Staked!

by Candace Wondrak

  “You’re a monster.”

  Crixis smiled. “Of course I am. One does not live as long as I am without coming full circle. What’s the saying? You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain.” His smile vanished as he said, “With eternal life, I was always destined to become a monster.”

  No. I didn’t believe that. He could’ve helped people throughout his long life. He could’ve traveled the globe, aiding anyone who needed it. He could have been good. He could have not killed Koath and all the other (probably) thousands he’d laid waste to over the centuries. If he had been good, I never would’ve went to the other world and witnessed the other me, the other Gabriel. I’d have a family. My life would’ve been better if he weren’t such a monster.

  I didn’t argue with him, even though I wanted to. I wanted to argue with him all day, remind him that just because he was ageless did not mean he had to become so merciless. I kept quiet, watching as he pointed to a wooden beam that traveled from one side of the attic to the other.

  “I want you to hold onto that beam with your chin above it.”

  I stared at Crixis. “Why?”

  “Were you this mouthy to Raphael when he told you to do something?”

  “First, this isn’t me being mouthy. I can think up a dozen things more mouthy, but I chose not to say them. Second, Raphael never made me do stupid stuff.” I crossed my arms. Holding onto a beam, doing a permanent pull-up, was stupid. What was the point?

  Crixis leveled his stare with me. “You are stronger than the typical human your age, and probably stronger than most adults, too. You’ve been trained ever since you were a child about the various species of Demons and their weaknesses. You’ve learned how to wield weapons for years. Hand-to-hand combat was the first you learned—am I correct in assuming these things?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But you are trained for short fights.” Crixis moved closer, his voice lowering, “Have you ever been in a war, Kass? Have you ever taken a village? No, I don’t suppose you have. Such things take time. They are not an in-and-out sort of thing.”

  “I don’t plan on slaughtering a bunch of innocents any time soon,” I hissed. “That’s your department.”

  He sighed. “All right. Then remember that crypt a few years ago? The first time you saw my handsome face?”

  I rolled my eyes. Someone’s ego was as large as his murder count. But of course I remembered. It was a day I’d never forget—and the beating that put me in a coma. A broken rib, skin so bruised I was mostly purple. That wasn’t too fun. I didn’t like reliving that day.

  “You came up from a nest of—what do you call them? Nightwalkers. You were tired. You carried your boyfriend on your shoulders because he was too weak to walk on his own.”

  “Gabriel is not my boyfriend,” I said pointedly, sick and tired of it. I might have weird feelings for him, but that did not make him my boyfriend.

  “Semantics.”

  “It is not semantics!”

  “Pure semantics.” Crixis wasn’t having any of my argument, for he rose his voice over mine, “Anyway, before your uncouth interruption, I was bringing up perhaps the longest fight you’ve ever had. By the time the Nightwalkers were taken care of, and you started to hobble out, you were tired. So was your boyfriend.”

  I practically foamed at the mouth as I dug my fingernails into my arms to keep from lunging at him.

  “It made you an easy target. I admit, I did have a bit of fun. The face you make when you’re in pain makes me feel all powerful inside.” He grinned. “You did your best, sure, but if it hadn’t been me, if it had been something else up there, I doubt you would’ve defeated it, either. You would’ve died right there, though you might not have stayed dead. After a fight is when you are at your weakest.”

  I could, despite my hatred for the monster, see his point. “What does this have to do with hanging onto a beam?”

  In the yellow attic light, his teeth were shadowed as he smiled yet again. “You’ll find that out soon enough, I think.” Crixis pointed to the same beam. “The sooner we start, the sooner your training can begin.”

  Cracking my knuckles, I positioned myself beneath the beam and leapt for it. The attic was a full-sized attic; it would’ve made for a good extra room, if it was finished. The beam sat eight feet off the attic floor. My fingers gripped the top of the wood, and as I tightened my muscles and started lifting my chin above it, I saw Crixis shake his head.

  “No. Your arms on the outside.”

  Grumbling, I repositioned my arms so that they were not on the same side of the beam as my body, my wrists facing me. I lifted my chin atop the beam.

  “I want at least an inch between your chin and the wood.” Crixis watched until I was in the perfect position. Once he was satisfied, he flashed away, returning with a magazine. He plopped himself near me and started flipping through it.

  I waited a minute, glaring at him, before I muttered, “How long do I have to do this?”

  He didn’t even look at me. He was glued to the magazine with a photoshopped model on the front. “Until I say so.”

  And so I hung there.

  And then I hung there some more.

  And then even more.

  It was after ten minutes that I realized I probably should’ve peed beforehand. Who knew how long this was going to take.

  I lost track of time. Crixis was somewhere in the middle of the magazine when my hands started to hurt. My hands were rough; they didn’t hurt easily, but the pressure between them and the wooden beam, thanks to gravity, made them start to ache. I shifted my weight on my hands, trying to find a more comfortable position, and the moment I moved, I saw Crixis’s bright green eyes rise to me.

  “I don’t want that chin touching the wood,” he reminded me, as if I were trying to cheat.

  I returned to my first position, holding in a wince. My hands would have calluses after this, I was certain. Big, ugly, white calluses. Not that my hands were pretty. They weren’t. Hands that did as much as mine weren’t soft and feminine.

  After a while, I came to grasp the fact that my hands were the least of my worries. My arm muscles started to strain. They hurt, tingling up and down from my wrists to my shoulders. I didn’t think I’d ever held a position this long.

  Crixis neared the end of the magazine. Maybe that was his time limit. I had to be almost done, right?

  Wrong. Because when he turned the final page, he glanced to me, sighed, and then set the magazine on the wood floor. He laid down, stretching out his legs and folding his arms over his chest. He looked so much more comfortable than I felt. And he didn’t say to get down.

  I wanted to sock him in his smug face. I wanted to kick his butt. I wanted to let this stupid beam go.

  My muscles stopped hurting eventually—only because they grew to be numb. I could hardly tell I still held onto the beam. Was my chin an inch above the wood? Crixis’s eyes were closed, as if he were napping, and I couldn’t feel anything.

  This was torture. This was stupid. Ridiculous. How was this training? I thought I’d get to hit him.

  But, darn it, I was stubborn. I wanted to hold on until Crixis said I was done. He probably didn’t think I could hold on for long. He was testing me, right? That’s what this was. A dumb test.

  My will hardened. I was going to hold on. I was going to hold on until the end of the world, if it came to it.

  But, of course, it didn’t happen exactly like that, because soon enough my numb arms started to tremble. My muscles were at their breaking point. I didn’t know how long I’d held on, but I knew my time was up, whether Crixis wanted me down or not. It was my body’s reaction; I had no control over it.

  My fingers slipped, my arms gave out. I fell to the floor, my arms too tired to catch myself. My knees caught me, and before I could stand, I saw that Crixis quietly stood as well, grinning like a madman.

  “You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he remarked.

  I shot
him a death glare. “Were you ever going to tell me to stop?” God, my arms. My poor arms.

  His grin told me all I needed to know.

  “Jerk,” I whispered. I started to move to the attic stairs when his voice stopped me.

  “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here. That was only the beginning.”

  I spun to face him. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m not. I plan on riding you hard.” Crixis emphasized the final word a bit too much, and in spite of my best efforts, my dream rose to the forefront of my mind. I was kissing Gabriel, and then…

  And then it was him. It was gross. An abomination of nature.

  “You’re not riding me anywhere.” I sounded tougher than I felt. My arms were goo, though feeling was starting to creep back to them.

  “Come here,” he stated. “Show me your stance.”

  Biting my tongue, I stormed to his side, spreading my feet out into my usual fighting stance: feet shoulder-length apart, hands into fists (thumbs not inside the fists; I wasn’t a first-timer), and elbows cocked just a bit. My arms shook a bit, and I did my best to mask my weakness.

  Crixis studied me. His eyes, for once, did not linger in places they shouldn’t. “You lead with your right side.”

  “Well, aren’t you just a regular Einstein.”

  He chuckled. “Intelligence should tell you that you don’t want your enemy figuring out how you lead.”

  Ugh.

  “Put your right foot back so it’s the same with your left.”

  “But then when I do go to attack, it’ll take more time—”

  He nodded. “It will. But your enemy won’t be able to prepare as well, not knowing which way you will come in.” Crixis tilted his head. “You’re faster than you think. You’ll still have the upper-hand.”

  I held in a sigh and did as he said. It felt weird, like I wasn’t going to fight. When I came to train with him, I didn’t think he’d stoop to teaching me the basics, stuff I learned over ten years ago. It was the opposite way Koath had taught me; Raphael hadn’t ever instructed me on fighting stances.

  “Next up, your arms,” he told me.

  I couldn’t hold in that groan.

  “Do I sense backtalk from you?” he asked with a smile. He knew how tired my arms felt. Holding them up like this wasn’t my idea of fun. When I didn’t move my right arm, he reached out, his hand gripping my fist, and lowered it himself.

  His hands were rougher than mine. His hands had also done a lot of things mine never would, like kill Koath.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said, sending him a deep frown.

  Crixis withdrew his hand. “You are feisty, aren’t you?”

  “Feisty isn’t the half of it,” I hissed.

  Laughing at me, Crixis opened his arms, welcoming me. “Then come. Show me what you have.”

  I didn’t need a second invitation.

  I made the mistake of going after him with my left—just to prove to him that I didn’t always lead with my right—and my punch to his gut nearly bounced right off him. Could have been because his body was hard and solid like steel, or it could’ve been because my fists had no power behind them after holding onto that beam for so long.

  He doubled-over, not because of my punch, but because he was too busy laughing at me. “That was an amusing attempt. My turn.” Before I could yell at him, his hand connected with my stomach.

  I felt the blow instantly, stumbling back a few feet until my spine hit a vertical support. Ouch. “This isn’t fair,” I muttered, struggling to get into stance again when he motioned for me to return to him.

  “You of all people should know life isn’t fair.” Crixis waited until I was ready before stating, “Again.”

  We went at it again. And again. And again, and again, and again.

  It got to the point where I whined, “This is stupid. All you’re doing is beating me. My arms are too tired.” I didn’t think I’d landed a single blow to him that felt more like an assault instead of a gentle pat on his stomach or chest. I was covered in bruises. Not exactly how I thought this training session would go.

  “That is the point.” Crixis paused, waiting for me to get into position, yet again, before adding, “Do you truly not see what I’m trying to do? Were Raphael’s lessons always that straight-forward?”

  I shrugged. It was difficult to even do that. “We mostly fought with weapons and read whatever book he told us to.” As I described our sessions, I could see Crixis shake his head in disgust.

  “Of course he did. My old friend was never the creative one.”

  “I don’t think he considers himself your friend.”

  Crixis swiped his leg beneath my ankles, sending me to the floor. “You don’t know Raphael like you think you do.”

  “I know that he was the first Purifier, made from pure magic from a Witch. That you turned the woman he loved, and that she turned him. You made him hate himself, and he hated you for it.”

  He didn’t deny any of it.

  After another bout of a failed assault, I asked, “Do you know where Raphael went?”

  Raphael. It felt like forever since our last training session. Always butting heads, we didn’t exactly get along, but I knew I could count on him. I knew I could trust him, even though he kept his origins, and the fact that he was a Daywalker, a secret. And then he just up and left after the big fight, like it was over. Like no other evil could ever compare to Sephira. As if he did his job.

  I kind of missed him, even though Crixis tried turning me against him.

  “No. But I do know why he left.”

  “Then tell me.” Tell me why he left without saying goodbye, without so much as a warning.

  Crixis waited a moment; he didn’t go in for another attack, even though I’d just failed another punch to his gut. He said quietly, “It was Gabriel.” Gabriel. Not your boyfriend.

  “What do you mean it was Gabriel?” I felt my arms lowering somewhat.

  “Gabriel told Raphael to leave. Raphael had no choice but to go.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “It’s no secret he did not like Raphael. He did not like your relationship with him.”

  I blinked. Gabriel told Raphael to leave because—because he was jealous? The blonde had no reason to be jealous of anyone. He should know by now that I—that there were no boys, men, or Demons that I was interested in. He was so stupid.

  It took me a while to find my voice. “It’s not like he forced him to—”

  “He did. Have you looked at that book I gave you?”

  I shook my head. “No. And I don’t want to.” Because I already knew, but I wanted to live in denial for as long as I could.

  “You should. Gabriel is—” He recoiled when I hit him in the stomach. This time, it was a hard punch. A good punch. A punch that would’ve knocked a regular human civilian off his feet. My arms were a bit more like jelly afterwards, but it was worth it.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I said.

  Crixis wasn’t happy with my sneak attack. In a flash, he had me pinned against the vertical support beam, baring sharpened teeth. “Then you are a fool. Your boyfriend is capable of things even I cannot do.”

  “He is better than you.”

  “Because he has you,” he muttered, pushing off of me.

  He was better because he had me. No. I was better because I had him. Without him, I was nothing. I was lost. I was a ball of emotions, which led me to make questionable decisions, which led me here, to this training session and this particular conversation.

  But if Gabriel was better because he had me, he shouldn’t have butt-in where he didn’t belong. He shouldn’t have told Raphael to go. Gabriel—my Gabriel—wasn’t the Devil.

  Denial had never tasted so bitter.

  Chapter Fifteen – Crixis

  She clearly didn’t understand what I was attempting to do. She didn’t get it, even though I practically spelled it out for her. If she couldn’t fight wh
en she was exhausted and weak, she was no warrior. She was just an opportunist. Until the time when she could push through her weary muscles and fight me as she should be able to, I wouldn’t be satisfied. Raphael had coddled her. It was truly a wonder they ever managed to thwart me.

  Bringing Raphael up was something I probably shouldn’t have done, for it led us to discuss her inevitable lover, Gabriel.

  That blasted boy and his blasted old soul.

  I told her that he was better because he had her, which wasn’t a lie. There was something about Kass that just felt righteous and pure, even if she was a royal pain with her attitude. Maybe that was why I went after her for so long—I didn’t understand what she was, and I was intrigued. Obsessed, some might call it. Kassandra Niles embodied everything that I hated, everything that I ran from. She embodied it, and she personified it. I couldn’t bring myself to finish her off all those years ago in that crypt. Maybe I should’ve. Maybe I should’ve killed her and that boy, just to be rid of them.

  But even then, Gabriel wasn’t human. His powers were dormant.

  Truth. Virtue. Justice. All were things I shed when I committed myself to revenge against my maker, my killer, Sephira.

  I had a life, a purpose and a family. I had all that a man could want. And then it was ripped from me, taken and torn from my grasp by that Demon and her golden army. When I committed myself, I forgot what regret felt like. I didn’t feel guilt again. I couldn’t. Such feelings would only get in my way.

  And then I stumbled across her. During all this time, while I toyed with her, she had somehow wormed her way inside me, like a virus. I started to feel. Bored, tired, regretful. Killing that man, her father, was a foolish attempt to return to my old ways. Unlike the me of centuries ago, I did not feel better after tearing his throat out.

  I felt empty.

  That wasn’t to say that I didn’t daydream of murder or debate it every now and then. I hadn’t changed that much.

  As I realized that I’d been standing still for too long, Kass’s voice broke through my thoughts: “I saw what he was, in a world where you killed me. It was chaos. Like the apocalypse.”