His brows pinched, the only indication he felt any pain from my tightening grip.
Then, a loud thunderous laugh.
“Knew that’d get ya spittin’ feathers,” he said with a wink. “Had to get ya warmed up a bit. Although, I do preferothermethods for that.”
I twisted harder. He hissed, still half-chuckling.
“All right, love. I won’t do it again,” he said. A shit-eating grin grew on his face like a fungus.
I let go.
“Unless, of course, you beg me to,” he muttered under a breath as he walked by, just loud enough to make damn sure I heard it.
“Carwynn!”Lochlainn yelled from the balcony above.
I didn’t bother looking up. I already knew that tone. Him grilling me for still not using magic with that one little wrinkle on his forehead, judging me from up high.
There had to be over seventy Luckmen crowding the balconies above, chattering and laughing like this was another goddamn Friday night event.
“I’m parched—why don’t ya bring those jugs over here and water me down, eh?” a man bellowed.
I spun toward the ruckus just in time to witness one of the Brassers getting motorboated. A grown-ass man having dove head-first into her bare breasts, nuzzling a head back and forth like it was a fucking pillow. The men around him roared, cheering as if it were a bachelor party at a back-alley titty bar.
Pigs.
I speared a look toward Lochlainn, brows arched high as if to ask,these are the idiots protecting your city? Seriously?
Then I saw it, another familiar smile on the balcony beside him. Warm eyes, adorably handsome features, and a tongue that could make me forget my own name . . .Finley.
A twinge of nausea rolled through me.
Great. Just what I needed. More eyes to witness my complete humiliation.
I turned back toward the course in front of me, swearing off the sudden flush.
The floors and walls were dark gray stone. Very minimalistic and cold. The space was wide open, large enough for the magic simulation to form a course. Though so far, I hadn’t gotten the cool rainbow strobe lights like I’d seen others get. Nope. Instead, it’d been a solid ten minutes of pitch black, with neon-glowing orbs blinking to life and darting around the room like fireflies on crack. And my job was to shoot each one. Easy enough.
Except I missed every single one. Well, two I’d gotten pretty close—ish.
Lochlainn must’ve been paying his men overtime, because not one of them booed. A few chuckles echoed here and there but were quickly silenced.
I think I’d rather the loud booing—the unnerving silence that settled right before I fired was far worse. Dozensof eyes watched, waiting. The quiet pressure of them pinned to me like a hundred little sharp darts.
At the back wall, the only thing I was able to see through the dark was a beautiful, intricate carving of a three-leafed shamrock etched into the stone. A faint golden glow pulsed at its center like a living heartbeat.
Within seconds, the course changed. Shadows shifted and the orbs disappeared. I stood and waited for it to decide what form of humiliation to throw at me next.
I sucked and this was far beyond my experience level. It didn’t make sense—the sentient course was supposed to adjust to each person’s proficiency.
The air dimmed around me again, like a black velvet curtain being drawn across the sky. But this time, there were no flashing orbs in sight.
Just a sound—a deep, guttural growl.
A predator lurking . . . on the hunt.
Um. This thing can’t actually attack me, right?
Sharp scraping sounded off the stone. Claws dragging. Then came the thuds of heavy paws meticulously approaching.
