Wolf's Redemption by Anne Marsh

Author:Anne Marsh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, Shape Shifters, Paranormal
Publisher: Anne Marsh
Published: 2015-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

GIANNA

Cruz shooting is hot as hell. His T-shirt pulls taut over his muscled forearms as he lifts the shotgun and sights. A sharp crack follows the fierce look of concentration on his face, and then the can topples. He never budges or misses.

My arms, on the other hand, ache, and I have a bruise the size of North Dakota on my shoulder from my first turn with the shotgun. I fired, the gun kicked hard, and I ended up planted on my butt. Cruz was by my side in a second, lifting me up and brushing me off. It’s not his fault that I failed to control the gun, but after two more attempts proved no more successful, he’d switched me back to the Glock.

It’s shaping up to a beautiful day in the bayou. With the sun high in the sky now, the day has warmed up considerably. I shed my flannel shirt, enjoying the flare of interest in Cruz’s eyes as I shoot in just my tank top. A bird takes off from a nearby tree, pale underbelly flashing as it wings over the treetops. The frogs croak up a storm too, adding to the sweet buzz of sound. Since we’ve avoided any snake or gator sightings, I’m a happy camper. Even the Coke cans lined up for our target practice look cheerful, winking in the sunlight.

We’ve been taking turns for the past hour. When Cruz steps back, he motions me forward and then makes minute adjustments to my stance and grip. Shooting is surprisingly enjoyable, the predictable rhythm calming. Load, lift, and fire. Problem solved.

Cruz’s need to protect me amuses me, concerns me, excites me. He’s acknowledged that I can handle matters myself, but at the same time he’s made sure I have the tools I need. He’s a law-enforcement pro, a bona fide sheriff and, I suspect, a man with the heart of a warrior. He’s fought plenty to get where he is in life, and that’s something else we have in common.

So missing the target—two times in a row—in front of him sucks. I’d like to be perfect, to knock the ball out of the park on this one. Instead, my Coke cans mock me, standing defiantly untouched at the end of the range. “Shoot.”

Cruz grins. “That’s why we’re practicing with cans and not real werewolves.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. “Like you and your brothers are volunteering for me to shoot at you.”

Third time’s the charm, right? Lifting the Glock, I sight and squeeze the trigger. This time, the Coke can flies backward, hitting the dirt. Elation sweeps through me.

“Yeah!” I fist pump, eying my target. Cruz is an excellent teacher. He’s patient, but he also cuts me no slack, which I appreciate. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it right and only partly because I’m worried about real-life werewolf encounters. Truth is, I’m a perfectionist and competitive. Once I decide to go for something, I’m in it to win it. So I need to knock down all six targets.

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