Forbidden

Training

Van

Van stood at her bedroom window. From here, she could see the spot where Luca parked to avoid her father. He'd been gone by the time she reached her room, but she could still feel his touch against her skin like a brand. Shaking her head, she reminded herself Luca was a distraction- a way to piss off her father. But the way her heart clenched and cracked when she found him crying on the lawn told another story. One she couldn't let be the true version of events.

She let the curtain drop. Father hadn't argued when she said she was staying home from school. In fact, he looked pleased, and if she didn't feel so tired and drained, she would've changed her mind on that fact alone. But she was tired and drained- her brain wouldn't stop trying to process this weekend's revelations.

If it was just emotional exhaustion, she could've pushed on. She understood how to cope with that after losing her mother and little brother, but after two training sessions with Trixie she knew how a punching bag felt. The woman might have a soft heart, at least softer than some of the other soldiers at the Asylum, but that didn't translate to her punches. Or her kicks.

Van sighed, knowing she couldn't put off the next session any longer and headed to the basement. Trixie was waiting for her in the training ring Father had failed to mention when Van moved into the house. Though, she might have accepted its existence with little explanation. The rest of what was in the basement would have sent her running as far as she could make it.

A cold, damp gust wrapped around her as she paused on the bottom step. The space was massive- far bigger than the house above it and cavelike. The feeble light put off by the Edison bulbs didn't reach the corners of the room. Trixie stood on a thick mat in the center of the room, wrapping tape around her hands. She wore what Van know knew to be the standard garb for Slayers- red leathers designed to hide open wounds, withstand sharps nails and claws, and soaked in a solution that could mask the scent of blood.

She didn't pay Trixie any heed. As usual, Van's gaze drifted to the weapons hanging on the dank walls. Weapons that wouldn't have looked out of place in a medieval movie- stakes, knives, maces, swords, and axes. Trixie promised they would get to train with those. She'd practically lit up with excitement as she ran her hands along each weapon, explaining when to use each one. Van just made a mental note to not get on the girl's bad side.

Because it wasn't the weapons Van studied when she came down here. A weapon's purpose was something she could grasp, but the long chains and spiked metal collars didn't compute. Father made it very clear the vampires they kept in cages as the Asylum were for experiments. The best scientists in the world worked for there, searching for a cure. Why would they need something like this for the vampires? It wouldn't do much as a restraint.

She reached for one of the collars, the tips of her fingers heating as they hovered over the metal. Her throat swelled, and breathing became difficult. Eyes watering, she tried to pull away, but she couldn't. She moved like an arrow to its target, and her mouth soured with terror.

"Van," Trixie barked, putting a hand on Van's shoulder to spin her around. "Stop stalling."

"What the hell?" Van demanded, lunging away from the wall and retching onto the floor. She remained in a crouching position, her arm across her stomach and her nostrils filled with the putrid scent of her vomit. The pain and stench were a welcome relief from the all consuming fear she'd just experienced.

Trixie hoisted a leash from its hook. A dark expression twisted her features. The delight the woman found in the weapons wasn't absent, but Van couldn't decipher her trainer's reaction. Was that contempt? Or something closer to the horror Van felt?