He takes the mace from me, directing me to a dummy in the middle of the room that's definitely seen better days. The neck has several puncture wounds, the face covered in deep gouges, and proof of countless punches thrown against it. "I'm going to teach you to defend yourself. Like I said, if they get their hands on you, the comfortable life of other women in the Sanctum will be a pipedream."
"What would happen to me?" He had said something about blood, but I haven't been brave enough to ask him for specifics yet.
He stares at the dummy, not looking at me, "Youarelucky because their orders will be to bring you in alive and unharmed. So they'll be pulling their punches, so to speak."
"Eamon."
"Butyoucan't do that. You can train all day every day on this stupid thing, but if the time comes, none of it will matter if you're not willing to do what has to be done. You have to be willing to kill someone to survive, do you understand?"
"I've killed before," I remind him.
His eyes finally meet mine, "You were willing to kill for someone else. I need you to be willing to kill foryourself. You have to decide thatyourlife is just as important as someone else's. Can you do that?"
For some stupid reason, his statement creates pressure behind my eyes. I have to blink away the urge to let tears gather.You have to decide your life is just as important as someone else's.
I'm not ready to examine why those words put such a weight on my chest, so I redirect to my other question. "What will happen to me if they catch me?"
"I broke into a compound once. Decades ago." Eamon tells me. "I didn't know what they did in there, since there were no weapons going in and out, only blood bags and babies. I had been watching it for a few years, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening in there, and when they dragged what was clearly a body out, throwing it into the dumpster like trash, I snapped."
My stomach churns.
"When my team finally managed to break through their defenses, we got inside in the middle of the night." His eyes start to water, the first real emotion I've seen from him before he physically wipes it away with a palm down his face. "No less than 30 women and girls, aging anywhere from teenagers to 80 year olds, were in there, living like an army squad in bunkbeds. Except instead of doing any kind of training, they were strapped to chairs and bled dry, almost to the point of death, at least once a month."
Jesus Christ.
"I guess after 40 years, her heart couldn't give anymore. So we broke every one of those left out, killing every motherfucker in our way. Then I burned that place to the ground." He sniffles before adding, "A handful of the women were pregnant with no clue how they got that way. They didn't even know that having sex with their guards would lead to babies. Sexual education has come a long way in half a century."
"I don't even know what to say," I stammer. "At least you got them out, right?"
A sad huff of a laugh leaves his mouth, "They all died or disappeared within the next two years. Freak accidents, suicides, you name it. No matter where they went, the Sanctum found them and kept them from telling their stories, one way or another. I haven't been able to track one of those compounds down again. Technology has gotten a lot more advanced since then, they could be hiding their breeding grounds anywhere."
"Why do they drain their blood?" I ask, apparently missing that part of the story before.
"If you're unlucky enough to be the firstborn and a female, your blood feeds the magic in their weapons. It has to be replenished every generation, the weaponry bathed and blessed in it."
My whole body goes cold, goosebumps rising on my flesh, "So that… that would be me. I'd be stuck in one of those camps."
He nods, sad eyes locked on mine, imploring, "That's why you're here. In Alaska, and in this room."
The sincerity in his gaze leaves me shaken, willing to do whatever he asks of me to avoid that horrible fate. "Alright. Let's get started."
"Slow down, little hunter," he chuckles. "I know you're excited to get to hit something that's not bigger and stronger than you." I glare at him, but there's no malice behind it, which scares me even more. "But you need to eat first, then you need real shoes. And clothes."
I look down at my feet and wiggle my toes, having completely forgotten that I'm only in pajamas and patterned socks.
"Fine. What's for breakfast, lieutenant?" The sarcastic honorific rolls off my tongue, and I swear for a second that Eamon's eyes heat at it before he raises his brows with a laugh.
"Eggs, chicken sausage, and red potatoes," he urges me toward the exit. I follow dutifully behind, already counting down the minutes until I can return and let all my aggression out onsomething that can't hit back or pin me against the wall until I behave.
"Come on, Isla. Get up. You're not finished," he taunts.
Laying flat on my back and staring at the ceiling, I barely manage to argue, "I absolutely am finished. I can't breathe. We've been at this forhours."
I've been punching and kicking and running for at least six hours now.
With a huff of a laugh, he corrects me, "You've been down here for exactlyonehour. And I'm only letting you stop now because I know you have a meeting in 30 minutes. I expect you down here for at least this long every morning before work, whether I'm here to coach you or not. Got it?"
My non-response is to flip him the bird, but he chooses to ignore it. I couldn't do anything if he decided to make me pay for it anyway. Not after the torture he's put me through.
