I don’t meet his gaze as I cross to the mirror and run my fingers through my hair to keep my hands busy.
“I will teach you how to defend yourself,” he says.
The words glide across my cheek. He takes my hair and lays it over one shoulder. I watch his reflection in the mirror. His gaze is locked on the bare skin of the crook of my neck.
“I don’t trust anyone here.”
I feel the urge to lean back into him and have his arms wrap around me. I want the subtle scent of him to envelop me…
It’s only the mark, I tell myself.
“I would appreciate that,” I say. Stepping off to the side, I turn to look at him. “But the next time you want to do something for my benefit, talk to me first.”
He agrees and leads me out of the room and down the halls.
I notice my surroundings for the first time, having been too tired and hurt to care last night. The outside of the castle was polished and gleamed, but inside, the walls and floors are made of gray, unpolished stone.
The windows are spaced so far apart there is a need for torches and sconces even during the day. It is dreary inside, and it reminds me of an impending thunderstorm. Swaths of material draped along the walls, and framed art pieces of landscapes hang in places where one would expect to find a window. It’s as if whoever decorated this castle closed everyone inside off from the real world while attempting to create the illusion of wide, open spaces.
I follow Alaric down two flights of stairs then once more through the servants’ halls until we reach a hidden staircase that leads to the dark underground of the castle. He grabs a torch off the wall and heads lower into the shadowy abyss.
A shiver of unease crawls down my spine, but I shove it away and follow Alaric down the narrow stairs. Following him blindly, with my complete and utter trust, I don’t question him for a second. I doubt it will ever matter how often he urges me not to trust him. I do.
The air is sticky and damp and smells of soured wood. We walk through several more halls with twists and turns until I think I’d be lost in this labyrinth without his guidance.
“How do you know about this place?”
He stops walking but doesn’t turn around. The torch light flickers and dances on the walls, making his shadow waver, and the steady drip, drip, drip, of water in the distance echoes all around us. Gossamer silk webs cling to everything.
“I lived in this castle a long time ago for many years,” he says by way of explanation then continues walking.
I don’t press for more information. Being here again is bringing his past back up, forcing him to relive things he would rather not remember.
Finally, we stop before an old wooden door. He pushes it open, and a wave of thick, musty air washes over us.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“It’s the old training room and armory.”
We step inside, and he closes us in. Alaric sets the torch against the wall igniting another. Seconds later, another ignites then another and another until the entire room is lit. On the far side, long wood and metal poles are displayed in a stand.
Through an open passage is another room. I can only make out the glinting of metal. That must be the armory.
Finally, Alaric turns to me and says, “Attack me.”
I reach down to my boot and frown as I straighten back up. “I forgot the dagger.”
He stalks toward me closing the distance between us with lightning fast strides. Unable to help myself, I concede a step. He twitches his wrist and the dagger appears in his hand. With another flick, it flips through the air. He catches it by the blade then holds the hilt out to me. Not a single cut marks the skin of his palm or fingers.
“Never go anywhere without this on your person.”
I don’t break eye contact with him as I reach out for the hilt, but before I can take it, Alaric pulls back his hand and flings the dagger. It imbeds into the door with a thunk.
“You can get it after you learn how to defend yourself without it,” he says. The man I know has transformed into someone strict and ruthless.
I look from him to the dagger and back. “If I’m always going to have the dagger with me, then—”
“You can always be disarmed,” he says. Then he positions himself into a stance I’m unfamiliar with. “Now, defend yourself.”
I open my mouth to speak, but in the space of a breath, I’m on the ground with the wind knocked out of me as Alaric pins me down, snarling. His hand rests behind my head, keeping it from smacking against the stone floor. The caring gesture takes away from the effect he intends by baring his fangs.
“Ouch. That hurts, you ass. I wasn’t ready,” I grumble, reaching down to rub my sore posterior.
Alaric smirks. “You should always be ready.”
Pushing off, he leaps up and holds out a hand. I eye him warily before accepting his help.
“Again,” he says.
I blink and land hard on my ass once more.
Again and again, this goes on until I’m sure I’m covered in bruises. Alaric stands over me, hand outstretched. I swat at it… and miss.
“No thank you,” I say. “I don’t see how bruising my ass is helping me at all. If I’m going to get knocked down, I might as well save us both time and just stay where I’m at.” At any rate, it will save me a few bruises.
Alaric laughs and squats down next to me. It’s a laugh I haven’t heard in… I don’t actually remember how long it’s been. I also haven’t seen that smile, the one where the slightest bit of fang peeks out because he can’t help himself. It’s only now I realize how hard he works to keep his fangs hidden most of the time.
“We will need to work on your reaction time, but for now, we will move on to something different. Come.” He reaches for me, and I clasp his forearm and let him pull me up. “I want you to deflect my attack.”
He demonstrates the attack he used slow enough for me to see every move of every muscle. It’s straight forward and uncomplicated.
I glower. In the hour or so that we’ve been practicing, this is the move that has taken me down time and time again.
“Now mimic this,” he says, coming to stand at my side. Alaric sidesteps, sweeping his arms in an effortless-looking arc.
I watch him a few times before attempting it. He corrects me as I go, having me practice until I can go through the motions correctly ten times in a row.
Once he’s satisfied with my progress, Alaric has me attempt it while he attacks—at what he calls human speed—except I can’t even manage to stop him once. My movements, compared to his natural grace, are clumsy and ill-timed. We go through the drill until I’m out of breath and too weak to hold my arms up properly, barely able to swing them in his general direction.
I step back and rest my hands on my knees. “I don’t see how this will help me. I can’t even stop you when you’re slow. There’s no way I’ll survive against a vampire bent on killing me.”
“It will. This is only your first lesson, Clara. You cannot expect to be an expert on your first day. As long as we keep practicing, then you will improve.” He returns to his stance. “Again.”
Before I can right myself, he lunges. I follow through, but my foot catches on an uneven notch on the floor. I stumble and try to catch myself, but my muscles are too weak and don’t respond fast enough.