Severed(18)

She walked into the kitchen area and stood transfixed by all the chrome shininess. She could see her own reflection stretched balloon-like across the surface of the toaster and shied quickly away from it, heading instead to the fridge and pulling open the gigantic door.

‘Looking for something?'

Evie spun around, her heart flying into her mouth. Cyrus was standing in the centre of the room by the sofas. He was wearing only a pair of sweatpants and boxing gloves. Her gaze dropped straight away to his chest but only for a fraction of a second before she realised what she was doing and hauled her gaze northwards. It was a long enough glimpse, however, for her to have noticed the corrugated six-pack of muscle running across his torso and long enough also for him to have noticed she'd noticed and to start smirking.

‘Just getting something to drink, if that's OK?' she answered, turning back to the fridge and cursing herself silently. Encouraging Cyrus's ego in any way was tantamount to flaying oneself alive. She straightened her face and turned back, throwing him a bored look. ‘When are we going to see your mother?' she asked.

He rolled his eyes at her, ‘Later,' he said. ‘Want to work up a sweat with me first?'

She threw him one of her dirtiest looks. He grinned in response and pointed with his gloved hand towards a punch bag slung from one of the beams across the ceiling. ‘Training. Boxing. What did you think I meant?' he asked, raising his eyebrows innocently. ‘You should train  –  it'll be different now. You'll enjoy it. It'll be pretty intense.'

‘I'm not sure there's much point,' Evie muttered as she filled a glass to the brim with milk.

‘Why not?'

She slopped some milk onto the counter as she looked up at him in surprise that he'd heard. Damn. She'd forgotten. Supersonic hearing. She would have to watch that. She set the glass down on the counter and started wiping the milk up, not sure how to answer.

‘You're a Hunter,' he said, using his teeth to loosen the laces of his gloves, ‘and last time I checked you were the most sought-after object in all the realms. If I were you I'd be training. Or is it that you think you're too important for that and expect us to protect you instead?' He dropped the gloves to the floor.

Evie stared at him for one second before slamming her glass down on the side and marching straight over to him. His goading expression transformed into a bemused smile as she headed towards him but she also caught the spark of uncertainty flash across his face as she got nearer. Just before she reached him she sidestepped, bringing her arm back and punching the bag in a fast one-two movement that forced Cyrus to jerk sharply out of its path. He swore loudly, catching the bag as it swung towards him on the rebound.

She waited until he was looking straight at her again, with a gratifyingly wary expression. ‘I don't need protection,' she told him. ‘I'm fine. That's the one thing I am sure of.' She gave him a terse smile. ‘I'm going to be fine.' And with that she walked away, hearing the angry slap of her bare feet against the wooden floorboards.

‘Ooh, sure of yourself,' Cyrus called to her back.

She paused mid-step, reeled around and then strode back towards him. ‘That would be a little ironic coming from you, wouldn't it?' she asked, smacking the punch bag again. God, it was good to hit something. Her body felt amped. She was fairly sure she could punch the bag into orbit without even trying. Cyrus ducked in time and caught the bag, twisting it high and holding it up out of her reach, as though he was dangling a bone above a starving dog.

‘I'm not sure of myself,' she said, glowering at him. ‘I just know because the prophecy is marked.' She saw his eyebrows draw together in a frown and a question form on his lips. ‘You know what?' she said quickly, before he could get the question out. ‘I'm so bored of hearing about this damn prophecy. Can we talk about something else instead?'

He frowned at her some more, his lips pursing, but then he released the punch bag. ‘Sure,' he answered with a shrug.

She took another swipe  –  this time a cobra strike that Victor had taught her. Cyrus grunted and steadied the bag against his shoulder, leaning into it as she punched it another dozen times. She liked hearing the smack as her fist made contact with the leather and she liked the fact that Cyrus had to dig his heels into the ground to keep his balance.

‘So, what are you doing here?' she asked, when she had finally stopped to catch her breath.

‘I'm getting my butt kicked,' he laughed, rubbing his shoulder and trying to hide the wince.

‘Yeah, other than that,' she said, deciding to try a jump kick without warning him. ‘You know what I mean,' she said, spinning with her leg outstretched so the sole of her foot slammed into the bag sending Cyrus flying backwards, his arms flailing.

Getting his balance, he stared at her for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he turned and walked to the sofa to pick up a towel he'd flung over the arm. Evie watched him wipe the sweat off the back of his neck, and whipped around quickly before he could catch her looking. If she had to see him smirk just one more time she'd do away with the punch bag and start using his face instead. ‘Why are you hanging out in a loft space slash playboy den?' she asked between punches.

‘I need somewhere to bring the ladies,' he answered with no trace of irony.

‘Ladies, plural?' Evie asked. Cyrus was running the towel across his chest now, watching her the whole time. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she stopped punching and crossed her hands over her chest, aware of the sweat that had started to run down her collarbone and trickle towards her navel. She was still wearing Flic's black camisole top and jeans from the night before. Neither left much to the imagination in the cold light of day.

Cyrus dropped the towel, and leant over the sofa for a glass of water he'd placed on the table. She noted the long scar running across his back  –  a lash from a Scorpio tail it looked like  –  and then the ripple of muscle as he set the glass down. Her eyes were back on the punch bag, admiring the stitching, when he looked back.

‘My mum,' he said, ‘she had some money. She has some money I should say. We fixed this place up.' He wiped his arm across his face and then crossed to two ropes hanging down with hoops dangling from the ends of them. He took hold of one in each hand and pulled himself upright so her face was suddenly level with his crotch.

‘Where does your mum live?' Evie asked, tilting her head back so she was looking at his face. ‘Not here, I take it.'

‘No. She lives about half an hour away, depending on traffic.'

‘And what does she do now?'

Cyrus was stretching his arms out wide, pulling his legs up behind him to form a horizontal cross. Evie noted with annoyance that he wasn't even shaking with the tension of holding the pose. ‘She has a few stores,' he grunted. ‘They do pretty well.'

Evie stared at him, blinking slowly. It was possible then, she thought in amazement, to get away and create a life outside this, to be something else other than a Hunter  –  to be normal.

‘I have a question,' she asked.

‘Shoot,' he answered, moving fluidly into a handstand.

Evie momentarily lost her train of thought watching the way he moved, his arms locked straight, the muscles in his shoulders glistening with sweat. On the inside of his left arm she spied the tattoo again. It looked like some sort of bird, but upside down she couldn't see enough detail to make out what type of bird it was.

‘If she was a Hunter and she ran away from all that, why are you one?' she asked. ‘Why, when you have all this and could be staying at home impressing the ladies with your mad air-hockey skills or your gymnastic routines, are you out there hunting unhumans?'

Cyrus landed in a silent crouch in front of her. ‘I was wondering when you'd get around to asking that,' he said with a grin.






     
 

      Chapter 20



Evie waited but he didn't give her an answer. Instead Cyrus reached into the back pocket of his sweatpants and drew out what looked like a white bandage. He took hold of her left hand and pulled her towards him. Evie tried to snatch her hand back but he held fast, his fingers gripping her wrist. ‘You're going to hurt yourself punching like that,' he said by way of explanation as he started binding her hand and knuckles. ‘You're healing quickly,' he said, lifting his eyes to her forehead.

She felt with the fingertips of her free hand along her hairline.

‘Mixen burn?' he asked, his thumb stroking the uneven patch of skin on her forearm.

‘Yes,' she nodded, looking down at it. It had almost faded to nothing. His thumb stopped tracing and went back to tying a knot in the bandage. ‘So are you going to tell me why you're a Hunter when there's no need for you to be?'

He finished bandaging her right hand then let go of it. It flopped to her side feeling weirdly mummified. He considered her for a moment as though he was bemused that she didn't know the answer already. Then finally he spoke. ‘Because, Evie, we can't fight who we are.'

She frowned at him. Victor had used those exact words just a few weeks ago. She opened her mouth to shout something back at him about screwing who we are, but Cyrus had already grabbed hold of a rope and was starting to shimmy up it like a spider monkey.