Beneath a Blood Moon (73 page)

After three hours of being zapped, I was twitching involuntarily, Nicolina was verging on collapse, and I was no closer to overcoming my habit of flinching away from gunfire. Amber glared at me. “This is obviously not working.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Maybe if you get used to firing without hearing the sound, you won’t flinch,” Amber mumbled, narrowing her eyes. “Nicolina, I don’t suppose you can temporarily deafen her, can you?”

“I probably could deafen her, but I don’t know if it’d be temporary, so let’s not.”

“Shit. Let me see if I can find ear plugs to go with the muffler and lessen the sound.”

Amber stalked off, spitting curses as she went.

“Amber dislikes failure, especially when she’s the instructor.” Taking up her gun, Nicolina loaded in a magazine and shoved the weapon into my hand. “This is not how you should ever fire a gun, but we’re going to try it. You’re flinching when it’s in front of you, so we’re going to see if you can fire on the side like I did with those trick shots.”

I inhaled, held my breath, and counted to twenty before letting it out in a slow, even exhale. “Okay.”

Nicolina replaced the target with a fresh sheet. Adjusting my stance, she extended my arm to the side. “Look at the sheet, pick your target, aim, and then look at me. Try to keep your hand and arm steady. Fire, but be prepared for the recoil; it’ll be a lot stronger since you aren’t in a stable stance. All I want you to do is look at me. Don’t blink. I don’t care if you hit the target or not.”

While I still flinched at the sound of the gunfire, I was able to keep my eyes open. Nodding her approval, Nicolina gestured for me to keep firing.

I blinked once.

“Exchange magazines and try again.”

Four magazines later, I managed to unload the gun into the target without blinking.

Amber returned carrying a set of earplugs. “Okay, once you put these in, you probably won’t be able to hear a thing we’re saying.”

“It’s audio and visual,” Nicolina reported. “Trying her on side shots got her to stop blinking, but she still flinched.”

“Side shots?” Amber frowned at the target. “Did you hit the paper or did she?”

“All her. Luck, but hey, they’re on the paper.”

“Okay, Sara. Put the plugs in, put your mufflers on top of them, and try shooting with a proper stance. When you’ve emptied a magazine, take the plugs out so we can talk.”

Sighing, I obeyed, flexing my aching hands before exchanging the spent magazine for a fresh one. When I finally hit the target halfway through the magazine, I stared at the lonely hole.

Amber lifted the mufflers off my head. “It’s customary to finish your magazine before you admire your work, Sara.”

Pulling out the ear plugs, I blurted, “I hit it!”

“Now do that again without the ear plugs. The gun isn’t going to bite you. You know what to do to keep from shooting yourself. When you hold that gun, you’re the predator. You said you wanted to take the shot at your father for what he’s done to Sanders and your mother. Prove it. If you can’t hit the target, there’s no way you’ll be going in with a live weapon,” Amber said, bringing in the target to replace it. “Before we’re done, if you can’t hit the target with every round in the magazine, I’m not qualifying you.”

My hands throbbed, my entire body ached, and I craved sleep, but Amber’s threat kept me awake. Waiting until the others fell asleep, I broke every single rule I’d agreed to and returned to the range by myself. Amber’s first mistake had been giving the codes for the armory and range to Nicolina, Lisa, and Wendy in front of me.

Her second had been underestimating my determination to deal with my own problems. If I needed to qualify to put an end to my father’s threat to my mate, I’d qualify, one way or another.

If I couldn’t aim because I flinched, I’d keep shooting until I stopped. When the time came, I’d look my father directly in the eyes and pull the trigger.

Instead of the Beretta, I took out the smaller gun, which felt like a toy in my hand. I checked the weapon as Amber had taught me, put on my mufflers, lifted the weapon, and took aim. Narrowing my eyes, I considered the human-shaped outline and the smaller sections within. The heart and the head were the kill zones.

By trying to kill my mate, my father had betrayed me. I could easily believe he had betrayed my mother, killing her in his greed. While only he knew the truth of her fate, the thought of allowing him to face torture at the hands of the Inquisition sickened me.

I remembered Joseph after his release, and they had intended to keep him alive for Sanders’s sake. What would they do to my father?

I hated him for what he had done, but without him, I wouldn’t be alive.

The last gift I would give him would be a bullet to his head as payment for the life he had taken and the lives he had ruined. A bullet to his head was the only way I could show him any mercy. Part of me wanted him to suffer for decades for his crimes.

I held my stance a long time, staring at the blank target. Would I even recognize my father after so many years? Had his transformation into a Fenerec changed him? Wendy didn’t look much older than her daughters. Desmond didn’t look a day over thirty. Even my mate, who I knew was far older than I was, looked in his mid-twenties.

While my father’s face eluded me, I shivered at the memory of his voice, always cold and aloof.

The little gun packed a big punch when I fired it. Startled by the strength of the recoil, I gawked at the weapon, my respect for it increasing. Gritting my teeth, I reset my stance, narrowed my eyes, and fired.

When I emptied the magazine without striking the paper once, I growled.

If I couldn’t hit my prey, I would lose the hunt.

If I couldn’t shoot a piece of paper, there was no way I would be able to take my father’s life. Instead, I would burden Amber or one of the others with the weight of his death. My wolf’s resentment at the thought of allowing anyone else to deal with him burned me from the inside.

I kept shooting until my hands shook so much I couldn’t hold the gun any longer. After cleaning up the mess and leaving the range as I had found it, I returned to the suite, careful not to wake the others.

Sleep eluded me.

I made exactly zero progress over the next two days, and Amber seethed at my constant failure. Throwing up her hands in frustration, she stormed off, leaving me with several full ammunition boxes and the Beretta. I sighed, reloaded all of the magazines, and once again ignoring the rules, I kept shooting despite being unsupervised.

I didn’t even bother aiming for the first two magazines, pulling the trigger as fast as I could in my fury at my incompetence. I considered throwing the gun, but instead, I engaged the safety, stepped out of the stall, and hunted down Lisa, who was firing on the other end of the range.

“No luck?” she asked, her expression sympathetic.

“I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at point-blank range,” I snarled. “Amber’s given up; she probably went to watch Nicolina and Wendy play on that stupid obstacle course.”

“Which you can’t even try unless you qualify,” Lisa reminded me, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve never seen someone as stubborn about flinching as you.”

“I want to try something big. In automatic. I want to spray the fucking range with bullets. Fuck the targets.” I flexed my hands, and my wolf’s frustration merged with mine until I growled with each breath.

“Angry woman with a fully automatic. I like it. Come on, I think I have just the thing. Just don’t tell Amber, or she’ll hang me out to dry.”

“Maybe if she hadn’t stormed off, she’d be around to notice.”

Lisa took me to the armory and pulled down a pistol. “This is the Glock 18. It’s fully automatic. The magazine holds thirty-three bullets. When you pull that trigger, you’ll empty that magazine in a little under two seconds. Since we’ve come to the conclusion you’re shit with a gun, we’ll play. Instead of trying to hit the target, you’ll be reloading as fast as you can, resetting your stance, and unloading the magazine. You’ll want to be careful with this gun, Sara. If you think the recoil on the Beretta is bad, this baby will crack you in the forehead if you don’t control its lift.”

I took the gun. “Okay.”

Under Lisa’s supervision, I checked over the Glock, and she taught me how the gun worked. Crossing her arms, she set the target to the farthest distance and gave me the nod to go ahead.

While I hadn’t thought the Beretta was very heavy, the Glock was feather-light; true to Lisa’s warning, it bucked in my hand, requiring me to focus my attention on keeping the weapon level. I giggled at how fast the magazine emptied.

“Fun, isn’t it? Now, swap the magazine for a fresh one. Practice it a few times until you get a feel for it. I want you to empty the magazine, dump it, load in a fresh one, and dump that one out as well. If you can hit the target, go for it.”

I set the Glock down, cracked my knuckles, and set two fresh magazines on the ledge. With her help, I learned how to swap them out, practicing until she was satisfied with my speed. When she gave me the go-ahead, I lifted the gun and took out all of my pent up frustration on the piece of paper. After so many magazine changes with the Beretta, my hands moved without me thinking about it, and I resumed firing.

Turning the safety on, I set the weapon down on the sill, slumping to drop my arms over the barrier. I tossed the muffler over my shoulder. “I’m such a failure,” I complained.

Lisa patted my shoulder, and I heard her bring the target in. She set the paper on my back. She poked me, and I heard her mumbling something under her breath. Finally, she patted my shoulder. “Okay, girl. Get up and do it again. This time, I want you to fire three magazines in a row.”

Groaning, I straightened. Lisa shoved the mufflers back into place over my ears. Grabbing the Glock, I loaded in a fresh magazine while she set up a new target.

The primitive joy of destruction surged through me when I fired the automatic, and I was so focused on holding the gun steady and swapping magazines as quickly as possible, I didn’t realize I had hit the target until Lisa brought the sheet back to the stall.

She giggled, tacked it to the wall, and started counting. When she finished, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed a number, sending a new target out while the phone rang. “Hey, Amber. Bring the others. You need to come see this.”

“What does she need to see?” I grumbled.

Snorting, Lisa pointed at the target. “I want to watch them when you snarl like a crazy lunatic while you play with that toy.”

Amber made her appearance with Nicolina following close behind, took one look at the Glock in my hand, and crossed her arms over her chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

Snatching the target off the wall, Lisa held it out in front of Amber.

“Taunting her with your shooting?” the witch asked, her tone so mild I suspected she was seething.

“Four magazines, Sara.”

I adjusted my mufflers, and eager to vent more steam, I loaded the Glock and opened fire. As soon as I finished, Lisa brought the target in, tacked it to the wall, and said, “Count them, Amber.”

With an arched brow, Amber regarded the shredded paper. “It’s a little difficult to count holes in a piece of confetti, Lisa.”

“The Beretta, Sara,” Lisa ordered while sending out a fresh target.

Puzzled, I switched guns, refilling a magazine so I could take a round with the semi-automatic.

I missed the target completely. Wailing my dismay, I once again slumped over the sill. “It’s not fair.”

Snickering, Lisa patted my shoulder. “Try the Glock again.”

Sighing, I obeyed, unloading an entire magazine. When Lisa brought the target back and asked Amber to count, the witch obeyed.

“Thirty-three,” Amber reported, her eyes wide. “Are you seriously telling me she qualifies on a bloody Glock 18 but can’t handle a fucking Beretta? How is that even possible?”

“Nicolina, go grab some assault rifles—ones with some big kick to them. Let’s put a theory to the test,” Lisa said, grinning at me. “Maybe the Beretta is just too soft in her hands. Perhaps the harder kick forces her to focus.”

“That does not explain how she hit the target every time,” Amber muttered.