Nightfall (Book 2, the Halfblood Chronicles)

1 | Half Bad or Broken Whole

Bloodydamned summer school.

Nika still couldn't believe they were making her do it. She'd spent one of the last two months of school risking her life to save her best friend from revolutionary Volkari, and this was how the system repaid her?

Your final exam scores were disappointing, her teachers had claimed. The Vigil won't let you join boot camp unless you earn better marks.

No matter how much Nika—or her father—tried to get them to understand, the Daemonstri community's league of guardians wouldn't be swayed. The only way for her to attend boot camp this autumn was to train all summer long before retaking the tests.

A couple of weeks into the program, she was already sick of it. And not just because it was ruining her vacation time.

As if to confirm the sentiment, a fist slammed into her face. Nika crashed on the mats, groaning as shocks of pain exploded through her skull.

"Pay attention," her mentor growled. "Oldbloods, Dimitrovich! Keep living in that imaginary world and you'll get killed. Or worse—you'll get a Serafi killed."

Rubbing her jaw, Nika stood back up. With the room spinning, and the faint scents of animals and stale hay that had lingered in this barn for years, a cold sweat seeped through her workout clothes, and nausea threatened to send her back to her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her body to endure.

She sensed her mentor, Carmen, pacing around, twirling a wooden baton that might have been a dagger if this were a real fight. When the training session began two hours ago, the objective had seemed simple: take the baton and hold on to it for at least a minute. Needless to say, it was easier in theory than in practice.

"How the hell does this prepare me for the Vigil?" Nika said once the sickening feeling had passed. "If someone attacks Lu, aren't I supposed to kill them?"

Carmen's eyes widened. "If they take your weapon, what do expect to kill them with? Your disrespectful attitude? As the main recipient of it, I can assure you, it will only piss them off."

Nika ground her teeth. Every fiber of her body—no matter how petite—boiled with resentment for this woman. The keeper wasn't satisfied with beating her up each evening, or lecturing her on every technique and stance. No, she also had to best Nika in word battles. And that was simply unacceptable.

Six months ago, Nika might have lashed out. But now, after recalling a promise to her father about good behavior, she merely curled her fists at her sides.

"If an opponent takes my weapon, I can use one of my backups. All on-duty keepers are required to carry a collection of knives and guns." Nika first discovered this fact when she'd gone snooping throughout Dimitrovich Manor as a child, finding countless hiding places where keepers kept their extra weapons. A little creepy, she had to admit, but it was also smart.

"You're missing the point of this lesson, Dimitrovich. You've been missing the point of most lessons, in fact. You have no focus, no motivation . . . "

Carmen's lecture continued for another minute before Nika bellowed, "Because these lessons are bullshit!"

Her mentor froze in place, then the baton fell from her grip, slapping the mats that had been laid out on the floor of this musty, old barn.

"What am I doing here?"

Nika blinked—the only sign of her surprise at Carmen's suddenly soft tone.

With a shrug, she said, "I don't know. It's not like I need you, and I certainly don't care if you stick around or not."

Carmen laughed, but there was no mirth in it. Nor was there any in the way she packed up her belongings and stalked through the crooked barn doors. For a split second, Nika panicked, but she was too proud to stop Carmen from leaving. Too proud to apologize for her harshness and disrespect.