Chapter 14: A Lesson in Survival

Morning sunlight poured into the villa, turning the floors to gold. Mara stood in the courtyard, arms crossed, watching as Damon tossed a wooden practice knife effortlessly from hand to hand.

“I will be training you today.”

“I don’t see why this is necessary,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to see,” Damon replied flatly. “You only have to listen.” He flicked his wrist, and the knife spun before he caught it again. “Last night proved it—there’s a traitor in this house. If they come for you, I won’t always be there in time.”

Mara bit her lip, her pulse jumping at the thought. “So your solution is… this?”

“This,” Damon said as he stepped closer, “could mean the difference between you staying alive or getting seriously hurt.”

He pressed the hilt into her hand. The wood felt heavier than it should have, awkward and strange. She stared at it, then up at him. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but his hand lingered over hers longer than it needed to.

“Grip it tighter,” he instructed. “Like you mean to use it. If your hand shakes, they’ll see fear. And fear invites attack.”

Mara swallowed and tightened her grip. Damon moved behind her, his presence feeling almost like a shadow wrapping around her. He adjusted her stance with firm hands on her shoulders, her hips, her wrist. Heat crawled up her neck despite the chill of morning.

“You’re tense,” he whispered near her ear. “Loosen your knees. A stiff body is easy to break.”

She exhaled shakily. “This feels… wrong.”

“Good.” His tone hardened. “Because it is. Nothing about survival is gentle, Mara. You want gentle? You should’ve stayed away from me.”

“I tried but you keep pulling me back.”

The word left him speechless, but when his hands guided hers again, she followed. He lifted her arm, angled the knife. “Now—if someone grabs you from behind, what do you do?”

“I scream?” she said.

Damon’s low chuckle was humorless. “You stab. Here.” His hand moved hers sharply to her side, pressing the knife toward his ribs. “Soft tissue. Fast. No hesitation.”

Mara froze, realizing how close the blade was to him. Her fingers trembled. “I—I can’t.”

“ You will.” His tone was firm. “Because if it’s you or them, you have to choose yourself.”

Her chest ached. The Damon she remembered—the boy who once promised never to let her cry—was gone. In his place stood this hardened man teaching her how to kill. And yet… she couldn’t look away.

Suddenly, he stepped back and narrowed his eyes. “Attack me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

“You heard me. Come at me with everything you’ve got.”

“I’ll lose.”

“Then you’ll learn.”

She hesitated but then lunged clumsily at him, knife pointed toward his side. Damon easily blocked her, twisting her wrist until the knife fell to the ground. In an instant, her back hit his chest, and his arm wrapped tightly around her. She gasped.

“You're dead,” he whispered close to her ear. “Try again.”

Mara shoved against him, her face burning. She grabbed the knife and swung again—faster this time. Damon dodged, catching her wrist and forcing it upward. They struggled, breaths tangling, until finally he pinned her against the courtyard wall, the knife trapped between them.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as his body pressed too close. His gaze flickered to her lips before he stepped back, releasing her.

“You’re getting better,” he said, his voice rough.

Mara stared at him, heat flooding her cheeks. “That didn’t feel like winning.”

“In this world,” Damon replied, picking up the knife and handing it back to her, his fingers brushing against hers deliberately, “losing slowly is still better than not fighting at all. “You’ll train every morning. Until your body knows what to do before your mind thinks of fear.”

Mara tightened her grip on the knife, her chest still racing from his closeness. She wanted to argue, to say she wasn’t meant for this life. But part of her knew he was right.

And another part—one she didn’t dare name—was afraid of how much she craved his closeness, even when it terrified her.

As Damon walked away, shadows clinging to his broad shoulders, Mara whispered to herself, “What are you turning me into?”

The knife felt heavy in her hand. But not as heavy as the secret pull she felt toward the man teaching her how to survive.