Page 86 of Shifter Situations

Baylor tilted his head in consideration. “You, uhm, you need earplugs. You can use these empty shells if you want.”

“Did you—” Briggs cut himself off as he walked to their targets. “Who taught you how to shoot a gun?”

“Dad and Franklin. The vampire is older than dirt, and Dad was in the Revolutionary War. He’s been using guns since before 1776.”

He scrubbed at his beard with both hands. “You just listened to me explain... All that shit, and you didn’t think to mention that you already know it?”

“I needed a refresher. You’re good at explaining the ins and outs.”

“Do it again,” Briggs challenged.

“Draw from your hip,” Bay added.

She flicked the lever on the side, the safety I thought, and tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans.

Briggs looked to Baylor, glancing down at his phone before saying, “Go.”

She whipped the weapon out in a series of fluid motions, bringing it straight out in front of her at chest level. Four shots went off rapidly as she moved through Briggs’ targets. Then she stopped, removing her finger from the trigger and putting the safety back on.

“That’s four chest shots in like six seconds,” Bay muttered.

She grimaced. “I haven’t practiced in a while. Is that bad?”

“No. I mean, it’d be more impressive if they were headshots, but—”

“Here we go,” Jack acknowledged, rolling his eyes. “He’ll learn. Eventually.”

Sloane slung her hand out, hellfire flying from her palm to hit the target. “I don’t want to kill anyone with a gun. That’s not as fun as, say, pulling your enemies apart or burning them alive.”

Baylor turned to Briggs. “I don’t know if she’s insane, delusional, or both.”

“Neither,” Briggs replied. “That’s how she feels. She’s being honest. I watched her remove a demon’s tongue last week.”

Stone smirked, and I had a moment where realization dawned on me.

We all had a darkness within us, but our mate was really showing us that we could thrive in it.

I couldn’t recall a time where I’d unapologetically been myself. There had been some kind of constant fear behind my choices; whether it be rejection, being caught, or anything in between.

Novak had pulled me into her thoughts the other day, and I’d heard her say that she couldn’t decide if I was the white knight or the dark prince.

I knew the answer to that.

I wasn’t a white knight at all. None of us were.

I was the dark prince, running from a death sentence.

My hands weren’t clean by any means, but my conscience was. I’d always felt like the darkness inside me was a horrible thing to carry. Now, it wasn’t so much of a burden or a curse. It was more like a forbidden gift that I’d never tried to understand properly.

And suddenly, going back to the winter realm didn’t seem so daunting. My mother was bad, but she wasn’t the worst. Or the best? The best at being bad?

No.

My mate was the Queen of Death. The Duchess of Despair? The Ruler of Nightmares?

Novak snorted at me. “Keep going. I hope she’s listening. Those are the kind of titles that she’d love to acquire.”

“How many times have you been called nosy this week?”