“You sound like you’ve had… experience with that.”
He chuckled softly. “Some, yes. It’s not a pretty world, places like that. You’re dealing with shady bosses, rigged fights, and people who can go missing.”
Sasha considered those words as the train pulled up. “Then why do you fight, if it’s that bad?”
The doors slid open.
“Because I’m bored and because I want to stick it to the whole world.”
“I hope you’re not in danger because of them.” She smiled. “But if I saw you again, I’d bet on you. Every time.”
She boarded the train and he said nothing more as the doors shut. She kept her eyes on him as the train trundled away, watching until he vanished from sight. He seemed frozen. Troubled. Had her words been that troubling?
Maybe they were, since she’d more or less admitted she wanted to go there again despite his warnings. Perhaps he was disappointed with her decision. That was okay, though. People were often disappointed in her.
It was just a shame that she never got a contact number from Cyrus. That meant that their next meeting, if there was to be one, would be left entirely up to chance.
That meant that all she had left of him remained in her imagination; fanciful dreams about being rescued by a masked stranger who might be handsome and charming under their guise; a person who saw her for who she was and loved her for it.
Sasha needed those dreams sometimes. Without them, life might be a whole lot more depressing.
Chapter Four – Cyrus
Cyrus brooded in his apartment, a decent, luxurious place that was the complete opposite of everything his father stood for. It had a contemporary human look, with a sleek black-and-white décor and everything arranged in neat lines.
Part of his brooding was related to the human stranger he’d encountered and kept tabs on a week ago to make sure no one took advantage of her lack of magic. The other concerned his father who always provided a rich source of conflict at the best of times.
Suddenly, there was a knock at his door.
Speaking of conflict… Cyrus sighed and went to open the door to his apartment, already knowing exactly who’d be standing outside.
His father glared at him until Cyrus relented and allowed the old dragon inside. He prowled within, glancing around like a predator taking in the scenery. He was clearly not impressed with what he saw.
He was never impressed with what he saw. Cyrus’ existence, in general, was a huge disappointment.
“I heard that you found yourself an agent after all. Pity – I was hoping you wouldn’t be running around in my dens, defying my rules.” Torag glared at Cyrus with a look that said he was one step away from transforming into a dragon and smashing the apartment to bits.
“It’s not deliberate, Father,” Cyrus said, offering the old man a glass of shimmering red wine, which he accepted. “I just want to live my life. I’m not here to hide in the shadows, to be treated like a leper for something entirely out of my control.” He said the words with as much strength as he could muster, expecting only negativity in return.
Of course, his father didn’t disappoint him on that front. “What you are is not something to celebrate,” Torag hissed. “The fact that you bring that intomydomain after I insisted that you stay out of it… I can’t help but suspect that there is malicious intent behind it.”
“Perhaps.” Cyrus poured himself a glass of wine as well, keeping a close eye on his father who prowled around the apartment before stopping at the large window that provided an overview of the city.
“Not a bad view.” His father said nothing for a moment, perhaps trying to stretch out the tension and anxiety. “So, two things I want to address with you. One is about the fight pits. I can see that trying to bar you from them is only going to provoke a stubborn streak, which is about the only thing you inherited from me that I can be proud of.
Gee, thanks.Cyrus closed his eyes, trying to drown out that small voice in his head, the voice that liked to whisper that he wasn’t good enough, that he’d never be as good as his brother, that he was a disappointment, a failure, a mistake. “Are you here to insult me or to actually say something constructive?”
“I’m getting to it.” His father sounded amused. Those cold eyes bore deep into him. “You can have your agent; you can have your fights, so long as you don’t reveal your identity. As you know, I worked hard to keep your ailment a secret.”
Cyrus snorted. “I’m well aware.” He wondered what exactly was coming–how much more salt his father intended to poor in the wounds he had created.
“You can have the freedom to be your own agent in my domain, so long as your own agent doesn’t try to manipulate our family and profit in a way that harms us. I’m not stupid – the agent is probably your stepsister. God knows I could never control the two of you. But she’s not a good choice. People might recognize her, so I highly suggest finding someone else.”
Cyrus resisted the urge to smirk at that statement. He didn’t want to aggravate the old man further, not when he was actually being lenient… in his own way. “Okay. I don’t plan to cause trouble. I’ll wear the mask. Aleera won’t stir up any shit either, and I’ll look for a cover for her to make sure there’s no heat on your back. We just want to make a living.”
“Interesting way to make a living,” Torag growled. “But I have little control over you and her anyway. You both took more after your mothers, which is a shame.” He cleared his throat. “The second thing is that Thanksgiving is coming in a few weeks. This one is particularly important because it’s the first one that the Infernus family is coming to attend – along with their single, beautiful daughter.”
Cyrus’ heart sank upon hearing the news. “Ah.”