"There's a lock on the door," Cyrus demonstrated the privacy lock on the bedroom door. "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," Cyrus pointed to a partially open sliding door to the left. "And leave the blackout curtains where they are, if you please," Cyrus added. 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. I didn't have time to pack."

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," Cyrus 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 her tutor?

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

"Yes, but I assure you it's clean," Cyrus responded with a shrug.

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

"I've told you before, I don't mind sharing," Cyrus said 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. Cyrus knew very well what her rush was. She hurried out into the hall. Irene didn't make it far before she came to a halt, seeing Cynthia haunting the end of the corridor. The vampiress crossed her arms and licked her lips with a predatory smile at Irene. How quickly Irene forgot she was in a building full of vampires. 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 to Irene. "Come now, it will be like when we shared the basement before. I'll be out all night while you're asleep. 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 Cyrus, heading for the ensuite, sliding the door so forcefully it hit the edge and slid back open again. She sighed and slid it closed 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. She was away from home. Her father would be back soon, but Irene was concerned about his safety. Irene just had to believe he would be alright so long as she led the danger elsewhere. Unfortunately, Irene was certain that he'd be distressed by 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 said, still adjusting the shirt. It was a little loose, and the shoulders sat weird. But it covered what it needed to cover. Irene 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 a ride 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. She wasn't even aware there was anything unusual about obeying such a simple, innocent command.

"What is it?" She had noticed his expression prior to their locking gazes. Something was on his mind. Cyrus stared at her silently for a moment. Irene 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 said, patting the bed. Irene shrugged. Again, the request was innocent enough. Mild curiosity tickled her brain, just barely parting the sea of indifferent serenity. She did want him to go away, but she could be patient. Cyrus 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. Indeed, she did not like it. 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 Irene's conscious mind floated upon. But it wasn't enough to bring it down. She furrowed her eyebrows, but did not tear her gaze away. She said nothing, and just gave a slight 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..." Irene said, completely unguarded. "I wish he were here." Cyrus nodded, keeping his face unusually devoid of expression. Irene thought of Jordan, weakened, frightened, and battered. No. That's not how she 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. 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 her mind had created 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, just below her navel. A mote of irritation arose among other uncomfortable feelings.

"No... we talked about this." Irene muttered. Wait. We who? Jordan and I? Or...

Irene's eyes burst open and she froze. Dark fabric. 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 back onto the bed. She quickly backed away from him, knees up, ready to kick him if he approached. He did not.

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

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"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!" Cyrus then clapped his hands together, seeming absolutely delighted about something. Irene sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed.

"That was... that was low, even for you! How could you?!" Irene 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 said, pointing 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.

"Yes, that was terrible of me. 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. Cyrus began to pace in front of her, hands neatly clasped behind his back.

"I am a moderately powerful vampire in my own right. I don't stack up to Gabriel in terms of raw power, but I have my own talents. And 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, cradling her sore wrist as she watched him. She would leave, but she was, as usual, his captive audience. She just had to ride this out.

"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. And I was horrified. That was it. I was finished. I couldn't take on Gabriel if I was past my prime..." Cyrus 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 again to just relax you. Have a little fun..."

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 after my shower. I mean, who could see this naked bod and NOT want it?" Irene narrowed her eyes. "You, of course. 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."

"I am losing my patience..." Irene warned. Although there wasn't much she could do, it felt good to go through the motions.

"I wasn't weakened. You were just... well, you! And as for your father, my confidence had already been undermined by you. But after my paradigm shift, after I began to think it might not be me, I found I was quite capable of influencing the minds of those two women. I realized that the trouble was I was always trying to capitalize on sexual desires in others, which has worked well for me in the past." Cyrus was very animated as he spoke. "And just now, I could feel it. I was blowing on cold coals. You have no ember, no spark!"

"What are you implying?" Irene asked crossly.

"That it's not me, it's you!" Cyrus grabbed Irene's head and kissed her. Before Irene could protest he put a finger to her lips. "Just to be clear, that was an epiphany kiss, not a lustful kiss." Cyrus said before letting go and stepping back. Irene wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still scowling.

"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. "Listen. Okay. If I pinch you, you'll feel pain. Maybe you will scream, or say ow, or something. Or maybe you won't react at all, trying to be tough. But you'd still FEEL the pain." Irene shook her head, exasperated.

"I am lost. Just speak plainly!" Irene said in frustration.

"Well, even if you hate my guts, your body doesn't always know that. Still, I considered your disgust may have prevented you from feeling anything but fear from my touch. But if you felt safe and loved, then a little stimulation ought to get your heart racing, but I felt no change in your blood flow - at least not the sort I was looking for. Maybe you love Jordan, but you don't want him, do you?"

Irene stared at Cyrus. "Of course I want him!" Irene snapped angrily. But this was a different anger. 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?" Cyrus asked.

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 to me. 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 gasped, and 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. Irene took in a series of rapid breaths as she tried to contain herself. She finally managed to spit out, "Screw you."

"I'd love that, but... I think that ship has sailed." 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 rather than rely on my usual false bravado. I can't fight the good fight if I have any doubts."

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 shamed. Irene had been hiding from herself a long time. She wanted Jordan. She wanted him by her side. But she had never desired him. She kept rationalizing that she wasn't ready. That she was a late bloomer. But by her final year in highschool, having spent years overhearing other student's sexual exploits and excitement on the topic, she still had not felt anything. And now she had to face the hardest truth. She knew she and Jordan would never marry. Or if they did, it'd be on false pretenses and end in disappointment and resentment. So when Jordan said that they would either move forward or break up, Irene knew there was only one choice for her. To let him go. There it was. Irene had been selfish. She had been forcing someone she loved to wait for something that may 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 leave me alone?"

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.

"I like you, Irene. But I've spent a long time around rather depraved individuals. I'm no saint myself. Anyway, joking and flirting is how I express myself," Cyrus explained.

Irene continued to stare at the ceiling. "You do more than joke and flirt. You aren't harmless. You've hurt me," Irene said in a tone devoid of feeling, despite the groundswell of emotion.

Irene heard Cyrus click his tongue. "Okay. Fine. I'll admit I've been rough with you. But you keep persevering. You keep looking at everything falling apart around you, and yes, you get angry and scream and cry, but then you get on your feet and try to salvage it. It's admirable, but also sad to see a young person who is so composed." Cyrus's words of praise did little to lighten Irene's current burden. Nor did it endear him much to her.

"A few kind words aren't going to undo everything you've done to me, Cyrus," Irene intoned.

"I know. The affection is all one-sided. But, even if it doesn't change your opinion of me, just let me say, what I like most about you is that you know what you are worth. You know you don't deserve to be treated the way I've treated you." Irene closed her eyes. How could this monster stand there, admit to his abuse, and still act like everything was okay? She was too tired to scream. Too trapped to run. And he carried on like everything was normal. This was not normal. "Anyway, it's refreshing to be held accountable. Uncomfortable, at times, but refreshing." Irene felt the mattress shift again.

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

"Right, yes." There was a sharp squeak and she 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 said as she poked at the mattress of the large bed. Irene also hoped there wouldn't be anymore officers. She hoped there wouldn't be more innocent blood shed, that the monsters could just cull each other and leave the rest of the population in peace. Leave her 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, then crawled back into bed. The emotional upheaval and self revelation left her exhausted and numb.