6 Deranged Pyscho #3
When we go after targets, I’m not gentle.
I don’t waste time on drawn-out fights. I don’t give second chances.
My hits are precise, brutal, meant to drop someone before they can touch their weapon.
I can feel the difference. My movements are sharper.
I can feel the power that flows through my muscles.
I can hear every correction and note Tex had ever given me, and it brings me comfort.
Jace gives me space, but I catch him watching me. Not with judgement, but like he’s cataloging my every move to break down and analyze. Like if he understands every movement, he’ll be able to see into my brain and read every thought.
The mats of the training hall smell of sweat and disinfectant. The air is warm, and the only sounds are of fists hitting pads and the occasional grunt from other pairs sparring nearby.
Noah circles me, his expression unreadable. I keep my guard up, eyes locked on his shoulders, waiting for the twitch that’ll give away his next strike.
“You’ve been pushing too hard,” his words make their way between breaths.
I don’t respond, I wait. I keep my focus.
His jab comes fast, but I sidestep and hook toward his ribs. He catches it on his forearm, pushes me back.
“I’m serious, Iz.”
“I’m fine.” I lunge again. Fast, aggressive, forcing him back toward the wall. My gloves thump against his guard, and when he drops low to sweep my legs, I jump back just in time.
“You’re anything but fine.” He snaps, surprising me enough that his next punch tags my shoulder.
“You’re being reckless.”
Rage flares inside me. Reckless. Like I’m not in control. Like I’m not making a choice.
“I know what I’m doing.” I bite out, feinting left and catching him with a clean right hook on the side.
He staggers half a step, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Do you?”
My chest tightens, but I push past it, aiming a high kick at his temple. He blocks it with both arms, the impact reverberating through us both.
“Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself.”
“And what happens when you can’t?” He grabs my arm mid-punch, twists, and I’m suddenly on the mat, staring up at the ceiling lights.
He doesn’t pin me, just steps back, breathing hard.
“You’re scrappy but you’re still new to this world.
You’re not the only one who lost him, Iz.
We all did. If you keep this up, you’re going to get yourself killed before you even get to Daniel. ”
For a moment, all I hear is my own heartbeat in my ears.
I push myself up, meeting his gaze, “If I die, I’ll take Daniel with me.”
The words hang between us, sharp and heavy. Noah’s jaw flexes but he doesn’t push. He just shakes his head and starts peeling the tape off his fists, and walks away. Leaving me kneeling on the mat with the echo of my own voice in my head.
I’m still on the mat when I hear footsteps behind me, heavier, slower.
“You’re done for the day.” Jace’s voice is calm. But with that edge under it that means he’s not asking.
He offers me his hand, helping me up.
“I’m not done.”
“You are.” He says, stepping closer until I have to tilt my chin to meet his gaze. His black long sleeves pushed to the elbow, and there’s sweat dampening the hair at his temples from sparring.
“Don’t start with me, Jace.” I smooth the wraps around my hands and head around him to a bag, but he’s there in two strides, catching my arm.
“I’ve been letting you take the time you need. But I’m pushing back now.” His eyes are locked on mine.
“Letting me? Pushing back?” I blink at him and scoff. “You don’t know what I need. I don’t need anyone.”
I lift my chin.
“Well, too fucking bad, because now you've got me. You may not have chosen me, Isobel, but I’m all in. And I take care of what's mine. That means I'm not just going to stand on the sidelines and watch you tear yourself apart. Or worse, do something stupid that gets you killed.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I do,” he steps closer until his chest brushes mine. “I understand losing someone and wanting blood for it. I understand wanting to be the one to end the bastard who took them from you. But I’m not letting you burn yourself out before we get there.”
Something in me flares, part rage, part hurt, part dangerous warmth that comes whenever he’s this close. “You think I can’t handle it?”
His mouth curves, but it’s not a smile. “I think you don’t have to handle it alone.” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then back up, deep and unyielding. “So stop trying to push me away, Isobel. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words settle heavy in my chest, like an anchor and a challenge all at once. I swallow hard, trying to hold his gaze and failing when something inside me twists.
“You’re such an ass.”
“So are you,” he murmurs, releasing my arm but not stepping back, “but it means you’re still in there.”
His hand comes up, fingers warm against my jaw, thumb brushing slowly over my cheekbone.
It’s not forceful, just there. His touch makes my chest loosen.
Before I let it register, let it reach my heart in a way I’m not ready for yet, I knee him in the groin and he goes down. I look down over him and smile.
“Oh I’m still in here, Ravencourt, you probably shouldn’t forget it and let your guard down like that.” Even through the pain he smiles then coughs, hands braced against his own chest, trying to hold in the agony. Then he nods.
“Duly noted, Ashthorne.”