Page 49 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

It surprised him how easily she flowed into a shooter’s stance—left foot slightly behind the right, knees bent, shoulders square to the target with a light lean-in.

She’d even fallen into a weaver’s stance for rifle shooting.

Her right arm extended with the elbow out.

Her left arm bent at the elbow and tucked up against her side.

She took a slow, steady breath, relaxed her muscles, leaned toward the target, then gently squeezed the trigger.

Christ, she looked like she’d been shooting for years.

After she’d spent the magazine, she ejected it from the magazine well, triggered the safety, and placed the rifle back on the counter, barrel facing down-range.

She learned quickly.

When he reeled the metal target back in, he wasn’t surprised to find a cluster of holes in the center of the target’s chest. He counted ten. There were ten rounds in the magazine.

“Your placement was perfect. How often did you shoot with Daniel?” There was no fucking way this target had come from a novice. No fucking way.

“Just the once. But we took turns for hours.”

He turned his attention from the target to her face. She looked pleased with herself. As she should.

“Did you beat him? Your brother, I mean. During your target practice competition?”

Because there was no doubt that a major competition had sprung up between the pair. If her shooting had been as extraordinary back then as it was now, no competitive young warrior would have let it stand unchallenged.

“Yeah…” Her voice went faraway and quietly sad. “My shots hit the bullseye every time. His hit the target, but not the bullseye, not every time.” She paused and her voice went hollow. “He called me a freak.”

O’Neill’s chest tightened. Muriel had mentioned Gracie didn’t have any friends and the only person she had been close to had been her twin. Daniel’s taunt must have stung.

“Didn’t like to lose, did he?” he asked, keeping his tone light, so as not to darken the mood even further. He hit the button to zoom the target back down the line.

“No. He hated it. He was so competitive—in sports, in school, in shooting, in everything.” At least the hollowness had left her voice.

O’Neill processed that, soaking in this additional information about the son he’d never known.

All those months of being within touching distance, and he’d never gotten to know him at all.

His throat tight, he shook the regrets away.

It was too late to develop a relationship with Daniel, but his daughter was right beside him.

He still had a chance to connect with her.

“When did this competition take place?” If the brilliance of her shooting was a result of her spirit gift, the talent could have manifested before the claiming.

“During mom’s birthday. Daniel came home to celebrate with us.”

Which, if he remembered right, would put the shooting match a month before Daniel’s death. Could her spirit gift have manifested that much earlier than her claiming? His had only been days apart.

He turned his focus back to her. “Shoot for the head this time.”

“Where in the head?” she asked with a breezy smile. Like the head itself, wasn’t a hard enough target.

His lips twitched. Getting full of herself, wasn’t she? Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Confidence sharpened shooting skills. It was only when confidence slipped into arrogance that skills went south.

“Target the forehead. Cluster the shots as close as you can get.”

“Right.” She picked up the rifle, inserted a full magazine, switched off the safety, and got to work.

After the rifle fell silent, he reeled the target in and huffed out a laugh. She hadn’t clustered the shots as he’d asked. Instead, she’d formed a perfect smiley face with her shots instead.

“Smartass.” Damn. The girl was a prodigy. Her shooting was about to trigger every warrior on base.

He was more certain than ever that they’d found her spirit gift.

The proficiency of her shooting was not natural.

But he held the suspicion back. She’d ask why the elder gods would give her such a gift, if she was not meant to join the warrior class.

Which was a good question, one he had no answer too.

The Taounaha had not clarified anything yet.

“I’d say you’ve mastered the rifle,” he said dryly as he pulled the metal target from the holder and replaced it with a paper one.

“Let’s try you on the Glock.” He picked the weapon up and inserted the magazine.

“This is a Glock 19. It had three safety sequences: a trigger safety, a firing pin safety, and a drop safety. These safeties are automatically engaged when the trigger pressure is released, and disengaged when the trigger is pulled. There is no physical switch.”

He showed her the safety protocols, how to insert and eject the magazine and demonstrated firing techniques.

Then passed the gun over. She wasn’t quite as talented with the Glock as she was with the MK22.

But damn, she was still good. Hitting squarely within the specified area each time.

With more practice on the weapon, she would match her skill with the rifle.

“Can I try some of the other rifles and handguns?” she asked with the feverish gleam in her eyes of someone obsessed.

As obsessions went, this was one he could get fully behind. One he could even share.

“Absolutely,” he picked up the rifle and handgun and led her back into the weapons depot.

“Shouldn’t we clean them before hanging them up?” she asked, as he racked the two guns and deposited the spent magazines in the bins beneath their racks.

“A warrior’s personal weapons are his responsibility to clean and condition.

But the weapons in the depot are cared for on a rotating schedule.

Each week, a list of warriors is generated to deal with the weapons in the depot.

” He walked over to a clipboard hanging from the MK22 rack.

“Every time a gun has been used, its number is marked down on the cleaning clipboard hanging from its rack.” He tapped the red five printed on the MK22’s stock.

“This alerts the warriors on maintenance that it needs cleaning.”

“I see.” She wrote the Glock’s number on the clipboard hanging from its rack.

“What rifle do you prefer?” she asked, as she ran her fingertips down the rifles racked before her.

“The MK18.” So did Wolf. Hell, back in the day, he’d almost rejected the weapon for that reason.

Her eyes crinkled as she thought that over. “Why do you like it?”

“Because of its purpose. The MK18 is a close quarter rifle. For insertions into tight spaces—places with walls and roofs. The MK22, the rifle your brother taught you on, is designed for long range assault. It’s a sniper’s weapon. I’m not a sniper.”

Had Daniel been training for sniping? He’d have to ask Wolf. It was a constant source of shame that Wolf knew more about O’Neill’s son than he did.

Gracie frowned, “So Daniel attacked from a distance and you attacked from up close?”

“Or defended myself,” O’Neill corrected . “Deploying a weapon is often about defending yourself and your unit, rather than taking the kill.”

“Can I try the MK18?”

“Of course.” he walked back two rows and grabbed an MK18 along with two full magazines. He also picked up a Sig Sauer M18, which was his handgun of choice.

They went through the weapons check again. He demonstrated how to work the MK18 and handed the weapon over to her. After stepping back and pulling his earmuffs on, he prepared to be wowed. She didn’t disappoint.

Christ, this girl—his daughter—was a beast on the shooting range. Her shooting was a piece of art.

“You have an affinity with guns I’ve never seen before,” he told her after their fifth rifle and handgun test.

“Really?” Her face glowed.

Did she realize she was utilizing her goddess-given gift here on the range? He didn’t ask. He needed to discuss this with Wolf, first. But this talent certainly seemed to indicate she’d been chosen for the warrior’s path.

Gracie would be thrilled by this news. Muriel would hate it. No, she’d be horrified by it.

“Daniel said Samuel made him run the obstacle course, fully decked out, while firing at targets.”

“That’s one of the training practices,” O’Neill admitted.

“Will I be doing that?”

“You will.” O’Neill said, his instincts telling him this slip of a girl would nail every target before her, no matter the load she carried or how heavy her breathing.

She squared her shoulders as they stopped beside the rack to hang the final rifle. “And if I do the battle simulations well, will you allow me join the base as a warrior?”

“There’s more to warriorhood than shooting.

Each warrior spends two years of training in combat medicine, tactics, strategy, assault awareness, machinery, equipment handling, survival and evasion, mental preparedness, CQB training, and hand to hand combat.

None of these practices can be mastered in a day.

And even then, assuming you excel at all of these, your entrance into the warrior class must be decided by the Shadow Warrior himself. We are his warriors, after all.”

But even with the warning issued, O’Neill wondered.

He’d never seen anyone with such strong instincts and talent when it came to shooting. And then there was her spirit animal—the Ho'cee —a quintessential warrior spirit.

Like the lion.

Which reminded him of Wolf’s le'ven'a . Her spirit animal, also a warrior’s totem, apparently visited her often. Did Gracie’s Ho'cee do so as well?

“Gracie...your spirit Ho'cee , has it visited you again since the initial claiming?”

“Yeah, she comes around when I’m down at Samuel’s place.

” Gracie’s voice was casual, as she carefully added the numbers for the final two guns to their clipboards.

Judging by her unconcern as she admitted to this remarkable aberration, she didn’t know how rare these visits were.

“I like having her around. She makes me feel strong...capable.”

When Gracie looked up, after letting the clipboard and pen hang, she must have seen the shock on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, suddenly anxious.

“How many times has your Ho'cee visited you?”

“At least a dozen,” Gracie said slowly, her eyes on his face. “Maybe more. I thought her visits were normal between spirit guides and those they’ve claimed.”

“No.” O’Neill fought to keep his voice even and his face neutral. “Such behavior is not normal. Spirit animals do not return to those they’ve claimed.”

At least among warriors. Male warriors. Did all women who’d received a warrior spirit receive multiple visits? But then how would anyone know? As far as he knew, Jillian and Gracie were the only two to ever receive such an honor.

“Oh,” Gracie said. The thoughtful crinkle he was beginning to recognize creased the corners of her eyes. “Isn’t there someone who would know why my Ho'cee keeps visiting me?”

O’Neill grimaced.

Perhaps. Perhaps not.