Page 29 of Flint's Arrow
“Er…about how I don’t have anything to do tomorrow,” Arrow said instead.
Flint’s expression shifted – clearly, he’d picked up the lie, but decided to ignore it. He set down his fork and wiped his hands thoroughly before speaking. “Would you want to come to the gun range with me tomorrow?”
Arrow blinked. “Gun range?”
“Yes, it’s a private place, out past the Alley. I go a few times a week to keep sharp.” Flint’s fingers drummed against the table, a tell Arrow had learned meant he was nervous. “You could watch, or shoot too if you want. It’s not exciting, but…”
“Yes.” Arrow couldn’t say it fast enough. “I’d love to.”
The smile Flint gave him was worth every cold shower, every sleepless night…well, almost worth it. Arrow was working on being honest about everything.
/~/~/~/~/
The gun range wasn’t what Arrow had expected.
He’d pictured something industrial and sterile, all concrete and fluorescent lights. Instead, Flint led him to a cleared area deep in the woods, backed by a natural hillside that served as a bullet trap. Targets were set up at varying distances, some fixed, some on pulley systems that could be moved.
“Storm and Devon built most of this,” Flint explained as he unloaded his gear from his truck. “Python did the wards to keep the sound from traveling and to alert us if anyone gets too close.”
Arrow watched as Flint assembled his rifle. The weapon looked massive in Flint’s small hands, but he handled it like it weighed nothing.
“I know you’re a sniper,” Arrow said. “How long have you been shooting?”
“Since I was twelve.” Flint checked the sight, his movements methodical and precise. “I was small and weak, easy prey. Guns were the equalizer. They didn’t care how big I was, just how steady my hands were and how good my aim was.”
The casual way Flint said it made Arrow’s chest ache. He’d spent the last few days learning bits and pieces of Flint’s past - the abandonment, the years of being dismissed and underestimated. Every story made Arrow want to hunt down everyone who’d ever hurt him and show them exactly what a wolf shifter with a mean streak looked like.
But that wasn’t what Flint needed from him. Flint needed someone who saw him for who he was now. Someone who appreciated the strength it had taken to survive and thrive despite everything.
“Show me,” Arrow said quietly.
Flint glanced at him, something vulnerable in his expression, then nodded. He positioned himself, the rifle settling against his shoulder like it belonged there. His entire body went still, not even his breathing visible, and then the shot cracked through the air.
Arrow looked downrange, thankful he had sharp eyesight. The target at two hundred yards had a new hole dead center in the kill zone.
“Holy shit,” Arrow breathed.
Flint didn’t respond, just adjusted and fired again. Another perfect shot, this time at three hundred yards. Then four hundred. Five hundred. Each bullet found its mark without any variation at all.
Arrow’s wolf sat up and took notice. Flint wasn’t skilled, he was a deadly artist. His tiny, beautiful mate was a weapon, and Arrow had never been so horny in his life. He quickly adjusted himself, so it wasn’t too obvious, but damn…Flint was better than good.
Flint set the rifle down and looked at Arrow, uncertainty in his huge eyes. “I know it’s not everyone’s thing. The killing, I mean. Some people can’t handle knowing their mate does this for a living.”
“Are you kidding?” Arrow stepped closer, careful to keep his movements slow and non-threatening. “Flint, that was incredible. You’re incredible.”
The blush that spread across Flint’s cheeks was beautiful. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” Arrow wanted to touch him so badly his fingers ached, but he kept his hands at his sides. “Can I try?”
Flint’s face lit up. “Really?”
For the next hour, Flint walked Arrow through proper stance, breathing, and trigger control. Arrow had shot before - all agency employees went through basic firearms training - but it was nothing like the private lesson he was getting. Flint was patient and encouraging, adjusting Arrow’s position with light touches that made Arrow’s wolf whine with want.
Arrow’s shots were decent but nowhere near Flint’s level. It didn’t matter. Watching Flint in his element, confident, skilled, and completely comfortable, was worth every missed target.
After they’d packed up the gear, Flint hesitated by his truck. “There’s something else I wanted to ask.”
Arrow waited, recognizing his nervous energy.
