Learning to Fight

Learning to Fight
Iris POV

"Neither," I said, staring at the fifty weapons pointed at Alex.

"What?" Natasha's smile faded.

"I choose neither power nor love. I choose freedom."

"That's not an option."

"Then I'm making it one."

Before anyone could react, I grabbed Ian's hand and pushed our combined gift toward Natasha with everything we had.

She stumbled backward, surprised.

"How are you—" She tried to push back, but we were ready this time.

Ian and I had practiced connecting our minds. We knew how to combine our strength.

"Release them," I commanded, focusing on the collars around the prisoners' necks.

"You can't break my control!"

"Watch us."

Together, Ian and I pushed deeper. Not into Natasha's mind, but into the collars themselves. They were powered by her psychic energy. If we could disrupt that energy—

One collar sparked. Then another.

The prisoners started dropping their weapons, confusion on their faces.

"No!" Natasha screamed.

But it was too late. The collars shattered, freeing all fifty people at once.

They looked around, dazed but no longer under her control.

"What just happened?" one of them asked.

"You're free," I said simply.

Natasha's face twisted with rage. "You have no idea what you've done!"

"I freed innocent people you enslaved."

"I was protecting them! The other bloodlines are hunting everyone with gifts! I offered them safety!"

"By taking away their choice?"

"Choice is a luxury we can't afford!"

Alex stepped between us, gun still raised. "This conversation is over. Leave now, or I'll make you leave."

Natasha laughed bitterly. "You think you can stop me? I'm stronger than both of them combined."

"Maybe. But you're not stronger than all three of us plus fifty angry people you just enslaved."

The freed prisoners were picking up weapons now. Not pointing them at us. Pointing them at Natasha.

"You're making a mistake," she said, backing toward the hole in the wall. "When the real enemy comes, you'll wish you'd joined me."

"Who's the real enemy?" I demanded.

"You'll find out soon enough."

She disappeared into the smoke, leaving us with fifty confused, angry people and a mansion full of dead bodies.

"What do we do with them?" Ian asked, gesturing to the freed prisoners.

"We give them the choice Natasha didn't," I said. "Stay and help us fight, or leave and be safe."

Most of them left. Can't blame them. They'd been through enough.

But seven stayed. Seven gifted individuals who wanted revenge against Natasha and the bloodlines hunting them.

"Welcome to the war," Mom said grimly.

The next few hours were brutal. We cleaned up the dead. Tended the wounded. Tried to repair the mansion's defenses.

I was helping Elena bandage someone when Alex found me.

"We need to talk."

"Now?"

"Now."

He led me to a private room away from everyone else.

"What you did out there was reckless," he said.

"I saved fifty people."

"You could have gotten killed!"

"But I didn't."

"This time! Next time, you might not be so lucky!"

I stared at him. "Why are you so angry?"

"Because you keep putting yourself in danger! Because every time I turn around, you're doing something that could get you killed!"

"I'm fighting a war, Alex. That's what happens in wars."

"You're twenty-one years old! You should be in college, not fighting battles!"

"Well, I'm not in college anymore. I'm here. Fighting. Just like everyone else."

He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "I can't protect you if you keep running toward danger."

"Maybe I don't need you to protect me."

"You took a bullet tonight!"

"And you almost killed yourself using too much power! We're both taking risks!"

We glared at each other, both breathing hard.

"I can't lose you," he said finally, his voice quiet.

"Then teach me to fight better. Teach me to protect myself."

"What?"

"You heard me. If you're so worried about me getting hurt, teach me how to defend myself properly."

He looked at me for a long moment. "You're serious."

"Completely."

"Learning to fight takes time. Months. Years, even."

"Then we start now."

Something shifted in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or resignation.

"Fine. But you do exactly what I say. No arguments."

"Deal."

The next morning, Alex woke me up before dawn.

"Training starts now," he said. "Get dressed."

He took me to a makeshift firing range they'd set up in the basement. Targets lined one wall. Weapons covered a table.

"First rule of combat," Alex said. "Never trust anyone completely."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. I'm the one teaching you to kill people."

He picked up a handgun and showed me how to hold it properly.

"Two hands. Feet shoulder-width apart. Breathe steady."

His hands covered mine, adjusting my grip. Even through the seriousness of the lesson, I felt the electricity between us.

"Focus," he said, but his voice was rougher than before.

"I am focused."

"On the target. Not on me."

"Who says I was thinking about you?"

"Your heart rate just jumped. I can feel it."

Stupid psychic abilities.

"Just teach me to shoot."

For the next hour, he drilled me on basics. Stance. Breathing. Sight alignment. I missed the target every single time.

"I'm terrible at this," I said, frustrated.

"You're learning. That's different."

"I can't even hit the target!"

"Because you're thinking too much. Stop analyzing. Just feel."

"Feel what?"

"The gun. The target. The moment between breaths when everything goes still."

"That sounds like mystical nonsense."

"Try it anyway."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Let myself feel the weight of the gun. The stillness of the room. The quiet moment before the shot.

When I opened my eyes, the world seemed clearer. Sharper.

I pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the target's outer ring.

"Better," Alex said. "Again."

We practiced for another hour. Each shot got a little closer to center.

"You're a natural," Alex admitted.

"I'm really not."

"Yes, you are. Most people take weeks to hit the target consistently. You're doing it in hours."

"Maybe I'm just motivated not to die."

"Maybe."

We took a break, drinking water and sitting against the wall.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Depends what it is."

"Do you regret meeting me? Your life was probably easier before I crashed into it."

He looked at me seriously. "Easier? Yes. Better? No."

"How can danger and death be better?"

"Because before you, I was just going through motions. Running my father's empire. Making deals. Killing enemies. All of it felt empty."

"And now?"

"Now I have something to fight for besides power."

"What's that?"

"You."

The word hung between us, heavy with meaning.

"Alex—"

"I know all the reasons this is wrong. But when I thought that bullet had killed you, when I saw you bleeding, I realized something. I'd burn down the entire world to keep you safe."

"That's terrifying."

"I know. But it's true."

We sat in silence for a moment. Then Alex stood up.

"One more round. Show me what you've learned."

I picked up the gun and faced the target. Applied everything he'd taught me.

Breathed steady. Found the stillness. Pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit dead center.

"Perfect shot," Alex said, impressed.

"Beginner's luck."

"Try again."

I fired five more times. Every single bullet hit the center ring.

Alex's face went pale. "That's impossible."

"What?"

"Nobody shoots that accurately on their first day. Nobody."

"Maybe I'm just good at following instructions."

"No. This is something else." He walked over and examined the target. "These are professional-level groupings. You're shooting like someone with years of training."

"But I've never touched a gun before today."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

He looked at me strangely. "Unless it's not training. Unless it's your gift manifesting in a new way."

"What do you mean?"

"Some gifted people can tap into muscle memory that isn't theirs. They can access skills from other people's minds."

"So you're saying I'm stealing shooting skills from your brain?"

"Maybe. Or from someone else here. Or from every action movie you've ever watched. The mind is strange with these gifts."

I stared at the target. At the perfect bullet holes I'd somehow created.

"This is wrong," I whispered.

"Why?"

"Because I shouldn't be good at killing people. I'm supposed to be the normal one. The art history student who reads books and drinks coffee."

"You were that person. But that person couldn't survive this world."

"So what am I now?"

"Someone stronger. Someone dangerous. Someone who can protect herself and the people she loves."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist I was still just Iris, the normal girl.

But the evidence was right in front of me. Perfect shots. Natural instincts. Something inside me that knew how to hurt people.

"I'm scared," I admitted.

"Of what?"

"Of becoming like Natasha. Like Grandma. Like everyone else who uses their gifts as weapons."

Alex pulled me close. "You won't. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you're asking these questions. Because you're scared of becoming a monster. Monsters don't worry about that."

His words helped. A little.

"Can we be done for today?" I asked.

"One more test."

"What kind of test?"

He walked to the wall and hit a switch. The lights went out, plunging us into complete darkness.

"Self-defense isn't just about shooting. It's about fighting when you can't see. When you're scared. When everything goes wrong."

"Alex, I can't see anything."

"Good. Use your other senses."

I heard him moving in the darkness. Circling me.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Survive."

He attacked from behind. Not hard enough to hurt, but fast enough to test me.

My body reacted before my brain could think. I ducked under his arm. Spun around. My hand found his wrist and twisted.

He grunted in surprise. "Where did you learn that?"

"I don't know!"

Another attack. This time from the side. Again, my body knew what to do. Block. Counter. Move.

It was like fighting in a dream. My conscious mind had no idea what I was doing, but my body did.

The lights came back on.

Alex was staring at me with something like fear in his eyes.

"What?" I asked.

"You just used three different fighting styles in thirty seconds. Krav Maga. Jiu-jitsu. And something older. Something I've only seen once before."

"Where?"

"In my mother. Before she died. She was trained by the old Kane bloodline. The original gifted warriors."

My legs felt weak. "You're saying I have her skills?"

"I'm saying you have someone's skills. And whoever they belonged to was one of the deadliest fighters I've ever seen."

"But how is that possible?"

Before he could answer, Ian burst into the room.

"We have a problem!"

"What now?"

"Dad just got a call. The other bloodlines are coming. All of them. United for the first time in three hundred years."

"How many?"

"Five hundred fighters. Maybe more. And Iris?"

"What?"

"They're not coming to capture you anymore. They're coming to kill you. Because apparently, there's a prophecy that whoever kills the Kane triplets gains their combined power."

My blood turned to ice.

"When do they arrive?"

"Tomorrow night. We have less than twenty-four hours to prepare."

Alex grabbed my hand. "Then we better make those hours count."

But as we ran upstairs to join the others, I felt something I'd never felt before.

A presence in my mind. Not Natasha. Not Ian. Something older. Darker.

And it was whispering one word over and over.

Murderer.

I stopped running. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Alex asked.

The voice came again, louder this time.

You killed me once. Now I'm coming to return the favor.

"Someone's in my head. Someone who says I killed them."

"That's impossible. You've never killed anyone."

"Haven't I?"

And suddenly, I remembered.

Not my memory. Someone else's.

A memory of standing over a body. A knife in my hand. Blood everywhere.

A memory of killing someone when I was five years old.

A memory I'd blocked out for sixteen years.

"Alex," I whispered. "I think I know why the other bloodlines are really coming for me."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't just inherit fighting skills from your mother."

"Then what did you inherit?"

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.

"Her enemies."