CARWYNN
Bang!
A miss.
Bang!
Closer.
Bang!
Way off.Damn it.
We’d been at it for almost two hours now. Not once had I actually hit the thing dead center. But on a positive note, any improvement was improvement, right?
When we first got here, I’d accidentally pulled the trigger while taking the gun from Lochlainn. He didn’t appreciate almost losing a toe. Or my nervous laughter that followed, which shriveled what little confidence he had in me.
At least now I was hitting impressively close, within inches of the paper targets tacked to the stone wall. He clearly had me on the bunny hill of the shooting range. Two plain-Jane concrete aisles with generic targets posted at the end.
The simulation to our side flashed with color—loud, action-packed, and absolutely having more fun than I was. Itwas a torture to look at but too hard to look away, practically begging me to play.
Wyatt had trained me well enough with daggers and blades, so I could slaughter dummies half-unconsciouswhen focused. But shooting was definitelynotmy forte.
“Much better. But ya seem bored,” Lochlainn called from behind me. “Don’t know why ya don’t put some power in it.” He leaned casually against the concrete and bit at his thumb. A mindless habit I noticed he had.
I lowered the gun with a frustrated breath, jaw clenched and pride battered.
The lesson started off promising, with Lochlainn’s instructions being surprisingly clear and helpful. Well, the verbal part at least. But then came the hands-on demonstration where hisguiding handsgot gropey pretty quick. I had to swat him away more than once.
A not-so-stealthy, lucky-charmed Casanova . . .
But the easy mood between us thickened fast as I refused to use my abilities while shooting. Lochlainn pushed, insisting I should be using them as often as possible. Said they were organic parts of me now—extra limbs that needed to be stretched and strengthened.
I held my ground. I wasn’t doing it. Not yet.
Before training with David and Wyatt, I’d never used magic to fight. At least, not in the standard sense of the word. And I didn’t plan to start now. The most important thing was to master self-defense without shortcuts, without magic doing the work. I’d survived most of my life without power. Why should this be any different? If shit ever hit the fan and I lost control on my abilities—which, let’s be real, is a strong possibility—I needed something else to fall back on. Backup skills that didn’t sparkle.
Still, irritation ate away at me.
Bang!
Another miss.Shit.
“No worries, love. I doubt any of the trials will require a gun,” Lochlainn said, holding out a hand to signal we were done. “Eostre Landers prefer more theatrical events.”
“Let me guess,” I scoffed. “Planting people in the ground like bulbs?”
“Aye,” Lochlainn said, chuckling. “Folk would say Queen Ostera iseccentric. Personally, I think she’s a self-righteous, tree-humping twit.” His arms crossed.
“Don’t you mean treehugging?” I raised a brow. “I’m surprised you’re not a fan of her. Figured anyone who’d come up with a month-long orgy would be golden in your book.” I poked at the leprechaun, and he narrowed his eyes at me. “Maybe you could adopt your own version of Feck Fest here.”
Lochlainn’s face lit up, right before he bellowed a laugh.
“FeckFest!” he exclaimed. “Now that’s bloody clever! Should’ve thought of that name myself.” The look he gave me sparkled as another aftershock chuckle bubbled out.
“Why, thank you,” I said, dipping in a mock curtsy.
“Ostera drowns herself in flowers and pretty gowns.”
