Page 16

And Sebastian would have to blend in with those peers, pretending to be an aristocrat himself.

There was no way they could miss this Beckley Hunt Ball, not now that they knew Valemount would certainly attend.

Sebastian had to go, because this was how he could help—because Sebastian wasn’t part of the world of magic anymore.

“Fine,” he said abruptly. “Then we can look for this doctor doing trap shooting. And you can also teach me how.”

Wesley blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve fired a gun before,” Sebastian said, trying to seem casual even when his stomach was in knots, “but not since I was under blood magic. It’s obviously very different now.”

“Do you want to learn to shoot?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want ,” Sebastian said. “How am I supposed to talk to guests at a hunt ball if I don’t know anything myself?” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I couldn’t even hold my own in a bar fight, Wes. What am I supposed to do if someone has a gun?”

Wesley pursed his lips. “But if you don’t want to learn—”

“My life isn’t going to get easier,” Sebastian said, his throat gone slightly tighter. “I have no regrets, but I also can’t wait around and hope my magic comes back. I can’t wear the rose-colored glasses, as you like to say; I have to be able to hold my own in both of our worlds.”

Wesley frowned. “Countless men know how to shoot. The ones who wear rose-colored glasses are the rare ones.”

“Probably because they learn the truth about life and become wiser,” Sebastian said, swallowing, “and they have to take them off.”

* * *

When early afternoon came around, Sebastian and Wesley made their way to the recreation area of the ship to pick up supplies. The crewman who gave them shotguns offered to throw the traps, but Wesley turned him down.

The stern on B-deck was open to the wide skies above, making it cold, and very windy. On the promenade of the deck above, the occasional passenger could be seen at the railing, but around them, every deck chair was empty, Lady Nora’s companion nowhere to be seen.

“This is really more of a summer activity, but I suppose this Dr. Wright may still show,” Wesley said, but he sounded dubious to Sebastian’s ears.

He watched as Wesley found a spot to secure the trap thrower and then picked up one of the guns, hefting it in his hand.

Sebastian kept his face neutral, but Wesley was right: he didn’t have any real desire to learn more firearms skills.

There was nothing Sebastian wanted to shoot, not animals and certainly not people.

But they were rooting out a plot to destroy magic. Hyde had disappeared from his secure prison. And the bruise on Sebastian’s cheek still smarted. He was going to have to get used to the idea of fighting without magic; that was his reality now.

Wesley stepped up to the railing across the stern, gun steady and aimed out into the open ocean. “All right. Let it go.”

Sebastian released the lever on the trap thrower, and the coil launched the clay disk into the air off the back of the ship. Wesley tracked it for a moment, then fired, the sharp crack echoing over the wind and ship’s engines.

The clay disk shattered midair.

Sebastian’s eyebrows went up. “Wow.”

“Flattering, I’m sure, but we’re not here for me to indulge.” Wesley stepped back, holding the shotgun out to Sebastian. “Here.”

Sebastian took the gun and stood where Wesley had been. He watched the white-tipped waves for a moment, not feeling a fraction as easy as Wesley had looked. “The clay isn’t bad for the fishies, is it?”

“Sebastian de Leon—”

“It was just a question . I still want to learn.” Sebastian raised the gun and nodded once.

Wesley released the trap, which launched into the air. Sebastian followed its path, then pulled the trigger.

The clay disk spun on, untouched, falling out of sight.

Sebastian sighed.

Wesley cleared his throat. “You, er. Had your knees locked. Perhaps if you eased your stance before you tried again?”

Sebastian was standing very stiffly. He tried to relax, loosening his shoulders as he brought the gun up again. Wesley launched a second trap, and Sebastian fired a second time.

Yet again he missed, the disk spinning away into the ship’s wake.

“That was—better?” Wesley said cautiously.

Sebastian huffed. “No. It wasn’t.”

“It’s possible you’re holding your breath—”

“ Wesley. ” Sebastian turned around, careful to keep the gun lowered. “Stop handling me with the baby gloves.”

“ Kid gloves,” said Wesley. “And I’m not—”

“You are,” Sebastian said. “You need to be honest. You can’t—what is that word you say—you can’t coddle me.”

Wesley frowned. “I’ve never coddled anyone in my life.”

“You’re doing it now.” Sebastian set the gun down on the closest deck chair. “You know I can’t rely on you and Arthur and everyone else for protection forever. I need to know how to defend myself without magic.”

Wesley sighed. “I won’t argue with you about that,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m not a very good teacher.”

Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true,” Wesley said. “I haven’t the faintest idea how to offer gentle correction; I only know how to teach by being harsh.”

So be harsh. I won’t break. Sebastian didn’t say it. Wesley’s sharp edges were a defense he’d built against life’s cruelties and too many people were willing to use him as a villain. Sebastian wouldn’t have ever wanted to be harsh with Wesley either.

But he’d bet Wesley was actually a very good teacher, if they could figure out a way Wesley would be in his element. “Did you ever teach your soldiers to shoot?”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going with this?”

“What if this was wartime?” Sebastian said. “You are Captain Fine again—”

“Collins.”

“Collins,” Sebastian corrected. “You are Captain Collins again and you’ve just had the terrible misfortune to have a useless medic transferred to your company.”

“Oh no, not another medic,” Wesley said, deadpan. “Said no captain ever in the entire history of war.”

“It’s pretend ,” Sebastian said. “You’re pretending to be a captain again, taking charge of everything, and you’ve suddenly got a medic who doesn’t know how to shoot. And so you’ve got to teach him, yes?”

Wesley folded his arms. “I don’t know how things worked in the American army, but you would have been forbidden from even carrying a weapon in my army.”

“Yes, I know,” Sebastian said impatiently, “but—”

“More to the point, do you actually believe I ever would have allowed one of my medics to be armed and sent to battle?”

A flash of hurt went through Sebastian. “You don’t think we can learn?”

“Not that .” Wesley shook his head. “I don’t think you should ever have to. And don’t ask me to explain myself or talk about feelings; you know I don’t.”

Sebastian stifled a sigh.

“That said.” Wesley’s gaze flitted over him appraisingly. “It’s possible I could pretend Captain Collins is being forced to teach a medic to shoot for defense—for the medic’s own protection and safety, you understand.”

“Yes,” Sebastian said, straightening up. “You have an idiot medic in your company who’s going to get himself killed unless you step in.”

“That I’m willing to work with.” Wesley tilted his head. “But I should warn you that Captain Collins wasn’t very nice.”

“Who’s asking you to be nice ?” Sebastian said. “Not me. I’m asking you to be strict and bossy.”

“Oh are you?” The corner of Wesley’s lips turned up. His gaze swept over Sebastian a second time, slower than before, lingering in a way that sent pleasant prickles over his skin.

“Well. Since you’re asking for it.” Wesley stepped closer and cleared his throat. “Then straighten the fuck up, corporal.”

Sebastian’s spine snapped to attention before he’d consciously decided to move.

“Shoulders back.” Wesley’s voice had gone sharper and deeper. “Chin up, eyes forward. Maybe your last captain let you get away with this reprehensible slouching, but it’s not going to fly with me.”

Jesus. Sebastian might have underestimated how good Wesley was going to be at this.

Wesley pointed toward the range. “Turn around, face the ocean, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll keep that spine straight. We’re not in a fucking saloon, soldier.”

Heat curled in Sebastian’s stomach. This is a shooting lesson on a ship’s deck, not the bedroom , he reminded himself . Wesley is teaching you the way he knows how to teach—stop finding it sexy.

He licked his dry lips. “Shouldn’t I pick up the gun first?”

“Did I say to pick up the gun?”

“Well—”

“And why are you speaking when I haven’t asked you a question? Turn the bloody hell around.”

“Sir yes sir ,” Sebastian muttered under his breath, as he turned around.

The ocean stretched out in front of him, endless dark gray to the horizon line where it met the paler gray of the cloudy sky. Wesley was out of sight behind him now, but Sebastian felt the awareness of his body, just that small bit taller, as he stepped in close behind him.

Wesley’s voice was distractingly close to his ear as he said, “Square your shoulders.”

Sebastian straightened up.

“You’re still slouching,” Wesley said curtly.

“I’m not .”

“You are,” Wesley said. “How do you expect to aim properly if you don’t even stand straight?”

“How do you expect me to aim at all when I don’t even have a gun?”

“You really are asking for it.”

Sebastian had to bite back a startled yelp as Wesley’s hand landed on his ass, and not gently either. He turned over his shoulder and gave Wesley a dirty look. “We’re on a boat.”

“And we’re still quite alone. Believe me, I’m watching.”

“But you didn’t do that to your soldiers.”

“I thought this was pretend .” Wesley had just a hint of a smile again, sly around the edge. “And I promise, if I had ever found myself in charge of a medic as gorgeous but impertinent as you, I would have been so bloody tempted.”

He gestured at the ocean. “Now face forward and square your fucking shoulders, or I’ll do it again.”