Hall 3 was a big gym with an obstacle course of barriers and structures at its core. A full-sized track looped around that core, and beyond it lay climbing walls and other obstacle courses. Nero stood with another member of the Legion, a man with cropped blond hair and a relaxed, good-natured smile. Each of them was wearing an athletic suit that drew more than a few whispers of appreciation from my fellow female initiates.

“This is Major Harker Locke,” Nero said, his voice piercing the whispering crowd. “He will be assisting me with your training.”

The major gave us a wave too friendly to have come from a member of the Legion.

“Now let’s get down to business,” Nero continued. “This begins the first stage of your training. You must now train your bodies and minds, to prove that you are truly one of us.”

“Aren’t we already in?” someone asked.

“No.” The word punched through the crowd gathered before him.

“But we took your test and survived.”

“You survived your first sip of the Nectar of the Gods,” Nero replied. “The drink that sparked your magic, bringing to the surface what was hidden inside of you. But it remains to be seen if you have what it takes to join the Legion of Angels. If you do, you will drink from the gods’ cup once more to receive their first gift: Vampire’s Kiss. It will give you strength, speed, stamina, and self-healing—all the powers of a vampire. You will gain the ability to receive a boost in those powers when you consume the lifeblood of another.”

The initiates around me began buzzing with excitement.

“But beware,” said Nero, his words silencing the crowd. “Along with these new powers comes also the other side of vampires: the hunger. You must learn to control it, not let the hunger control you. Become a master of the hunger, the bloodlust, the magic. Otherwise, you will go wild, turning into a monster. And you will be put down.” He tapped the gun at his side. “This magic will either kill you, or it will make you stronger. Remember that, initiates: what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.”

Or what doesn’t kill you just kills you later, I thought.

“Whether you live or die is entirely up to you. We will work on your strength, stamina, and willpower to give you a chance of surviving the Nectar. We start now.” Nero pointed to the track. “Ten laps. Go.”

After our ten laps, Nero had us do pushups until we dropped. Then he made us run another ten laps. Rinse and repeat into infinity. He pushed us until our bodies shook and spasmed and we collapsed to the ground. Then he made us go again. And the fun was only just beginning.

“Gather round,” Nero said as my heart made a solid effort of exploding through my chest.

From the looks of my fellow initiates sprawled across the ground all around me, they’d fared the past few hours no better. But we peeled our bodies from the floor and walked over to him.

“Many of you will not survive the first month,” Nero declared, not even a hint of sympathy staining his perfect face as his eyes panned across us. The angel was as soulless as he was beautiful.

“As I said before, we will try to prepare you as best we can,” he continued. “But in the end, whether or not you survive the gods’ first gift is entirely in your hands. This is as much a physical battle as it is a mental one. And that is what we will train now.”

“Now? What was all that we just did?” someone asked.

“Warmup,” Nero replied coolly.

We followed him across the gym and into a smaller room. At the end of that room, a door waited. Splashes of crimson stained its steel surface. Blood. It was blood.

“Who can tell me what this is?” Nero asked us, tapping the door.

I couldn’t stop staring at the blood—or dreading whatever was coming next.

“A blast door. It’s designed to resist the force of an explosion,” one of the initiates said immediately. He had an ashen face, pale nearly to the point of sickly. He was built like a rail, all skin and bones with hardly any muscle. It was a wonder he hadn’t passed out during our previous exercises. Then again, you couldn’t always tell how strong someone was from their outward appearance.

“Yes,” Nero said to him, then addressed us all. “This represents a formidable opponent. You cannot break it. You cannot defeat it.”

“It’s just a door,” someone whispered behind me.

Nero’s eyes darted to the whisperer. “This isn’t just a door. This is you. Your greatest enemy. This is what stands in your way.” He motioned the whisperer forward.

The man came, a half-smirk on his face. Nero’s next words wiped that smirk away.

“Punch the door,” he told the initiate.

“Like for real?”

“You will put your full power into that punch to hit the door as hard as you can,” said Nero. “And then you will immediately punch it again.”

A slow smile began to creep up the whisperer’s lips, but the cold look in Nero’s eyes killed it. The whisperer’s eyes darted between Nero and the door.

“Now, initiate,” Nero told him in a voice that made goosebumps pop up all across my skin.

The whisperer swallowed hard, then punched the door.

“I said to use your full power,” Nero said, his face as hard as granite, his eyes as cold as an Arctic storm.

“But that will break my hand,” the whisperer protested.

“Keep your wrist straight.”