Chapter 18
Aknock comes from the door and Gretch leaps out from the bottom bunk.
I hear her pick up her gun before opening the door.
I stay in bed. Again, my sleep was twisted between Stark’s home and Pratt scolding me for taking this risk.
To be serious, though, I’m perfect for this.
I look like a human. It’s why everyone at home hates me too. Well, maybe not everyone anymore.
Lirea winked at me while bandaging a handsome werewolf. “Think it’d be bad if I asked him to sleep in my bed while he heals?” she asked me after he left.
I just laughed.
This is for them. For the ones who joke with me and treat me like everyone else. I couldn’t tell them what I was planning to do. Someone would have told Stark, and he doesn’t trust me to take of myself. The Elders see me as weak too. They’d laugh or dismiss me.
“Aly?” Gretch yells.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve been summoned.”
“Oh?”
She comes to the bedroom door, her eyebrows up. She climbs up over the top bunk rail, wobbling off one leg. “Tripp is here for you; I have no idea why. He just said you were expecting him. Were you?”
I slide the sheets down and sit up. “Not exactly.”
“Well, get moving. That man is . . . well, you know.” She fans her face, and I try not to laugh. Tripp is no dream. He’s a monster.
It takes me no time to climb out of bed once Gretch leaves. I slip on my clothes and head for the door. She passes me in the narrow hallway with a thumbs up.
“Good morning, Aly.” Tripp has his hand pressed into the doorframe, his dirty-blond hair sticking out in a slight flare from under his hood at the sides of his neck. His face is shaved, leaving only a moustache. I’ll agree with Gretch on a temporary basis. That jawline isn’t awful.
“Morning,” I say, slipping a hat over my head. I’m skipping the jacket today. Who knows what this will entail, and it’s easier to stay cool without it suffocating me.
I trail him out of Gretch’s, and he slows until we’re side-by-side, leading me through the camp.
We reach a building on the edge of the cluster similar to the one Gretch took me to a few nights ago where Hudson was.
When he opens the door, my jaw drops for just a second before I compose myself.
Pulse racing, I dig my nails into my sleeved wrist.
Inside the building are guns—rows and rows of them. Lining the far walls are stacks of unopened crates . I can assume what they’re filled with.
A petite man, shorter than me and wearing wire-framed glasses, greets us at a folding table—his smile stretched too wide, nowhere close to his eyes.
“The beast killer, what can I do for you today?”
I eye Tripp and keep my feet locked in place, the door touching my shoulder blades.
“I’ve got our newest member here. Let’s start her with something light and uncomplicated. No scopes. A bolt action should be fine.”
“Why hello there.” He eyes me and turns to lift a rifle from the rack behind him. “Here’s a bolt action twenty-two. Can’t kill much with it.” He lowers it onto the table.
Tripp leans to look at it. “A good gun to learn with.”
I take a few steps forward so I don’t look afraid. “Wow, it’s beautiful.” Beautifully awful, I think. I can do this. I’m a powerful myth of a werewolf. I’m not what anyone says. No one knows me. I can continue to fake who I am.
“It is.” The small man’s smile hasn’t left his face once and is borderline creepy.
He grabs a box from the side of the table.
“A young girl like you will need a man wrapped around her to shoot it. Maybe I’ll join you.
” Never mind—he’s plain creepy. His eyes are huge behind the rims of his glasses as he licks his lips.
I shudder.
“I’ll be teaching her.” Tripp’s irritation is evident as he directs me to pick up the gun.
I pause, staring.
“It’s not loaded. Don’t worry,” he says.
I nod, and my fingertips graze the smooth wood. The weighted wooden middle fills my hand. I wrap the sling over my shoulder like I’ve watched Gretch do and step to the door, holding the bullet box.
What the fuck am I doing?
I wish he was here.
The pain of Pratt’s absence fuels me. I can’t stop now.
Tripp grabs a few other rifles, and then we head out. I follow him, staring at the four rifles slung on his back. Above, the sky is cloudy and the air is warm for a late-winter day. He takes us out to the forest, and we reach a clear patch.
A shot rings out, and I flinch.
“We’ll get you over that in no time.” Tripp smiles at me.
A few men are lined up at what I guess is a shooting line.
Some stand, while others crouch, and one is laying down, his gun propped up on two spikes.
A hundred yards away is a bunch of plywood targets—a wolf painted on one.
I gulp as Tripp leads me to an open spot at the end.
There are another dozen or so bystanders near the tables lined with guns, a few wearing over-the-ear headphones and others with bright yellow plugs in their ears.
I’ve never been around so many armed humans.
I shift my eyes to focus on Tripp as he places the four guns on a table set up behind us and takes the box of bullets from my hands. There’s a comfortable rhythm to his movements, like a dance.
“Now, I know you’re new to this, so I’m going to help you get comfortable.”
Another two shots ring out. I twitch.
Fuck this.
“I don’t know if I should shoot a gun.”
“Do you work out?” His voice is calm against the shots ringing out along the line.
“Yes.” That seems like something Aly the hiker would do. Explaining that I run through the woods as a werewolf to keep in shape would probably lead to the guns aimed at me. Though it’s been over a month since that’s happened. My face falls.
“Aly, I promise”—the back of his hand brushes my cheek—“you won’t have an issue. Now come here.”
Remembering where I am, I move closer. Tripp picks up a pair of black headphones from the table and places them up over my ears and I do my best to look pleased with the gesture.
After putting his headphones on, he lifts the gun off my shoulder with ease.
Lowering it on an angle to rest in front of his leg, he pulls the handle back and inserts three small golden bullets.
“I’ll show you one, then you try.”
Relieved to move away, my practiced mask slides into place.
He angles his footing and lifts the gun up against his shoulder.
Lowering his face, he squints his eyes at the targets across the large field.
A finger on the trigger, he pulls, and a loud noise erupts from the gun.
My hands clench into fists. The target ahead of us has a new hole right in the center of the red and white rings.
“Now it’s your turn.” He hands me the loaded gun.
I stare at the black barrel. This was not a part of my plan. I wanted information, not action. How I went from being ordered not to leave a room to being handed a gun all in the same week, I just don’t understand. A traitorous rush of excitement courses through me.
“Place your feet on a diagonal like so, and your one hand on the stock.” He mimics the stance right behind me then wraps his arms around me, gripping the middle of the gun.
His chest is firm against my back, even through the layers.
“You want to hold your trigger finger right here.” He guides my hands down to the proper position.
“The safety is on so you can’t shoot yet.
Try to get used to the feeling.” My finger rests on the cold metal.
“Next, you want the butt super tight against your shoulder.” He pulls himself in tighter as the end of the gun digs into my shoulder.
“If you give it space, it will take your shoulder out when it goes off. There’s a basic bore sight on this one, so you want to close one eye to start and line that little pin at the end of the gun with the slit between the square.
” He finally moves away, creating a bit of space between us. “Think you got it?” he asks.
“It’s as good as it’s going to get,” I say, my voice even.
He lifts up the edge of my headphones and whispers into my ear. “Perfect.”
I smile back, and my hands tighten on the gun.
“Back into position.” He clicks the safety off, and a red line appears. He grips his body around me, and I can feel the strength in his arms. It’s not a heated embrace, not like someone I shouldn’t being thinking about. If I wasn’t repulsed, I might enjoy this.
I stare at the target, enhancing my vision the best of my abilities without overheating.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I give a slight nod. Confidence—I need to be confident. I am a werewolf from legends who can heal bones with internal fire.
I can shoot a gun.
I can.
I can.
I eye the sight, lining up the pin at the end of the barrel between the gap in the metal square, then angle it in the middle of the red-dotted target in front of me. I wait for a few shots to go off, then my finger tightens on the trigger. I pause, letting out a small breath.
Bam.
The noise is a bit muffled from the headphones. The gun kicks like Tripp warned, but I have more than enough strength to keep me from being affected.
“Wow,” Tripp beams.
“What?”
“You hit right in the center.!” He moves to beside me, grinning.
I lower the gun to the side, aiming away from everyone, and slide the small red pin to black. “You also hit right in the middle.” I wink.
“That’s different. Okay, Aly, let’s shoot the last round off, then I got something else for you to try.”
We go over the same process. Tripp tucks his chest around me, tighter than before, to get the gun in position, then stays there until I pull the trigger, leaving a hole in the target an inch away from my last one.
“You’re amazing.” His breath brushes the side of neck, the edge of his moustache causing a faint tickle.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” Pink rises to my cheeks, and it makes me feel like a traitor.