Page 8 of Hunted

“Just like that. A little more oomph next time, though.”

I tested the weight of the weapon in my hands—this was going to hurt like a motherfucker. I hissed as I hefted the axe behind my head with both arms, causing a fresh stream of blood to trickle down my side, and threw the weapon with a shout of barely restrained agony.

Fuck Seb and his stupid fucking dagger. I hope his leg fucking hurts.

“Nice!” Eth called from the pistol station.

At least I didn’t have to repeat the action a second time, since the axe hit dead centre too. And a loud “Yes!” from my left indicated Dak had finally had some success with the daggers. “Thanks, Addie!”

Wielding the bow wasn’t as bad as launching the axe, but my heart still stalled in my chest when Pearce’s solemn, quiet presence stopped behind me to watch.

I took a breath in, drew the string back further to rest against my cheek, balancing the arrow in its notch.

“Lift your elbow higher,” he murmured.

I did as instructed, grinning when my arrow sank into the bullseye right next to Fleur’s. When I swung round to thank him, Pearce’s brows lowered into a deep, furious scowl. The words dissolved on my tongue like pop rocks fizzing out into nothingness.

I rolled my eyes and re-racked the bow, picking up a Glock instead. I checked that the pistol was loaded—because fuck looking that incompetent while Captain Eagle Eyes was still staring me down—and stepped up to the line.

Feet shoulder-width apart, safety off, right hand on the grip, left hand supporting right hand, inhale, exhale, shoot.

I squeezed the trigger gently, taking the brunt of the recoil in my right arm, cursing quietly at the palm-width space between my bullet hole and the bullseye.

A soft chuckle sounded behind me, followed by the gentle resonance of my instructor.

“Do you always curse like this?” he asked with a touch of amusement.

“Only when I miss,” I grumbled.

His solid presence stepped closer—so close we were almost touching—and my heart simply stopped. Eyes wide, I froze like a deer in the headlights, because Deklan Pearce was dangerous, and I’d be a fool to ignore that lingering sense of peril.

Plus, I was just a damned recruit who shouldn’t be this turned on by the scent of citrus-and-something-else that followed him into my personal space bubble.

“That’s not the right stance for you,” he murmured. “I’ve seen you fight. You thrive in one-on-one combat. Do you have a background in boxing?”

My brows twitched even as I refused to look at anything other than the target.

How did he know that?

“Let me guess, it’s in my file?”

Pearce huffed a quiet laugh, his breath brushing against the nape of my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “It probably is, but I wouldn’t know. I don’t read them.”

Bullshit.

“I prefer to watch,” he continued, and my mind waged a war against my tongue with his perfect set-up to an innuendo, but miraculously, I managed to refrain from comment.

“People have tells,” he continued, oblivious. “Tiny little things their bodies do that give them away. Like you, for instance.”

“What does my body tell you?” I replied, a little more breathlessly than intended.

Pearce placed his hand on my right hip. His fingers dug into the solid muscle of my upper thigh, while my eyes bugged further out of my head. I gasped as his foot whipped between mine, knocking my right leg back. His toes nudged mine out to a forty-five-degree angle as he quietly instructed me.

Which was his job.

Damn it, Addie.

“Put most of your weight here on this foot.”