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“Not quite,” I say with a grin. “I know where Kyson keeps his guns. And I have training.”
“Training?” they both ask in unison.
“Long story.” I wave them off. “What’s important is that sunrise is only fifteen minutes away and our family is out there, fighting men I could kill with a single bullet.”
“I can’t,” Rowan repeats.
“I don’t want to go down to the actual fight,” I explain quickly. “I want to be on the balcony of the Consort Suite. I’ll have a better view from there.”
“What are you talking about?” Lisette asks.
“Kyson has a rifle with a scope. I’m a good enough shot that I’ll be able to help from up there without putting myself in any real danger.”
“Shit.” Rowan runs his hands through his hair, staring at me. “If I let you do this and you screw me, my dying wish will be for Kyson to turn your ass red.”
Holding out my hand I stare into his eyes. “Deal.”
He shakes his head, turning back to Lisette. “I’m assuming you’re not going to stay here?”
“What do you think?” She shakes her head. “For someone with a genius IQ you’re not very bright.”
I can’t help but chuckle as Rowan leads us out of the safe room, cursing under his breath. He leads us down a corridor and up a back set of stairs until we reach the room I share with Kyson. My hands are shaking as I remove the false bottom in our wardrobe and retrieve the rifle. I’m rusty, I know, but it’s worth trying.
In silence we head toward the Consort Suite at the other end of the house, remaining as quiet as we can. It takes me a moment to steady myself before I push open the unlocked—fucking finally—doors that lead to the balcony.
Down below, I can see various fights happening. Three men have surrounded Aziel and I decide to lower those numbers first. Finding a spot, I lean the rifle on the wrought-iron siding, I take a moment to aim, making sure I target the man furthest from Aziel. Taking a deep breath, I hold it for five seconds before fingering the trigger lightly on the exhale.
Below us, the man is thrown back as the bullet hits him in the middle of his chest. The other two men look around to see where the shot has been fired from and that gives Aziel the opening he needs. In the blink of an eye, both men are dead on the ground, their necks snapped. He turns in my direction with a smile and a wave before taking off to help someone else.
“To your left,” Rowan whispers as I turn to see what he is talking about.
Kyson is in a fight with the man from visions that have been terrorizing me. Behind them, another approaches, holding a machete raised above his head. I may not be confident enough to fire at the man fighting my consort but I will sure as shit shoot the asshole that wants to take his head from behind.
My second shot hits its mark and the Jagter lands face-first in the grass outside the coven house. The man fighting Kyson is distracted for a second, leaving himself open for a blow to the stomach. Clutching his middle he glares at Kyson, unintelligible words falling from his lips as he backs away. Kyson is rooted to the spot as he watches more and more Jagters flee from our home.
I know there will be hell to pay the moment he gets inside so I don’t wait to see his facial expression. I can feel the murderous rage thrumming through his veins the moment he spots me.
“Let’s get downstairs,” I say to Lisette. I hand Rowan the rifle. “You may want to lock yourself in that little safe room until I can calm Kyson down. He is murderous.”
Rowan shakes his head with a smile before backing away. “You’re going to give that man an ulcer.” And then he’s gone.
Lisette hooks her arms through mine. “Kyson should be grateful. You were never in danger and you helped.”
I chuckle. “Doubt he’ll see it that way.”
“He can kiss my lily-white ass. I’ll fight him on this.”
And this is why I know we are going to be friends for a very long time.
The moment we get close to the main staircase, I hear my consort’s rage.
“Where is he?” Kyson roars loudly. “I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”
“Language,” I say, stepping up behind him.
Kyson turns on me with a glare before pulling me into his arms. His hands roam my entire body, looking for any kind of injury while I stare at the mark on his forehead. It looks like a burn mark and it hits me how close I was to losing him. I want to fall apart and cry, rage at the unfairness of finding the first good thing in my life and already standing the chance of having it ripped away.
“What were you thinking?” he demands.
