Page 12 of A Wicked Dance of Obsidian and Light (Echoes of Darkness #1)

Grateful I can’t hear their voices anymore, I enter the first training room we use for boxing and sparring. Mattresses are scattered all around the floor, and the smell of fresh sweat tingles my nose. A few students are practicing their fighting skills with wooden swords on my right. They don’t pay me any attention as I make my way to the punching bags in the back of the room.

I’m already wearing my black training clothes and sneakers, so I don’t need to change. I choose the punching bag in the left corner and take a deep breath, cleansing my lungs while I start wrapping my hands with gauze. I slide off the hairband I always keep on my wrist and secure my braid. I hate it when hair gets in my face while I’m training.

Skipping the warm-up because I’m feeling too fired up to start slow, I think about the hope that filled every cell of my being when Noah left. He promised he would never forget me, and he did. I start throwing bitter punches in speedy jabs that hit the punching bag with loud thuds. Sweat gathers at my hairline and starts dripping on my face, a few droplets getting stuck in my eyelashes.

Every memory of him brings in more fury, and with it, my punches become more and more punishing. I wish he were here in front of me instead of the punching bag.

“You’re holding the dagger wrong.”

When I was released from the hospital and became a member of the Order, I kept mostly to myself. Everyone avoided me like I had a bad case of leprosy, and the only people who spoke to me were the professors, the fighting instructor, my aunt, and Grayson. I could hear all the other Order members whispering when I passed them in the hallways of the compound that I would never be good enough to become a hellseeker and learn everything I had to until the age of eighteen. How could I? My blood was tainted, after all. I was set on proving everyone wrong and avenging my mother’s death, so I trained every night at the compound, everybody else already having left hours before, until I exhausted myself and couldn’t stand anymore.

It was one of those nights I met Noah.

Particles of dust dance in the silver streaks of moonlight that shine through the open windows of the training room, illuminating the rubber floor and casting me in shadows. I’m practicing throwing knives at the dummies in the back of the room, already exhausted from a full day of school and demonology classes. On top of that, my body is covered in bruises, and my muscles are sore from all the times our fighting instructor, Ezekiel, threw me like a rag doll to the training mat. He kept telling me my posture was wrong, and if I didn’t fix it, I had no chance against a demon in the real world. Still, I didn’t give up and kept challenging him.

Everyone has already left, but despite how heavy and battered my body feels, I need to practice more. So here I am, at ten p.m., alone in the training room with all the lights turned off because I’m trying to simulate a real demon fight in the real world, as Ezekiel put it, throwing daggers at the dummy.

I have to prove to everyone, but most of all to myself, that they are all wrong, and I can do this. The only problem is that my aim is off, and for the life of me, I can’t manage to make any of the daggers stick where I want them to. I throw another, aiming it at the dummy’s head. It flies right by its left ear, getting stuck to the white wall behind it. Spiderweb cracks form at the impact.

“Fuck!” I let out a scream of frustration, throwing the rest of the daggers I’m holding to the floor.

“You’re holding the dagger wrong,” a deep voice booms loudly behind me.

I clutch my chest hard, right above my heart, and a squeaky, high-pitched sound leaves my mouth as I turn toward the disrupting voice.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” The young man grins at me from the doorway.

Holy shit!

Noah Pierce is talking to me. To me!

Noah, with the tall, drool-worthy body and panty-dropping smile.

And I’m making a fool of myself.

God, if you take requests, please smite me now!

“I didn’t know you were there,” I shoot back, my cheeks flaming a deep crimson.

He approaches me with long strides and drops to his haunches, picking up the daggers I threw to the floor in a rage. Oh God, I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s even more beautiful this close. Shaggy, honey-colored hair falls over gray-blue eyes that twinkle as he stands from the crouch, now holding all the daggers in his right hand. He’s standing so close to me that his sandalwood cologne makes me dizzy.

“May I?” he asks, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Um, sure…”

He keeps one dagger and goes over to the table at my left, where all the weapons are spread, placing the rest of the daggers on it. I move a few steps to my right, expecting him to get in my spot and show me how he does it. Instead, Noah takes me by surprise by coming behind me and placing his left hand on my hip. He then puts his right foot between mine and spreads them by a few inches.

“You need to widen your stance a bit and put more weight into your heels.” His hot breath rolls over the side of my face. It leaves a wake of shivers behind that travel from the back of my neck all the way down to my toes. After that, he places the dagger in my right hand. Our fingers touch briefly, and my heart seems to have stopped as fireworks take over my belly.

“Hold it how you normally would.”

I do.

The front of his body touches my back as he lifts my arm into the throwing position. I’m going to combust with every second that passes, with the feeling of him on my skin. He then curls his fingers around my hand and fumbles with my grip on the handle to correct my hold.

“This is what you need to change. Wrap your fingers around it a bit lower and loosen your grip. Relax. Take a deep breath, in and out, and close your eyes. Picture in your mind the exact spot where you want the dagger to hit.”

His deep voice surrounds me as I close my eyes and picture the space between the dummy’s eyebrows.

“Now open your eyes and throw. Don’t overthink it. Just do it,” he says confidently as he steps back.

The loss of his body heat at my back makes me sway with disappointment, but I quickly regain my balance and open my eyes, laser-focused on my target. I take another deep, cleansing breath and flick my wrist, sending the dagger flying at the dummy. It impales the rubber right in the spot I envisioned in my mind.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe that worked!” I squeal, and in the spur of the moment, before I can think my actions through, I turn and throw my arms around Noah’s neck.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my body a live wire of desire as realization kicks in. I’m hugging Noah! Me! HUGGING Noah! And he’s hugging me back. My head is nestled perfectly on his chest, and I can hear his heart beating loudly. Our bodies are melded together. I swear he shudders —almost like he’s as affected as I am by him— while I step back awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

His cheeks have a tint of red to them. “You’re welcome! I knew you had it in you,” his voice wavers slightly as he runs a hand through his hair.

After that night, he offered to train me, and every single day before his shift, he made it his personal mission to make me one of the best hunters in the Order. He was eighteen, two years older than me, and he had already started his hunting duty. I never complained while he put me through numerous tests, grueling exercises, and new fighting routines.

We became very good friends, and we spent a lot of time together. I even introduced him to Sam. My crush on him grew with every passing minute we spent together, but I was too shy to make the first move, and I couldn’t even remember if I had kissed a guy before or dated anyone. Every time he touched me, my heart would pound like crazy, and heat would take over my body as if I jumped in a furnace. I especially loved it when we trained together in body combat; the close contact always leaving me wanting more.

I could tell he liked those sessions, too. Whenever our bodies touched, his eyes changed color, transforming to burnished steel, but he never made a move or asked me out. I eventually let go of the idea when, out of nowhere, two weeks before I turned eighteen and finished my training, he surprised me by asking me out on a date.

I start kicking the punching bag with my legs, alternating roundhouse kicks with wide hooks and speedy jabs, as I remember the day we went out on our date—my first date. I’m drenched in sweat while bringing myself to the point of exhaustion, but I don’t care. I start tapping into the speed and force of a hellseeker as the memories keep assaulting my brain.

“Stop fretting! You will end up with raccoon eyes if you keep moving like that,” Sam scolds me as she applies eyeshadow to my closed eyelids. I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed while Sam is getting me ready for the date with Noah, all the contents of her makeup bag covering every inch of the polka-dot comforter.

I chew on a hangnail. “Sorry,” I say for the umpteenth time. “What if he tries to kiss me, Sam? I’ve never kissed anyone before—that I know of, at least. Oh God, what if we knock teeth awkwardly, or what if I get food stuck in my teeth and make a fool of myself?” I exasperate as every worst-case scenario plays in my head.

Sam pinches me hard on my left thigh.

“Ouch! What was that for?” I open my eyes and scowl at her.

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “For being so painfully oblivious! Have you not seen the way he looks at you? You could have a bloody tampon stuck in your teeth, and Noah would still French kiss the hell out of you! Now stop being annoying, and let me finish your makeup.” She angrily points the eyeshadow brush at me.

“Ewwww. Thanks for putting that image in my head.”

She pinches me again on my other thigh. “Shush! Or I’ll leave, and you’ll have to do your makeup all by yourself.”

“Fine,” I mumble and close my eyes, making an effort to stay as still as possible.

After what feels like an eternity but is more like an hour, I’m finally ready. The soft makeup look Sam did accentuates my eyes and makes them look cat-like. I wish I were as good as her at doing my own makeup. She also curled my hair in big fluffy waves that reach the middle of my back. After she leaves, I get dressed amidst whole-body jitters.

I bought a new periwinkle dress for the occasion. It has a sweetheart neckline, a flowy skirt that reaches just above the knees, puffy sleeves, and it cinches around my waist with a delicate belt. I feel beautiful and feminine in it. I even bought some short black heels that I have no idea how to walk in.

At seven p.m., not a minute later, a knock comes from the front door of my aunt’s house. I quickly come down the stairs, the skirt of my dress swishing around my thighs, and I almost faceplant from the heels. I quickly regain my balance and open the door with trembling fingers.

“Hey. Wow! You look beautiful!” Noah beams as his gaze roves over my body.

I flush at his appraisal. “Thank you!”

He looks ravishing in gray slacks and a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. He holds a big bouquet of white roses in his right hand, which he extends toward me. “These are for you,” Noah says, shifting nervously from one foot to another.

“Oh, they’re so beautiful!” I accept the bouquet, my cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson as I thank him. I go back into the house and put the flowers in a vase in my room, and then we leave for the restaurant.

We ride in Betsy, his red Toyota truck that has seen better days. I try my best not to freak out in the car, but I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack. Every second that passes constricts my lungs in a vice-like grip. Noah throws me a concerned look, his warm hand wrapping around mine, and the panic crawling in the back of my throat subsides. He only drops my hand when he has to shift gears; then he resumes holding it. He’s also driving really slowly, not seemingly fazed by the honks of angry drivers; he just ignores them and keeps smiling at me until we reach the restaurant.

Noah got us a table at the best Italian restaurant in Ashville: Ciprianni’s, in the Raven district. I have the shrimp and black truffle pasta, and he has the lasagna. At the end, we share a tiramisu, and he pays the bill, refusing my offer of splitting it. He also doesn’t pay any attention to the waitress, who blatantly flirts with him the entirety of our meal, even if she could tell we were on a date.

As I’m about to get out of his car at the end of the night, my hand on the door handle, Noah calls out my name softly. “Iris…”

The moment I turn around, he gently places his hand on my cheek, cradling it, closing in the distance between us. I must be having a heart attack. I can’t explain otherwise how my heart is beating so fast. It feels as though a hummingbird is trying to escape my chest. My palms start sweating.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers against my lips, his hot breath rolling over my face.

I nod, gulping hard. I’m frozen in place by the look in his eyes, like I’m the most precious thing he has ever laid his gaze upon.

When his lips touch mine, I forget how to breathe altogether. His full, plump lips taste like tiramisu. He starts licking softly at my lips, and I opened them slightly for him.

It’s weird at first, feeling his tongue in my mouth, but I start moving mine in tandem with his, and I whimper at the way the contact is sending pulses of need to my center. He groans, deepening the kiss, and we stay in the car, making out for what seems like forever. Disappointment floods me when he pulls back after a while. We are both breathing hard as he rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“God, you taste so good, and I want more, so much more. But we need to stop. I promised I would get you home by ten thirty, and we wouldn’t want your aunt to worry,” his voice is gruff, thickened by desire, his hot breath rolling over my parted lips.

After that night, something intervened with his family, and we couldn’t see each other for a few days, but we spoke on the phone every day. I was so in love with him that I couldn’t believe my fantasies had become true. For the first time in my life, the gaping hole in my chest was filled with happiness, and the loss of my memory didn’t hurt as much.

When we finally met again, he told me he had to move all the way to the Vatican; his parents were being sent on a special mission there indefinitely. He wanted to stay, but his parents wouldn’t take no for an answer. My world seemed to have collapsed at that moment, but he reassured me that we would still talk every day. Noah even booked a flight back to Ashville in a few months to come see me. At least, that’s what he claimed. Who knows if it was even true.

The day he left, I couldn’t stop crying. A week passed, and I never heard from him. Then, a week turned into four, and a month turned into six. I asked Grayson every chance I got if there was any news from Noah or his parents. He told me what they were doing was classified, and he couldn’t share that information with me. For a whole year, I cried myself to sleep, wishing he would send me a text, just one, telling me that he was still alive and that he missed me.

One day, I was at the compound, on my way to the library, when I passed Veronica, Tessa, and Britney going down the stairs. As always, I didn’t look at them, but I heard Veronica clearly telling them Noah had called her again the night before, and they talked for an hour. Again. For an hour . My heart shattered right down the middle, and my knees buckled while my right foot missed a step.

I had to use all my body strength in order to balance myself as my eyes filled with unshed tears. I refused to show weakness and cry in front of other people. I immediately went home, sobbed uncontrollably for a few hours, and from that day moving forward, I pretended Noah never existed in my life, and I even started dating sparingly.

When I moved to my new apartment, I found the picture of us in one of the boxes I used for my stuff. My aunt probably put it there without my knowledge. I immediately threw it in the trash, but after a few minutes of deliberation, I took it out and hung it on the wall alongside the other photos.

Snapping my eyes shut, I let out a frustrated cry because I can’t pause the assault of images that play like a broken record in my head, chipping more and more at my heart. I’m surprised there is anything left of the punching bag, honestly, with how much force I’m putting in every kick and punch I’m throwing. My braid is stuck to my drenched back, and rivulets of sweat trickle between my shoulder blades and on my face, but I can’t stop.

“Ouch. I would hate to be that punching bag,” the voice that is still the same but deepened by the passing years says from behind me with amusement.

I start a fire round of body shots on the bag, ignoring Noah.

“C’mon, Iris, please, stop ignoring me! Can you give me five minutes? That’s all I ask.” Regret and something else thickens the timbre of his voice, almost as if he truly is sorry .

Yeah, sure.

He’s a much better actor than I remember.

I snort a bitter laugh. “Not asking for much, are you? I imagine I am owed five years of ignoring you,” I grumble while I stop my series of body shots, the punching bag not doing it for me anymore. I stalk to the shelf on my right, stacked with clean towels, and pull one out to wipe away some of the sweat running down my face.

Turning around, I amble toward the other room where the training dummies are, with Noah hot on my heels. The room is empty, and I make a beeline for the weapons laid on a long table on the far-left side of it. Again, I act as if Noah isn’t even present as I grab a few daggers and start throwing them in rapid-fire motions. I flip one in the air, catch it by the tip, and throw it to the center of the forehead; I throw another to the heart and three more in the groin area, to make a point. I take out the daggers from the dummy and return to my spot, getting ready for another round.

Suddenly, a strong arm circles my waist from behind while Noah’s right hand covers my dagger-throwing one. I freeze. I can feel every inch of him as our bodies align perfectly together. Shit . I close my eyes, trying to still my rapid heart.

“Your throwing knife skills are perfect. You must have had a good teacher.” His lips almost touch my right ear as he speaks, his breath tickling the side of my neck, igniting a slow-burning fire in my belly.

Fuck.

I hate how affected I still am by his presence.

As I take a few deep breaths in, his scent envelops me completely, and I shake my head, trying to regain my composure. I can’t help but remember the other body pressed into my back just earlier today. I didn’t get any action for five years aside from some drunk, sloppy kisses from random guys I wasn’t even interested in, and that were either trying too hard or not at all. And now, not even twenty-four hours apart, I’ve had two erections digging in my ass.

Kaiden’s face flashes through my mind. It’s like someone threw a bucket of ice-cold water at my face.

What the fuck am I doing?

I turn around quickly, throwing the daggers to the floor and pushing hard at his chest with both hands. “Leave me alone, Noah! Can’t you tell I don’t want to speak or even see you in front of my eyes? You had your chance already. You had five fucking years to talk to me. But you completely ghosted me. So, tell me, why would I spare even five minutes of my time on you?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, ready to strike at any second.

“I know I don’t deserve your time. Trust me, no one knows that better than I do. I wanted nothing more than to talk to you all these years but couldn’t. At first, something happened, and then I wasn’t allowed to,” his tone is soft, coaxing as he comes closer again.

I take a step back but hold my ground. “Bullshit! I don’t care. I’m not the same na?ve girl who can be fooled by sweet fake talk anymore. I know I was just some girl you fooled around with. Were you still fucking Veronica when you asked me out on a date? Did you go out with me on a dare? See if you can make the half-blood freak fall in love with you? Were the two years we spent together as friends a joke to you? What the fuck was it, Noah?” I scream loudly, not caring if I make a scene anymore.

“Don’t you dare say those things about our date! That night was the best night of my life! And what the fuck are you talking about? I never spoke with anyone from Ashville in these five years, not even with Grayson. If you don’t believe me, go ask him yourself.” His anger matches my own, his eyes becoming smokey like when dark-gray clouds pull in, preparing for the incoming storm.

His temper is shorter now, that’s for sure. He never snapped or yelled at me before he left, even if I drove him crazy. A darkness seems to cling to his features now. As if what he went through in these five years changed the very essence of his soul. I can still see the remnants of the boy with a golden heart shining through the cracks, though.

“FUCK!” He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling hard at the strands as he looks up toward the ceiling, ruining the faux just-rolled-out-of-bed look. He then takes a deep breath in and sighs through his nose. His gaze locks with mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. Please. Can you meet me at our spot in the garden? I want to explain everything, but I don’t want to do it here,” he says more calmly, and the desperation in his voice dulls my anger.

“I can’t, I don’t have time. I have to shower, do the medical exam, grab some weapons from the armory, and get ready for my shift. I work tonight,” I reply, my voice scratchy from all the screaming.

“Please, Iris. Give me five minutes of your time. I’ve missed you so much,” he pleads again.

“I don’t know, Noah. You discarded me like I was yesterday’s trash. You let me fall in love with you, then you left and never looked back.” My voice trembles, and tears blur my vision with the admission of my heartbreak.

Stupid fucking feelings.

Noah closes the small distance between us and tries to hug me, but I don’t let him. I push at his arms and step back again, looking down as I swallow through the lump in my throat, trying to clear the tears in my eyes. When I lift my head, his gaze is filled with regret. Sadness slumps his shoulders as if he’s on the verge of giving up. Giving up on me.

“I’ll wait for you in the garden until ten tonight. If you don’t show up, I promise I’ll never bother you again. You’ll only hear from me for official reasons regarding your position in the Order, nothing more.” He clears his throat and turns around, leaving the room, not sparing me one more glance.