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I watch as she makes two fists, thumbs on the outside, and mimics my stance. “Who taught you to fight?”
“My father.” I step forward, and she instinctively raises her hands. “He wanted to make sure I didn’t rely only on my magic.”
“Was he a warlock?”
Stopping in my tracks, I take a moment to decide how to respond. I could be honest, tell her the truth. Facts about me that, literally, no one knows.
“He was,” I lie, eating the words like vile poison. The truth is far more complicated because my parentage dates back to when my mother stepped out on her warlock husband and became pregnant with me.
It is yet another reason why I never wanted anything to do with the council. The reason she was murdered.
Because my mother broke The Accords with a hunter. An Astor. And no one came to her defense.
“It’s good that he wanted to teach you other ways to use your power. My dad never wanted me to use mine. He was human,” she explains. “My mother’s line was immensely powerful, though.”
“Which explains your aptitude.”
She nods, gaze drifting past me and toward the wall behind, though I get the impression she’s not actually staring at anything in particular. “I miss them so much.”
“I know you do. But if you don’t focus, you’re going to be joining them, and I don’t think you want that.”
“No.” She shakes her shoulders and puts both fists back up. “Let’s do this.”
