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A huge, iron chandelier shined down on what could only be described as an armory. Throwing stars, swords, daggers, and weapons I didn’t even have a name for lined most of the concrete walls. In the center of the room was a sparring ring. Thin, black padding laid on the floor, and low-hanging rope bordered its perimeter.
A wooden target hung on the far wall. It’d been there for a while from the looks of it. Several nicks chipped the paint, especially in its center. There was a closet built into the far corner of the room. It was padlocked shut.
“What sorts of stolen magical goods are you hiding in there?” Freya asked.
She stood in the doorway of the armory with her arms across her chest and an unfiltered sneer on her face. Somehow, she managed to appear unimpressed by my father’s secret cache of weapons, not that I could blame her. Everything in here was designed to kill her kind.
Dad glared at the witch. “Cursed objects, weapons of mass destruction—the usual magical contraband.”
Freya snorted. “Hunters, more like hypocrites. You kill witches, but you clearly needed one to keep all this hidden and your spoils locked away.”
He rolled his eyes. “Witches, you think you know everything. Need I remind you that a witch married into my family? Or that other witches were the ones to curse her for it?”
“About that,” I interjected. “If our family gave up hunting, why do you know about all this?”
Dad snagged a dagger from Cadence’s hands and scolded her before answering me.
“We haven’t killed anything supernatural in over a century,” he explained.
Cadence grabbed an axe half as tall as herself. She nearly crumpled under its weight. I reached for it, but Dad was already there, prying it out of her hands. She laughed mischievously.
“But it didn’t mean we became weak,” Dad said. “The eldest son has always been trained in combat. It’s our family way. We didn’t want to be caught unawares.”
Until now.
I winced, and Dad broke his gaze from mine. All those generations of trained warriors ended with me—the first person in centuries to actually need the training. I studied the thick layer of dust covering everything in the armory and tried to fight off the sinking feeling of gloom.
Freya stared down my father and snorted. “You’re more of a screw-up than I realized.”
“Freya,” I warned, but she held up her hands.
“I know anger won’t do us any good now,” she said, “but he better start righting his wrongs.”
“How much time do I have?” Dad asked her.
“Until sunset,” she answered. “Tonight’s a blood moon. Josephine won’t waste an opportunity to draw on its power. Plus, vampires are their strongest after dark. That’s when they’ll attack.”
Dad nodded and plucked yet another pointy object out of my sister’s hands. Cadence giggled like a little sociopath.
Freya laughed. “C’mon, Cadence. I’ll teach you how to really do some damage.”
She stormed out of the room without another word. Cadence grinned and raced after her. I silently prayed the house would still be standing when we emerged from the armory.
“Let’s get started,” Dad said.
“No time like the present,” I agreed.
We stood in awkward silence. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been in a room together, alone and completely sober. I scratched the back of my head.
“Combat,” Dad barked.
He kicked off his boots and ducked under the rope that bordered the fighting ring. I did the same.
“We’ll go over the basics in here,” he explained, “then practice outside with shoes. It’ll feel different, but the maneuvers will be the same.”
He launched into an explanation of how to stand—with your left food just a bit farther forward than your right. He showed me some basic footwork to help me more efficiently dodge and parry an attack. It came naturally enough. Years of horse-riding had granted me good balance. We moved on to punches. Dad insisted I throw a real punch, instead of a cowboy punch.
“No,” he said again. “Quit swinging from behind you. All that wind-up will slow you down, and the vamps will have a field day.”
