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Movement to his right.
Darien swung the gun around, aiming at Larina Barlowe’s golden head as she walked into the range.
She skidded to a stop and lifted her hands, though her fear was quickly replaced with blatant interest—not just in him, for once. Her eyes roamed the room, scanning the targets he’d shot. Her full mouth formed a word he couldn’t hear.
Darien pulled off the earmuffs and hooked them around his neck. “What?”
“I said ‘impressive’.” She came closer, turning her head to scan the targets that were farther away—the ones she wouldn’t have been able to see from the door. “Very impressive,” she corrected. She came to a stop right beside him, close enough that her arm nearly brushed against his. She’d taken off her jacket; he could see the tattoos on her arms now, a full sleeve on the left and a single tattoo on the right. “You’re definitely Roman’s cousin.”
Darien loaded more rounds into the gun. “What do you want?”
“You’re not very polite, are you?”
“Manners aren’t my strong suit.” He moved the slide to the rear of the firearm and slammed it shut. “What do you want?” he said again.
“To get to know you better. It’s not every day Roman brings home guests, especially not Darkslayers from other cities.” She shrugged and crossed her arms. “Call me curious.”
“Or nosey.” Darien aimed the gun and fired, ignoring the pop of the bullet without the earmuffs to tone it down. “Intrusive.” He fired again. “Meddlesome.” Another three shots. Crack. Crack. Crack. Another three perfect bull’s eyes.
She snickered. Cleared her throat. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I find it a little strange that you came to visit Roman and he’s not even here.”
“Nosey, intrusive, meddlesome,” he repeated.
“Where is he?”
“Working,” Darien clipped. “And in case you didn’t notice, Roman’s not our only family. We’re here for Kylar and Paxton too.”
“It’s funny.” She studied him closely, eyes narrowing. “Paxton’s never mentioned this place before. Neither has Roman.” Her lips twisted with a frown. “Same with Kylar.” The last one sounded like a threat. If she or her brother went anywhere near Kylar, Darien would slit their throats from ear to ear.
Darien lowered the gun. “Do you keep such close tabs on them that they need to tell you everything about their lives?”
She smiled tightly, though her brow creased and she shook her head, as if realizing that he made a good point.
“Am I right or am I right?” Darien prompted.
“I can admit,” she began, “that sometimes we keep a closer watch on the other Shadowmasters than maybe we should—”
“Roman,” Darien corrected, firing another shot. “You keep a close watch on Roman.”
“Not by choice. We work for Donovan.”
“That’s no excuse to turn into a stalker.”
“We take orders, and we get paid to follow through.”
He squeezed the trigger, the sudden release of a new bullet making her jump. He glanced down at the goosebumps pebbling across her arms. Said through his teeth, “Still no excuse.”
She drew a breath. “Okay, so…is that why you just stomped out on us when we were about to have a drink?” She tossed her head to get the hair out of her face. “Because you think we’re out of line for coming here?”
“Yes.” He fired the last of the bullets until the gun gave a hollow click.
“Fair enough.” She looked him over with the kind of assessment he could feel. “I’ve heard a lot about you, you know.” Her voice was slightly muffled by the dull ringing in his ears.
“Have you?” he said flatly. He reloaded the gun.
“I have,” she began, tucking a strand of gold hair behind her pierced ear, skull-shaped studs lining the arch. “And I must admit, I’m a little curious about the infamous Darien Cassel. Or ‘meddlesome’, as you might call it.”
He snorted a laugh. Slammed the slide back in.
