other women, are you?"

"What, are you saying that I'm gay? Just because a woman isn't into you doesn't mean-"

"Irene, please. You are far from gay. Much too crabby and dour." Irene's eye twitched. "You're neither homosexual nor heterosexual, I bet."

Irene shook her head, exasperated. "I am lost. Just speak plainly!"

"Well, you despise me, right? My touch elicits nothing but fear," Cyrus wiggled his fingers suggestively. "But if you felt safe and loved, then a gentle touch, a little physical bid for action, well, it ought to cause excitement even if you were holding because you don't want to end up a pregnant teen - which is what I'm guessing happened with your mother."

"Ah... did I say that out loud?" The experience was already fading, and she wasn't sure what she voiced, and what she thought. Irene's mouth went dry with dread and embarrassment on top of the anger.

"You said enough - I filled in the blanks." Cyrus placed his hands on his hips and tapped his toes. "The point is, you believed I was Jordan. But there was no... sexual tension. Maybe you love Jordan, but you don't want him, do you?"

Inhaled sharply, her eyes fixed in an intense glare, shock draining the colour out of her face before the outrage could fill it. "Of course I want him!" A new breed of anger emerged. Not the roiling, combustive anger she often felt. Not the vexed anger. But a terrified, prickly anger. Her stomach lurched and she protested. But the seed of doubt was sown. "I..."

"You don't have to answer me, but be honest with yourself. Have you ever felt sexually attracted to him? To anyone?"

Irene's brow furrowed. "That's none of your-"

"I said you didn't have to answer." Cyrus took a few more steps back, putting his hands out. "Because I already have my answers. And it's a relief. What you choose to do with this revelation, or feel about it, is between you, and you alone. But I am going to say... poor Jordan."

Irene held back the urge to shriek at Cyrus. It would not do any good. She did not want to attract the curiosity of any vampires. Instead, she took in a series of rapid breaths as she tried to contain herself. She finally managed to spit out, "Screw you."

"That's what I've been trying to achieve! But, ach, I don't think you want to screw anyone." Irene grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He chuckled, raising his arm and blocking it. It fell with a less than satisfying 'flumpf'. But as the mercurial vampire was prone to do, he quickly shifted from playful to serious. "I'm sorry if this revelation is painful to you. But I needed to restore confidence in myself. I can't fight the good fight if I have any doubts in my abilities."

Irene did not respond. She just focused on breathing. Deep breaths. Calm breaths. The scrutiny of her deepest vulnerabilities was a searing pain, and she felt over-exposed and ashamed. Long had she been hiding from herself. She wanted Jordan by her side. But she had never desired him. She kept rationalizing that she wasn't ready. That she was a late bloomer. She made excuses about not wanting to risk pregnancy, despite being reminded that birth control was accessible and mostly reliable. By her final year in high school she still had not felt any stirring or tension. It was time to face the truth.

When Jordan said that they would either move forward or break up, deep down Irene knew there was only one choice for her: to let him go. There it was. She had been selfish. She had been forcing someone she loved to wait for something that would never happen. Irene was forced to accept that she was different.

But there was one silver lining in this. "...Does this mean you will finally stop harassing me?"

Cyrus tapped his chin, looking Irene over. "...Probably not but..." Cyrus rolled back his shoulders. "I can adjust my expectations." That was not the response Irene hoped for, but it didn't surprise her. She fell onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her rage quieted down very quickly, and she just felt tired.

"Why bother?" Irene asked, laying her hands on her stomach. She saw a shadow pass over her. The mattress bounced and creaked as Cyrus plopped down beside her.

"Flirting is how I express myself."

Irene continued to stare at the ceiling. "You do more than flirt. You've hurt me. You've violated me," she said in a tone devoid of feeling, despite the groundswell of emotion.

Cyrus clicked his tongue. "Okay. Fine. I'll admit I may have gone a bit far." He let out a very heavy sigh, the likes of which she rarely heard from him when it wasn't part of melodramatic theatrics. "Hurting you isn't my intention. But, if you say you're hurt, I won't argue. But may I say I'm impressed with how you handle yourself, if that's the case? You don't play the victim." A vampire's words of praise did little to lighten Irene's current burden. "You're not like most modern teenagers."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Sure."

"Well, don't!" Irene snapped. "I almost was starting to... to not hate you, but now, you've crossed a line and there's no going back."

"Really? You were actually warming up to me? Bloody hell." Cyrus ran a hand through his hair as Irene glared at him. "Still, I want you to know that I admire that you know your own worth. You know that you don't deserve to be treated the way I've treated you."

Irene closed her eyes. He knows I deserve better. Why does he do the things he does? She was too tired to scream. Too trapped to run. And he carried on like everything was fine. This was not fine.

"Anyway, it's refreshing to be held accountable. Uncomfortable, at times, but refreshing." The mattress shifted again.

"Don't you have work to do?" Irene asked tiredly.

"Right, yes." There was a sharp squeak and the depression next to her vanished. "I have to round up what few people I have, explain a few things, and together we'll throw ourselves into perilous danger against all odds. Hopefully this time there won't be any cops."

"You do that…" Irene poked at the mattress of the large bed. She also hoped there wouldn't be anymore officers. It'd be nice if the monsters culled each other and left the rest of the population in peace. Left me in peace. Irene heard the door open and close. On that cue, she got up and locked the door, testing it to make sure it was secure.