[Harper’s POV]

"Very well done, but for better results, you should use the strength from your arm, with the momentum from your shoulders instead of your wrist," my mother critiqued with a finger tapping on her chin as she surveyed Dahlia’s broken shin.

In my ears echoed Dahlia’s weak, breathless scream of pain thanks to my blow.

I didn’t want to hit her in the face. Hell, I didn’t want to hit her at all! Any plans that I had for revenge against Dahlia Elrod had her humiliated beyond belief and outcast from every pack, her reputation ruined beyond repair while I flaunted my happiness in her face.

Seeing her limp figure was just pathetic. I could beat her again, but I found no joy in it. But it seemed that my mother had joy aplenty for us both, and Gus was applauding me.

"Good first effort though," Gus said cheerfully. "You still got the other kneecap to practice on."

"Thanks," I said dryly, trying to stop myself from dropping the silver rod. I needed a hot shower to scrub myself clean after this. "Can I go now? There’s no point in beating her when she can’t even react. How will I know I’m doing this correctly?" I asked, desperately finding ways to stop this madness.

Somehow, my mother looked strangely pleased at my words. "I knew you had a knack for torture, just like I do. Gus, heal Dahlia Elrod as much as you can. I want her to be semi-functional for Harper."

"Will do, Madame," Gus said agreeably. "I’ll do my best to keep her sanity intact, but no promises."

"You say that like she had it to begin with," my mother said callously. "Do your best. If you fail, we’ll have to catch another werewolf to practice on."

"No!" I exclaimed in horror. Both of them turned to stare at me, my mother raising an incredulous eyebrow. "I mean, there’s no point in involving someone else," I blabbered quickly. "There’s no other werewolf I hate more than her anyway."

"You heard her, Gus." My mother nodded proudly. "Make sure she’s ripe for abuse."

God. My stomach twisted at my mother’s turn of phrase.

"Harper, in the meantime, I’ll teach you more techniques to destroy a werewolf," she continued. "We do not have any other live prisoners you can practice on, so practice dummies will be used instead. My apologies."

"There’s no need to apologize," I said faintly. If this tower was filled with imprisoned werewolves, I would have my hands full planning a full-scale prison break in addition to my own escape. Since I wasn’t going anywhere, I might as well learn.

"Let’s go then." My mother beamed delightedly and she looped her arm through mine, as though we were bosom buddies. "I also got you a new weapon."

"It’s not this silver rod?" I gestured to the rod in my other end, which was dripping blood and bits of Dahlia’s knee cartilage all over the floor. Thoroughly disgusting.

"No, you deserve something more elegant than this crude bat." My mother waved an errant hand as she led me down another flight of stairs, down a series of corridors with identical doors. "I only used this because this is what a werewolf like Dahlia deserves."

"Then what do you use?" I asked, half-afraid of the answer.

"You’ll see for yourself," my mother said as she stopped at a non-descript silver door, opening it with her bevy of keys.

I opened it, half-expecting the familiar scent of blood to envelop my sinuses despite my mother’s claims of having no more prisoners.

While she claimed there weren’t any live prisoners, she didn’t say there weren’t any dead ones left.

But thankfully, I was greeted with a sterile white room. A cursory glance revealed that there were racks and racks of silver weapons, and I could spot a line of dummy targets lining the other end of the room. I squinted; parts of the dummies seemed to be shining brightly under the light.

"Are those... bullets?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes, you got a good eye." My mother hummed approvingly. "And that answers your earlier question. Like every proficient hunter, we need a weapon that allows us to kill from a distance. These are all mine."

I gulped, now taking a closer look. There were rifles, spears, knives, swords... all made from silver. This place would have been fit for an armory of an ancient kingdom, not a woman living in the modern world.

Then there was another table full of random silver objects like wine glasses and clothes pegs. There was even a vegetable shredder.

"Are these made out of silver too?" I asked, pointing towards the ordinary, everyday objects.

"Of course! Everything in here is a weapon that can be used to disable and kill a werewolf," my mother said proudly. "I had everything commissioned myself. It’s still possible to kill without silver, but it’s a lot more time-consuming and a bigger hassle. Imagine, I’ll have to spend more time killing one werewolf with a wooden clothes peg when I can kill at least three in the same time with a silver one."

"Right," I said faintly, reminding myself that my mother was a hunter by profession, and also, quite possibly lacking a few screws. I bet they were silver too.

No wonder Gus had found it so easy to tamper with the machine made for Blaise’s treatment. If my mother could even make something as small and inconspicuous as a clothes peg a viable weapon, Gus replacing the medical equipment with a silver alternative would have been nothing but child’s play for her.

"Now, which do you prefer?" my mother asked excitedly, as though we were an innocent mother-daughter pair out shopping for a new pair of shoes. "You’ll have to test them, of course, and I’ll have them altered for your capabilities, but I would like to see where your interests lie."

My interests lay in not slaughtering werewolves, but I doubted my mother would accept this answer. As such, I approached the weapons, looking them over with a careful eye.

Which one would help me defend myself against werewolves?

Which one would help me take down a vampire?

Which one would work against my mother?

My hands closed around a revolver. It was the only gun I could see myself wielding discreetly enough for any sneak attempts at escape.

"Mom, I want this one."

She grinned. "Excellent choice, my dear."