i be90349f18331670 by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page B

only sprained, don’t whinge, and we’ve already taken care of pumping, you did just fine when you did it the other— Why am I even—?
    You know…” Brayden took a long breath, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Do I look like I don’t know what I’m doing?”
    That was the truly irritating part—it would be so much easier to maintain annoyance with Brayden if he did look like he didn’t know what he was doing. As it was, it was too obvious that Brayden knew exactly what he was doing, and if Wil ever wanted to defend himself from a range longer than whacking-distance, all he could do was listen and try to learn. He sighed, checked the safety by feel—he’d slid it over again when he’d slipped his finger over the trigger, damn it—and put it back into firing position.
    “All right, I’m sighted, the safety is off and my grip is as relaxed as I can make it. Can I shoot now?”
    Brayden took a step to the side. “As you will,” was all he said.
    The reply was so unexpected, Wil had to stop himself 44

    Carole Cummings
    from releasing his firing stance in exasperation before he realized he’d been given a Go ahead , rather than a No, no, stop, you’re doing it wrong, start again . He had to blink a few times and flex his fingers. Despite himself, he checked the safety another three times before determinedly curling his finger about the trigger, slowing his breathing to a low, even in-and-out. The bundle of sticks hung maybe fifty feet away, and he concentrated on the brown of the wood, the tan of the string holding them together, the over-and-under loop of the knot…
    It wasn’t a bundle of sticks; it was Siofra’s smug, smiling face.
    Brayden had been right—there was a healthy recoil to the thing. Had Wil been gripping it tight as he’d done the first few times, his arm would likely right now be several yards behind him. His ears rang dully, the sharp, acrid bite of gunpowder in his nose, and oily smoke wafted in a thin cloud about his head. He blinked, turned first to Brayden, and then followed Brayden’s surprised gaze to the target.
    The sticks were still held together in what used to be the center of the bundle, but now they spiraled crazily on the end of the string, the trajectory lopsided and erratic, Wil’s shot having sheared them in half. One end of ragged splinters twirled against the string at a sharp angle, the other end dipping and weaving in a wild orbit of unscathed kindling. Wil blinked some more, turned to Brayden again, who peered back with a surprised look that might have been somewhat insulting if Wil wasn’t so stunned himself.
    “I hit it.” It was rather stupid and redundant, but…
    well, he’d hit it. He’d actually hit it.
    “You did,” Brayden agreed, the faint lurking smile of approval doing things to Wil’s pride he refused to admit.
    “All right, what next?” Brayden wanted to know.
    45

    The Aisling Book Two Dream
    Wil had to think about it. He’d never expected to actually get this far; the instructions about what came after still lived in a haze of It’ll never happen so why bother .
    “Pump the forend,” he heard himself say. “Expel the spent shell and reengage the safety.”
    “Good,” Brayden approved. “Do it.”
    Wil did, gripping the forend barrel-up in his left hand like Brayden had shown him, then giving the rifle a sharp jerk down then up. Ordinarily, or so Brayden had told him, one would keep the gun braced to one’s shoulder and maintain their firing stance while completing this task, but Wil had tried and hadn’t been able to pump the thing with his damaged right hand, so Brayden had shown him an alternative. This way held the risk of too much time between shots, Brayden had told him, and vulnerability of exposure, but it was better than trying to fumble through clumsily re-cocking the thing and getting shot while you stood there cursing at it.
    “Anyway, this way I could shoot from the saddle and still keep hold of the reins,”