Page 121 of Demon Touched

Syrus glances at me, surprised. “I thought you’d be done with training now. You’re already very capable with your magic, and you don’t have the fledgling trials hanging over your head anymore.”

I raise my eyebrows, surprised too. “There’s more against us now than ever. I want to be prepared. Surely, that’s the smartest thing?”

His jaw tightens, like he disagrees. It irritates me.

“What’s the problem?” I demand.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Think about it, Leah. The more powerful you get, the more likely you are to become the subject of the prophecy. When you were risking your life in the trials, honing every weapon you had was a reasonable risk to take. But now there’s less immediate danger⁠—”

“Are we really doing this again?” I gape at him. “Syrus, I thought you were done letting your fear of the prophecy rule you. It’s ridiculous!”

I can see it’s hard for him to let go of the idea that he’s built so many decisions on, but he doesn’t immediately argue. He twists his head away from me with a frustrated grumble, staring out over the streets of the city.

“All right,” he relents. “We can train, if that’s what you want.”

Which is how we find ourselves in an empty room of the assemblyman’s residence, exchanging volleys of shadow. It’s a long, spacious hall, probably only used for the occasional big dinner reception. The furniture is all pushed over to one side and covered in dust sheets, leaving plenty of space for Syrus and me to circle each other.

He’s clearly still in a bad mood, because he pushes me hard. I don’t mind. The intensity of his attacks just makes for a better challenge, as I dodge one tendril, cutting it off with a swipe of my lightning-imbued sword, and try to block another with my own plume of darkness.

“You’re cheating,” he says, red eyes flashing. “If you want to get better with your demonic powers, you can’t fall back on your other magic.”

Syrus’s shadows swallow up my own, then proceed to wrap around my arm and yank it behind my back, forcing me to bend over.

“Kind of rich coming from a guy who relies on someone else’s runes for his magic, don’t you think?” I grunt.

He steps closer, leaning in so his lips almost brush my ear. “Maybe focus less on smart comebacks and more on smart fighting,” he murmurs. “Besides, what if someone in the house were to see? How are you going to explain a demon conjuring lightning?”

I huff but concentrate on drawing another stream of shadow from my palm, putting my energy into peeling his shadow off my arm and twisting myself free.

“Good,” he says as his shadow dissipates into a wisp of mist.

Ultimately, I know I’ll never beat Syrus at this game. He’s just too damn strong. But I have a trick up my sleeve.

He puts distance between us again before he flings his next set of shadows at me. I dodge the dark streams, then return with a few of my own—smaller, weaker, and slower than his, but that doesn’t matter if I can slow down my target too.

I push the prickling demon magic outward, toward Syrus’s feet. His legs jerk for a moment, and he stumbles. One of my shadows clips his shoulder, snagging on it and almost unbalancing him. His eyes widen, though he quickly counters, ripping my shadow apart with one of his own.

“That—did you—” He searches for the words.

I smirk. “You told me to use my demon powers.” He shakes his head, and I shrug. “You knew I could do that. I told you about it when I was sparring with Rowan.”

“Yes, but seeing it in action is something else,” he replies, his face shifting from bemused to determined. “Try it again.”

He draws his sword, and I’m happy to obey. I’ve only done this a few times, and I want to test its limits. As Syrus swings his blade, I focus on his hands, and for a second, his arms stutter, frozen in place just long enough to turn the elegant swing clumsy.

It’s a moment of control, nothing more. Syrus asks if I can hold it for longer, but I find it impossible.

“You shouldn’t be able to do it at all,” he comments, examining the hands and feet I briefly controlled. “Without a spell to provide an opening, demons can’t possess someone without permission.”

I tilt my head. “But I’m not a demon. So maybe the rules don’t apply to me.”

His forehead creases, and I wonder if he’s considering the implications—I didn’t just get some demon abilities from Syrus, but new abilities beyond them. If he’s worried about me becoming more powerful, then this will surely upset him.

But he says nothing, just returns to sparring with me, the ferocity of the fight growing every time I stick him in place for a second and throw him off his game.

And then, in one glorious, lucky moment, I get my opening. I lose my sword when his shadow disarms me, but I counterattack. Using my now free hand to double the force of my shadows, I stall his hand so my shadows snap around his sword, making it clatter against the floor.

Before he can conjure again, I launch myself at him, bringing him down to the wooden boards. It’s admittedly a flawed strategy—Syrus is much bigger and stronger than me, and he knows my hand-to-hand tricks already. Still, I take joy in briefly pinning him before he rolls us over and has me pressed against the floor with a growl of triumph.