Chapter Twenty-Nine Edith
I’m on edge as I walk through the hunter campus. Surrounded by killers, I hug my arms against myself protectively. The hunters glare as I go by. There’s a familiar gleam of violence in their eyes. Even though a berserkr attacked me, am I any safer here?
Or is this just a different kind of danger?
I pick up my pace, heading for what I assume is the training grounds. It looks more like a field than anything. Long wooden racks line either side with spears leaning against them. The tips of the spears are pointing toward me as I approach. Not a very welcoming sight to say the least.
Amund isn’t hard to find. He’s the only one there. He jabs a spear forward, the motion practiced but strong. Sweat drips from his brow as he trains, going over a range of different attacks.
I stop for a moment, unable to resist watching him.
Unlike in class or around campus when he’s trying to blend in, Amund looks relaxed and natural while he trains.
Each movement is strong and assured. It’s a completely different side of him.
Seeing him like this, there’s something almost… magnetic about him.
Amund hears me approaching, even though I’m still a good distance away. When his head turns in my direction, I nearly miss a step. He looks like he’s searching for a threat—
His expression softens. “Oh. Edith.”
“I want to learn how to protect myself.”
“Right. Let’s get started.”
When I nod, he approaches me.
Amund slips a dagger from his belt. “You’ll need this.”
A knife. The sight of it in his hand makes me uneasy, even though I know my dad actually used his claws to kill my mom. I’m hesitant to take the knife from Amund. It looks dangerous. Deadly. A weapon designed with one primary purpose: to take a life. A killer is the last thing I ever want to be.
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I hate knives.”
Amund takes my hand and closes my fingers around the hilt. Somehow this feels different from when Nils touched me. “Weapons aren’t just used to take lives,” he says as if reading my mind. “They can save lives too. It’s how they’re used that matters.”
I glance up from the blade to look at Amund. His hazel eyes are fixed on me. There’s no trace of judgment there, only honesty. Knowing that he’s a hunter, it’s hard for me to believe that’s how he feels.
“But you…” I begin, only to stop myself. I’m at a loss for words.
“Hate violence,” Amund finishes for me. “It’s only a tool to be used when necessary, like any weapon. It can be wielded for good, to protect people.”
I fall silent, searching his eyes.
He seems sincere.
I’m surprised that a hunter as big and strong as him could despise violence.
As I look at the rough boot marks pressed into the dirt around us, evidence of fights and struggles left behind, and the countless weapons lining the racks, it seems like violence is his entire world.
If it’s true he doesn’t like it, how must it feel to be constantly surrounded by it?
Slowly, I take the dagger from him. “Okay.”
“You’re holding it wrong,” Amund says softly. He guides my fingers, adjusting my grip. “You want to have a good grasp on it. See?”
The hilt fits better in my palm this way and feels more secure, but it takes all my willpower not to fling the dagger as far from me as I can.
“Here,” he says, steadying me. “Like this. Good.”
I hate that some part of me enjoys his praise. Wants more of it. I need to learn how to protect myself. I don’t want to feel helpless ever again or need someone to save me. So I follow Amund’s lead, adjusting my grip on the dagger.
“Try it with your other hand now.”
“I’m right-handed though,” I tell him.
He gives a lopsided grin. “When you’re fighting for your life, none of that matters. You want to learn how to wield a weapon with both hands. You never know what circumstances you’ll be in.”
“You’re ambidextrous?” I ask, curious now.
He nods. “I had to learn to be.”
“Are all hunters?”
“No, not all. Val isn’t, for instance. She still favors her right hand, no matter how much she trains with her left.”
“What’s up with you and Val?” I ask, realizing too late I sound a little jealous.
Amund doesn’t seem to notice. “She’s my best friend.”
“Oh.” For some reason, I feel relieved.
“Anyway, I learned to fight young,” Amund continues. “As soon as I was old enough to hold a weapon.”
It’s ironic that someone who hates violence was raised with it. We both were. Unlike me, though, Amund seems comfortable with it. At ease. Then again, I was exposed to that violence only when I was young. For Amund, it never stopped.
“Do you know where berserkir are weakest?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
Nothing about the wolf that attacked me seemed weak.
“It’s easiest if I show you.” Amund takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. “May I?”
“Uh, sure,” I say, having no idea what he’s asking.
When he reaches for me, I instinctively step back.
“I won’t harm you.” His voice softens. “I just want to show you where to strike.”
“Right. Okay.”
Amund slowly runs his hand down my stomach, before pausing above my hips.
His touch is barely there, just skimming over my shirt, but it sends sparks shooting through me.
“Here,” he says. “This is the most vulnerable spot. You want to aim right here. Lower than you would on a human, since their bodies are longer, and their organs are back farther than you might expect.”
My breath catches. “Oh.”
His body is close to mine, so close I can breathe in the rich, musky aroma of his leathers. It has the slightest trace of sweetness. My heart is pounding way too hard. Harder than any time I’ve been around Nils. But Amund is a hunter. He’s the last person I should be attracted to.
“Why there?” I ask, trying to stay focused.
Amund is everything I should fear.
He knows all the places I’m most vulnerable.
“It’s easiest to reach when you’re being attacked,” Amund says, sobering me. “Berserkir are exceptionally strong, including their hides. Most weapons can’t wound them. But their stomachs are still unprotected, like any animal.”
The clinical way he discusses it sends a shiver through me. “I see.”
Amund withdraws, and I feel colder for it.
I peer up at him, searching his face. No wonder he’s so exhausted. I can’t imagine doing this every day after attending classes and everything else. An image flashes of him thrusting the spear, sweat dripping down his forehead, but I quickly push it away.
“You have to be careful,” he says, a little unsteady himself.
Who should I be more careful of: the killer—or Amund?
I take a step back. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
He nods. “It’s a start, anyway.”
“I’ll return to classes and see what I can find out about Isaac.”
“Try to get a better look at his injuries. We need to confirm it was the same ones I inflicted. The cut I gave should be along his right forearm. Here,” Amund adds, showing me.
“I should be able to see in Transformation, but I don’t have that until Tuesday.”
“After class, you can update me on your findings over dinner.”
“Dinner?” I blink a few times. Why does it feel like Amund is asking me out on a date? My heart starts to speed up, which is ridiculous. I catch myself quickly. It’s just to exchange information, that’s all. “Where?”
“The dining hall.” He hesitates. “If you’re okay with that.”
The last time we were there together was when I was attacked.
I force myself to nod.
Amund takes a sheath and fastens it to a belt before securing it around my waist. “There. Now you’ll be able to defend yourself, but you still need to be careful. Especially around Isaac. Don’t let him know you’re suspicious or do anything that could provoke him.”
His concern startles me, catching me off guard.
“Don’t worry about me. And… thank you,” I say, my voice coming out too breathy.
Warmth spreads across my cheeks when I think of his strong hands guiding me. Why am I being like this? I’ve held plenty of hands, kissed plenty of boys, but I’ve never felt so embarrassed before. Somehow, training with Amund feels intimate in a way none of those things did.
Embarrassed or not, I’m grateful he’s helping me learn how to protect myself.
Amund doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness. “You’re welcome.”