Page 92 of Cold-Blooded Creatures

I returned the gun to its previous location on the table. “Now keep your end of the deal, and go finish your lesson with Ezra. You still have to hit a target.”

She listened intently throughout the rest of the lesson, spending the breaks conspiring with Eislyn on the other side of the booth from Ezra and me. When the evening came and Ava released the tired and grumbling groups of newcomers from her lesson, Ezra relented and allowed them to practice on the targets.

Eislyn was the first to hit a dummy, and they dropped their guns, jumping animatedly, embracing each other with delighted squeals, much to Ezra’s displeasure at their lack of seriousness.

A few tries later, Kali hit a target herself and slowly lowered her gun, clicking the safety and discarding it on the table at the front of the booth.

She approached me with a sly smile. “I guess you’re bringing me with you tomorrow then,kitten.”

I was going to kill Zion.

31

KALI

The knife turned over in the air, catching the last bit of the evening’s sunshine, and a barely audible thump marked its fall on the moss instead of my hand.

Damn it. Missed it again.

“I promise I’ll teach you some stuff later. We need to focus for now.” Zion picked up my instrument and hid it in my black leather backpack that matched my kick-ass boots.

I loved my knife. Having a cold weapon that could take a life—and had done so—made me feel powerful. Invincible. But I wasn’t an idiot. I’d been flinging it up into the clouds, flipped closed, so my limbs remained intact and not sliced off.

But I had to admit to myself that his point made sense. Me doing random shit could be distracting to them as their trio studied the open field leading to Ilasall’s towering wall, our group hidden in the tree line, the thick foliage masking our presence.

Arms crossed over her chest, Ava said, “This is stupid.”

Nobody responded.

Gedeon, Zion, and Ava stared each other down for a minute—or perhaps a century.

Annoyance whirled within me at their disagreement. I wanted to run and feel the wind watering my eyes and tousling my hair, savor the rush of freedom as we passed the gates of Ilasall to deliver our packages with the knowledge that I could exit the city later with nothing holding me back.

And no abhorrent guard I’d have to repay.

“I’m not moving from this spot until you explain to me how this is supposed to make sense,” Ava said, leaning back against an oak. “It’s my job to plan the outings in an as-safe-as-possible manner, and this is the opposite. Tell me again why you think this is a good idea.”

I shuffled on my feet, snapping a tiny twig in half, and settled on the blanket of moss damp from the evening’s dew. “It’s not. But there was no chance you and Zion were going alone. The soldier came after me too, and I was not going to stay at the compound while you all go out. I’m not the type of person who sits and waits.”

Gedeon had tried to back out of his bargain to bring me here, poking me to tell him what the two wristbands left on my pillow by the soldier meant as it was clear the blood on Zion’s sheets showcased the upcoming and painful end of his life, but I refused to give my nightmare up.

Yet Gedeon’s relentless bugging had snapped my patience, and I’d agreed to a deal: I’d follow his orders during our time in Ilasall in exchange for him quitting his assault of questions.

Which was shredding my sanity. My intestines knotted each time he barked at me to do something and I had no choice but to go through with it. I couldn’t wipe his smirk off, no matter how much I wished it.

“You coming, I understand. I would do the same in your place,” Ava told me, and then to Gedeon, “Butyou, I have no words. You’re the one who is supposed to stayalive. There is a reason Zion and I take care of operations by ourselves.”

“Your backpack is leaking.” I pointed to the mottled brown leather backpack Zion had borrowed from Jayla. Red drops were slowly forming in the left corner and dripping down to where moss soaked them up and turned reddish brown.

Using the hem of his long-sleeved shirt, he wiped at the backpack.

“That’s not suspicious at all.” Sarcasm coated my tone.

He tucked the affected corner into his black pants to hide the crimson stain and spun around, his arms spread as wide as his smile was. “How do I look?”

“Like a pretty boy.” The moss under the soles of my boots felt like a compressed spring about to launch me toward him so I could trace the contours of his grin.

It was cute.