Page 46 of King Among the Dead

She heard a latch click, and he said, “Watch your toes,” as the whole shelf came away from the wall and swung outward on a hinge: a secret door.

“That’s incredibly cool,” she said, grinning wide enough that her face hurt.

He shot her a wink over his shoulder. Reached into the opening and flicked a switch. An overhead bulb illuminated a set of stone stairs. “Down we go.”

It made sense that a house as grand and old as this one would have a basement, but Rose hadn’t seen a door that might lead to one throughout the rest of the main floor, and had never asked about it. If there had been a basement, and she’d been invited to visit it, Beck or Kay would have told her. She hadn’t expected a secret door. Much less the setup in the basement itself when they reached the bottom of the stairs and Beck flipped on more lights.

It was a long space, stone walled, dirt-floored, and with exposed timbers in the ceilings. The lights were in fact circular iron chandeliers that looked more than a few centuries old, retrofitted with electric bulbs. Benches and cabinets lined one wall. She spotted a fridge, and a deep-bellied stainless-steel sink. And workout equipment of…every kind. She spotted heavy punching bags, and speed bags like raindrops suspended from the ceiling. A kickboxing dummy, a balance beam, a pommel horse, flat, padded mats laid out beneath them. A treadmill, a stationary bike. Racks and racks of weights of varying size, and a bench with a barbell hooked on the rack. There were mirrors, so he could watch himself, and perfect his form. And there were targets set up on a far wall. A knife was imbedded in the bullseye of one, giving evidence to practice with throwing them.

“There’s a gun range, too,” he said, as they walked slowly through it all, pointing to a door off to one side. “It’s soundproofed and properly reinforced. Up to all the legal standards – though very illegal to have in my basement, obviously.”

Rose did a slow turn, taking it all in. “This is how you keep in such good shape.”

“A useful hunter has to practice often,” he said, a simple statement of fact, but she thought she glimpsed a bit of color across his cheeks and nose, a blush of pleasure. He was flattered. “I keep my blades sharp.” He reached to finger a bit of loose stitching on the edge of the pommel horse. “And I keep myself sharper.”

“You want to teach me,” she guessed.

He smirked, chin tucking as he looked down at her. “You’ve already got a knack for it. I thought we might refine your skills a little.”

She nodded, his eagerness infectious. He’d taught her so much already, sharpened her basic knowledge of the world, and she felt richer for it – in mind and spirit.

But this, the practical teachings of violence – that was a whole other kind of gift. One she could use to defend herself.

“Next time,” he said, “no one will get the drop on you.”

She took a deep breath that shivered with anticipation. “What should we start with?”

He lifted his arm, and a knife slid out of his sleeve and down into his palm. “You’re already comfortable and willing.” He twirled, a graceful flick of his wrist, and offered the handle to her. “Now let’s make you expert.”

~*~

Two weeks later, the insistent tapping of two fingers against her shoulder snatched her out of another dream about the blood tide. She’d been swimming in it this time, a powerful breaststroke and kicks of her feet propelling her through the viscous warmth. She hadn’t been able to see Beck, but she’d sensed him beside her, keeping pace; the animal pulse of awareness of one’s mate and pack member.

“Wha…?” She sat back with a start, blurry gaze darting around the room.

Kay tutted and sat down across from her, in Beck’s usual seat. “You passed out over your homework.”

“It’s not homework,” she protested, because that made her sound like a child, and like Beck’s pupil in a way that reminded her, unpleasantly, of him turning his head away from her that night in the bathtub. Though they’d been working together morning and evening, nothing so intimate as that moment of shared breathing – of going to bed across the pillow from one another – had happened since.

“Uh-huh.” Kay took a drag off her cigarette and gave Rose a chance to rub the grit from her eyes and shake off the last shreds of the dream. “He working you too hard?”

“No.” She reached for her tea and found it cold, but still sweet and bracing. “Just overdid it on the treadmill today.”

Overdid it on everything. Her musclesached, but it was a sensation growing more normal all the time. And she was already stronger. Today they’d worked on the balance beam, Beck’s shoulder under her hand, his hand at her waist, as she walked, and then skipped, and then leaped down the narrow length of wood, building her core muscles – now screaming a protest as she leaned back and stretched – and her confidence. When her abs had been quivering, and sweat had broken out beneath her clothes, they’d moved to the heavy bag, and she’d finished with cardio on the treadmill.

Kay’s unimpressed look said she knew exactly how hard she was pushing herself, even though she hadn’t been present for any of their training sessions. “If you’re trying to impress him,” she said, flatly, “there’s no need. He already thinks you hung the moon.”

Rose sighed, and resisted the urge to massage the tension from the back of her neck. She was exhausted – but in a good way. Felt secure in Beck’s confidence, trusted by him; felt more worthy of his efforts every time. It made her braver than she’d ever been. “Kay,” she said on a sigh. “Why do you hate me?”

Kay blinked, face blanking with shock. “What?”

“You were kind and motherly when I first came, and now you hate my guts.”

More blinking. Smoke curled up in ribbons, and Kay finally took another drag, exhaled through her nose, gaze fixed to Rose’s face. Rose had the sense she was being assessed – and whatever Kay found in her expression, it softened her own.

“I don’t hate you, honey. Don’t think that.”

“Why are you angry with me, then?” She wasn’t going to be put off with a handwave and a vague reassurance, not this time. “Are you–” An unhappy thought occurred. “Are you jealous? Are you and Beck–”

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