Page 58 of Hunted

I took a few steps closer to stand behind him, scouring everything he could see, trying to find something I would be hard-pressed to hit.

“That tree—about a kilometre up the mountain. Right beside the track, with the hollow in the middle.”

“The one with the empty bird’s nest in the bough?”

I squinted, wondering how he’d made that out. “I think so?” It just looked like a patch of dead bark to me.

Pearce chuckled. “Check the scope, Adelaide.”

Oh.

I leaned over his right shoulder, careful not to bump him or knock the gun from his grip. Peering through the green-tinted lens, I was indeed able to make out the minuscule twigs shaped into an empty bowl—eggs long since hatched or fallen.

“Yes. That one.”

“Easy,” he murmured, turning his head slightly as I stepped back.

Our eyes locked for immeasurable seconds, excitement passing between us like a conduit.

Pearce grinned, wide and unencumbered, glanced through the scope, then squeezed the trigger.

Just once.

Once was all he needed.

I stared, slack-jawed and open-mouthed, as the nest tumbled to the ground—dislodged by the force of the bullet tearing through the branch it had rested upon.

“Holy fuck,” I whispered.

Who knew guns could be so sexy?

Oh, right. I did. And judging by the solitary dimple appearing in his right cheek—his jaw cocked to the side—Deklan Pearce knew it, too.

“C’mere,” he murmured, expression unchanging, but his eyes… oh, how they burned.

They consumed me. They scorched me from the inside out—at least that’s what I told myself was the reason for the sudden heat in my cheeks and the throbbing… elsewhere.

My exhale stuttered out as I took a perilous step forward. Just one.

I wasn’t crossing the bounds of propriety—not yet. But I was close. And I knew that if I allowed myself to acknowledge the weight of his stare—the almost palpable caress of those hazel eyes—then I would also let Deklan Pearce do unspeakable things to me if he so much as asked.

Heart racing as if I’d just run a mile, I squatted next to my weapons instructor, shifting to accept the solid reassurance of the sniper rifle he placed in the hollow of my own shoulder joint.

He didn’t move far, though.

Pearce stayed right behind me, a hair’s breadth from my back. He watched intently as I worked out what all the mechanisms were and how to use them; studied me as I peered through the scope and tested out its range.

“Mark?” I asked, voice breathy and wavering.

He made a sound halfway between a whispered grunt and a moan, and my underwear took the full force of his wordless assault.

Fuck.

He shifted closer, pressing in lightly against my back.

I had no idea how much time passed—the seconds were dragging but my heart was pounding, making it impossible to tell which was closer to the truth—until, eventually, he said, “The same tree.”

I almost balked. That tree was further than anything I’d ever aimed at and successfully hit during training—further than anything we had been allowed to test our limits against.