I had never properly trained with a gun before. There was never a need, and the only time I had interacted with it was in Ironclaw when things went awry after negotiations with Alpha Natan broke down. Elijah had expertly handled the weapons― I wasn’t sure I could repeat the same.

Speaking of Ironclaw, I gulped as I examined the weapon. Petral was there when we were, and Ironclaw had been working with the vampires, most likely dealing with silver. If they had a trade established between them, then my mother’s collection of silver knick-knacks most likely came from Ironclaw’s mines.

As if she could read my mind, my mother commented, "It’s a pity Ironclaw went down so quickly. They were expert craftsmen and had made so many beautiful trinkets."

I whirled around immediately upon hearing her words, watching in horror as she picked up a teacup, moving her index finger around the rim before gently placing it back down.

"You commissioned this from Ironclaw?" I asked, horrified. "I thought you hated werewolves. Why were you working with them?"

"I didn’t," my mother replied. "I had some of my men commission them for me, and it was only after did I find out where exactly they were taking the business. A pity. Petral was a wonderfully skilled vampire."

The familiar name had my stomach twisted in knots, my throat clogging up pitifully as I swallowed the bile in my throat.

"You were the one who sent Petral after me," I stated rather than asked. There was no need to question what I knew would be a fact. I just needed my mother’s confirmation.

She looked up, took in a deep breath, and looked awfully surprised by my statement. Her eyebrows were raised and her lips were slightly parted. But in the end, my mother gave one firm nod.

"I did," she said. "But I thought they would be better at their jobs than they actually were. And dealing with werewolves? Come on."

She then dusted her hands and came over to me, placing a hand on my face to cup my cheek tenderly.

"Don’t you worry. I have already punished Petral and his sister Ariana for the way they treated you. They were way too... callous, especially after my instructions to bring you back unharmed. I would’ve pardoned them with a slap to the wrist if it weren’t for the fact that they thought making deals with Ironclaw would curry some favors with me―"

"Wait," I said, taking a step back. My mother’s hand remained in the air, hovering over the same spot before eventually dropping back down to her side. "What happened to them?"

"They’re locked in eternal slumber," my mother said, shrugging casually. "So don’t you worry. Those two won’t be bothering you during your stay here. Gus tells me that you have quite the trauma after the kidnapping attempt."

I took in a deep breath, staring at the table of wares silently as I chewed my bottom lip until it drew blood. The coppery stench quickly filled the room, covering my tongue with fresh blood. I didn’t bother addressing the fact that my mother seemed to care more about Petral’s partnership with Ironclaw than the fact that he nearly killed me, or that she sentenced her aide to what was as good as death just for partnering with werewolves.

Instead, I braved a smile, eager to change the topic from Petral.

"How did Ironclaw’s wolves even handle silver so easily?" I asked, trying to keep my voice firm.

"No clue," my mother confessed. "It might be something to do with the way they’re raised. But either way, it’s a good thing that Ironclaw fell to Fangborne ultimately. With such a high resistance to silver, they’re a pain for hunters to get rid of in the future if it ever came down to it. Silver isn’t nearly as effective on them as when used on an average werewolf."

Gesturing for me to follow, my mother then brought me to a separate room just next door. Training dummies were set up, and the ’x’s marked on them pointed out a target’s weakest spots.

"Let’s get you familiarized with the weapon," my mother said.

She held out a hand and I placed the revolver in her open palm, where she expertly handled it. Aiming, she pressed down firmly on the trigger and the blast quickly echoed through the room. I raised a hand to cover my ears due to the sound, and when I looked again, my mother had already driven holes into the training dummies where they stood.

"Revolvers don’t tend to have external safety devices," she said, handing me the weapon. "Cock the firearm and then pull the trigger. You will need to press down hard."

I nodded, stabilizing my hand before following my mother’s instructions. Aiming like she did, I pulled the trigger, and the bullet was shot. Unfortunately, it didn’t land directly on the ’x’ and had veered a little off course. Nevertheless, it hit the target on my first try, coloring me surprised.

"Not too bad," my mother commented, nodding. "Have you handled a gun before?"

"No," I truthfully admitted. "I was just lucky."

"Good," she said. "You will need a lot of that when defending yourself against a werewolf. They’re tricky, and much stronger than a human is. Although, with your strength, it might be a fair fight for you."

I stiffened as she mentioned my strength, staring her down and trying to discern if she knew what the mating bond I had with Damon and Blaise could temporarily offer me. However, it seemed like my mother didn’t think too deeply about it; she probably assumed that I kept up with training, which wasn’t false.

As long as I didn’t show off my strength too much, she shouldn’t know anything.

She couldn’t know anything.

With how she so easily ruined Dahlia Elrod, I was worried about what she would do to me if she found out that my mates could temporarily awaken some form of my wolf in me. I wouldn’t dare to guarantee she would spare my life, even though she was my birth mother. After everything I had witnessed in just one day, it seemed impossible.

"You will be training with me every day from now on," my mother declared. "I would put you with Gus, but he’s currently tending to Dahlia Elrod, and frankly, I don’t trust him around my daughter."

Her fingers came over and brushed through my hair, sweeping down the strands gently as she smiled with all the serenity of the world. Her words, however, were the direct opposite.

"When he’s done patching her up," she said, "we will pay her a second and final visit."