Empath Reborn

by J. A. Culican

  More...

  When he pulls away from my neck, I lunge at his face with mine instinctively, but then something happens. I can't kiss him. Why can't I...

  Something holds me back. I feel a moment of total confusion, like the world around me is surreal, or rather, unreal.

  More...

  Some small part of my confused brain hanging around in the background whispers the problem to me through the carnal haze swamping my mind, and I realize Talon is pushing me away by my shoulders.

  I clench my knees on his hips so he won’t be able to dislodge me if he tries. Then, I twist my upper body so that his hands slip off my shoulders, freeing me to dive for him again, hungry for more and more and all of him. I need him. For what, I’m afraid to admit to myself. My body knows what to do, though, and I swoop toward his face with mine like a hawk diving at a field mouse.

  I need more...

  He pushes me away again, hard, tossing me off of him and back onto the passenger seat. Painfully. He fumbles at the car door with one hand while holding the other out at me, hand bent upward, his palm facing me. I weave back and forth, a cat looking for the best way to pounce on its prey.

  He gets the car door to open, dammit, then practically falls out backward in his scramble to distance himself from me.

  I shout at him, red-faced, “What the hell!” For a second, I think surely something must be wrong with him, but his flushed face and heavy breathing do nothing to soften his eyes, hard as steel, as they look into mine.

  "I'm sorry, I—"

  "Hell no. You're sorry?" I yell, my voice rising both in volume and pitch.

  He doesn't want me. I'm such an idiot. What was I thinking? Oh, right, I wasn't thinking at all. I was feeling. I should know better than that by now. He looks away, and my frustration and embarrassment are replaced by a much safer emotion: seething anger.

  “You can't even look at me now, you bastard.” I imagine punching him in the nose, feel it breaking in my mind, and envision the coppery smell of his blood as his nose crunches.

  "Look," he says, "I just can't, okay? Not like this, not without thinking about the consequences. Not... Not now." His jaw muscles stand out, knotted from clenching so hard.

  I hope he cracks a tooth.

  "You have to think about it? Think about what we’re doing? Are you serious? No damn way. This is not happening. Not thinking about what I’m doing was the whole damn point. I need you, Talon," I say, and I can hear the pleading in my own voice. It makes my stomach sour.

  "Oh, Ela, please, don't crack on me. It's just that—"

  "Great, now I'm weak on top of being disgusting? Keep digging your hole deeper, jerkface.” I wonder if I could hit him hard enough to crack his cheekbone.

  "You aren’t weak at all and you know it.”

  “But the ‘disgusting’ part, that’s right on target, is that it?”

  “No! Shut up, dammit, and let me talk. As I was saying, it’s just that we must be cautious. We have to move more carefully, whatever we may or may not end up doing at some point down the road. Far down it. With so much at stake, we can’t rush into anything without considering all the angles. Do you get what I’m trying to tell you?”

  I break eye contact and turn to look out the window. I don’t even want to see him right now, but sadly, he gets back in and the SUV starts back up just fine. As we pull back onto the road, though, the silence is deafening. I almost want to talk just to break that terrible quiet, but I have nothing to say and he's said too much already.

  I have to stop my hand mid-swing as I try to punch out the window. I envision smashing up the SUV he rented with a tire iron, or something. Anything! I have to let this feeling out somehow. I don’t have a word for what I'm feeling. Hurt and angry don't cover it, not at all. Poisoned would be a better description for what I feel right now. The emotions I felt, in that moment when I climbed on top of him, were so raw and powerful that they even eclipsed my feelings for Luka. In that moment, all the problems of the world had vanished, if only for an instant.

  Instead of reciprocating, he rejected me. This fantasy is all in my head. Talon has no feelings for me, and I’m stupid to think he could feel the same. How could he? He’s a prince and I’m an outsider. And now, to top it off, I've let Luka down. Caught up in the moment, I just replaced my first love with the first royal family member to walk by. The same royal family member who pulled over onto the shoulder. And he hadn’t even wooed me. No candles, no music, no satin sheets. No dignity. No self-respect. The fact that the moment was perfect now makes me feel even worse, from feeling that intoxicating high followed by this toxic low.

  The worst part of it all, I think, is that I don't hate Talon. I really want to hate him. I do feel hurt, angry, and humiliated—but not hatred. What I felt in that moment, before he rejected me, was so strong and so powerful that even this abysmal low hasn’t put a dent in my feelings for him.

  By the time we pull up to the hotel, I still haven't looked anywhere but out my side window, but at least my eyes are all out of tears. I know that won't last long, though; they’ll refill and I’ll be at it again. For how long, I don’t know, but right now, it seems like it’ll never end. I'm glad there's a whole pint of room service ice cream with my name on it, because that's what women do in the movies when they're hurt and want to feel better.

  As I open my car door to walk away without saying a word, I have little to look forward to but a long and lonely night. I hope the movies are right about ice cream.

  Chapter Three

  I wake up early, rising with the dawning sun for no particular reason. The instant my eyes open, I remember my little scene with Talon yesterday and groan. Today is going to be one terrible day, I can already tell. I don't need a psychiatrist to explain my attitude, but simply knowing it's a self-defense mechanism does nothing to alleviate it.

  Climbing out of bed, I stomp my feet on the floor, rip off my nightgown and undergarments, and spike them onto the bed with a snarl. I don't know if this luxury hotel's soundproofing was designed for the level of stompiness I have as I storm to the bathroom for my morning shower. I run it as hot as my temper, which is somehow kind of soothing.

  When I come out of the bathroom, some part of me, which I pretend is a secret even to myself, expects and hopes that Talon will be there as usual. Not for the new outfit or little gifts he always brings, but because it would show he still cares.

  Opening the door, though, I see nothing. No clothes hanging up by the door, no Talon sitting on my bed.

  Well, good. I don't want his clothes, anyway, and I'm glad he took the hint and didn't show up this morning. I don't even want him around. Then I remember that today is just another day, business as usual, and I'm going to have to deal with the jerk at some point during my midmorning training session with Glenn and Ida if nothing else.

  Ha, maybe Talon won't show up and I’ll just work with the other two. I don't even know why Talon shows up, anyway. It's not like he actually does anything but boss us around, telling us what to do as if he even knows. I wonder if he even remembers what it's like to actually have magic, so what makes him qualified to tell me what to do, anyway?

  I'm running through unlikely scenarios in my head, most ending with his humiliation or at least a good wound, but I'm getting angrier, not calmer. I put my hands on my hips and take in a long, deep breath, then let it out slowly. When I finish counting to ten very, very slowly, I'm still angry, still hurt, but I feel more in control of myself. I hope my relative calm lasts when Talon comes knocking on the door to begin the day's training. Or, maybe I just hope I get an excuse to smack him.

  No, no I don't. Hitting people I care about because I'm mad at them is not something I would actually do, but I get a malicious glee from thinking about it.

  When the thought pops up wondering if that makes me a bad person, I don't just stuff it into the little “bad stuff” box inside of me to forget about it, I crumple it up and fling it out the window as hard as I can. Metaphori
cally speaking, of course.

  I'm going to be in training today, anyway, so I don't bother to dress nicely. I throw on a clean pair of sweats, dark gray like my mood, and lace up my Jordans. I stare at the shoes like I have laser beams coming out of my eyes, because Talon gave me those shoes. If I had anything else to wear besides dress shoes, I would.

  The rest of my morning is spent getting my makeup perfect. Just because I don’t want him to think I dressed up for him doesn’t mean I don’t want to show him what he’s missing. I followed instructions from a girl on YouTube about blending the makeup to bring out my best facial features, and it hardly looks like I'm wearing any makeup at all. The girl in the video does it better than I do, but after an hour of putting it on, taking it off, and reapplying it, I think it looks as close to perfect as I’ll ever get. When I finish, I look gorgeous, if I do say so myself.

  My room service takes longer than usual to arrive, which only aggravates me more. Knowing it's late because I ordered at the busiest time of the morning does little to help. At least it's hot when it arrives—buttermilk pancakes and strawberries, whipped cream, warm chocolate sauce and butter… the works. And eggs over-easy, of course. I put the first egg into my mouth, trying not to tear the yolk sac on the way, and its savory, peppery goodness floods my taste buds. When I bite down, adding the yolk's flavor, I'm practically in heaven. The rest of the meal is just as delicious.

  Breakfast is a nice distraction, and I don't even think of Talon at all, right up until my last bite of pancake. It got colder than I like, just like Talon. Dammit, now I'm thinking of him again.

  Someone knocks on my door. For half a second, I perk up, happy to finally get to see Talon again like I do every morning. Then, reality crashes down and I remember the rest of it.

  I head to the door, grumbling under my breath. I don't even know what I’ll say, but I'm sure it isn't pleasant. I reach for the doorknob, hoping it's anyone but Talon, and yank the door open hard as I get ready to deal with the one person I least want to see.

  Only, it isn't Talon. It’s Glenn. For a moment, I feel disappointed. For a longer moment, I'm mad at myself for being disappointed. "Good morning, Glenn. What is it?" I'm really trying to be polite. I don't think I succeeded.

  Glenn frowns, confirming my lack of manners. "Geez, sorry for breathing. Talon is running errands, and he asked me to come get you for today's training. I asked if we could cancel it, because Ida and I didn't get back home from the Gypsy camp until, like, well after two in the morning, but he snapped at me and told me not to be lazy. I guess he's in as good a mood as you are, huh?"

  I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I think I see a bit of a smirk flash across his face, and I change the subject quickly. "You should totally be able to take the day off for that. I mean, we were there on official business, not to go sightseeing. Sorry I snapped at you.”

  "Aw, it’s okay," he says, and leans against the doorframe. "Why so snappy? You look great, by the way."

  "Thanks," I reply, and I mean it. Being noticed is a fairly new experience for me, and I’m far from tired of it yet. "I didn't sleep well last night, so I'm as exhausted as you. More sleep sounds wonderful. Maybe you should just go home and leave me here, and we can both get some sleep. There isn't much he could do about it. Let him yell at us both tomorrow."

  I imagine the look on Talon’s face when he realizes Ida is the only one showing up for training today. My mood improves immediately.

  Glenn laughs, then pauses. "Oh, you were serious. While I love the idea, being a Wraith isn't at-will employment. It's a cause and a calling, so we need to train even when we don't want to. Or especially when we don't want to."

  I feel my lips twitch. "You're right," I lie, since I’m not yet a Wraith. "I guess we should get going, then. We wouldn't want to keep the little prince waiting, now would we?"

  His eyebrow twitches and he shoots me a glance as he turns toward the elevator. Then, he says over his shoulder, "Come on. It'll do you good to get in the ring and let off some steam. At least, a good workout always makes me feel better."

  I huff and sigh, but even as I tell myself I'm not going with him today, I feel my feet moving forward. I see the elevator getting closer. When the elevator doors close behind me, I curse myself for getting in. I want to stay home, to get more sleep, and especially, to avoid seeing Jerkface. But then, why didn't I?

  My traitorous mind hits me with the fleeting thought: that I'm going to training today because I want to see Talon more than I want to never see him again. Dammit.

  ***

  When we get to the gym where we hold both our sparring practices and Talon's attempts to help me get better at draining people's energy, Glenn opens the door for me. Practice, always practice. I can’t say I like it, but Talon says that if I get good enough, I'll be able to take away someone’s magic and might even be able to add it to my own abilities, at least for a while. I had thought him crazy when he said I'd be able to drain their energy, but as it turned out, he was right. He could be right about using their magic, too. So, even though I successfully figured out how to take energy, I don't expect him to let up on training until I can use what I take.

  As I walk inside, I practically hear his voice in my head saying, "That's great, Ela, but you can't rest on your laurels. All you did was make progress. What do you want, a gold star? Maybe I'll buy you one when you've done something more impressive than making Glenn tired. He’s always tired."

  Yeah, Talon’s "leadership style" leaves a lot to be desired.

  The sparring ring is in the back, all the way across the gym. Ida is in the ring, using her teeth to rip off the Velcro holding her gloves on, while nearby, Talon is setting his gloves next to his water bottle. They both look up as we enter, and Ida waves. Talon just looks back down at his gloves, then takes a swig of water. He’s pointedly ignoring our arrival.

  Glenn glances back and forth between Talon and me, but he smiles at Ida and says, "Good morning. You ready for this? Oh, and don't let me forget, I need to talk to you about something when we get a break."

  Ida nods at him, and then she brings me her gloves. "Talon told me that Glenn and I don't need gloves anymore."

  "You sure? Why would he think that?"

  Ida shrugs. “He doesn't think we could hurt you now, even if we tried. But you still gotta wear them, though. I guess that means you can hurt us,” she says, then purses her lips. Maybe she’s not as convinced of my invulnerability as Talon is.

  I look at Talon pointedly, but apparently, adjusting the straps on his gloves is more interesting than the conversation. Fine, whatever. I don't want to be there today, anyway. At least if he's not talking to me, then at least it'll be an easy day. I'm tired, and if he won't talk to me, then he won't yell at me for slacking off. So, that's a bonus.

  Strapping my gloves on, I climb into the ring through the ropes and let off a few practice swings to warm up. I probably should change my outfit, but I don't feel like going all the way to the locker room to change into shorts and tank top. I won't be working out hard enough to break a sweat, anyway, since they’ll struggle to even keep up their guard after I suck half their energy from them.

  I tap my gloves together and look to Ida and Glenn with a grin. "I don't feel one-hundred percent today, but let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

  One sidelong glance at Talon tells me that he isn’t paying any attention to the ring or to me. He's busy looking at some kind of paperwork instead. Well, fine. I’m okay with that. I don't even want his gaze—or any other part of him—to touch me ever again, if I can avoid it.After warm-ups, Glenn and I step into the ring with foam-rubber practice knives. After a couple minutes, Talon finally deigns to watch us, but only so he can have the pleasure of calling out our mistakes. I hate that. This is full-contact sparring, so we have protective gear on. Pads over our shoulders, upper and lower arms, legs, the works. They light up when the dummy knives touch them, so everyone can see our mistakes and learn from them. That's th
e idea, anyway. Talon prefers to make absolutely certain that I know when I’ve been stabbed or slashed by announcing each move as we spar. Even when I score hits, he offers his “helpful tips” because “there’s always room to improve.”

  Talon leaving would be a fantastic improvement...

  Glenn circles to my left, pressing my weaker side, drawing my attention away from Talon and my thoughts and back into the moment. I circle away from him, and we move slowly in a circle of death. Or, it would be deadly if the weapons were real, which is why we don't practice with the real ones.

  One thing I've learned from both Luka’s and Talon's training is that, even when you win a knife fight, they often end with both people dead or seriously messed up. Even the so-called "winner." I've been lucky so far. Talon is quick to point out every chance he gets that it’s luck, not skill. “There’s not enough skill in the world to stop a knife,” he tells me so often that I can hear his stupid voice ringing in my head every time I get “cut.”

  At the moment, though, I’m focusing on staying away from Glenn’s offhand knife just as much as his main weapon. Like me, he fights with two knives, but where mine are both the same length, his pair has one that's more like a shortsword, while the other is shorter than my long knives.

  I learned early on that his smaller knife is not just for parrying; he's lethal with his combos, using the small one to dart in and score cuts. In a real fight, getting cut even a little will distract a person for half a second because the impulses to the brain are too much to process at once. It overloads the wiring in our nervous system. That tiny delay has been just long enough for him to get in a killing strike with his primary knife many times.