Page 26 of The Succubi's Choice

Gabriel nudges her with his elbow, then hands her a set of earmuffs, and she fits them over her head with the memory of the banshee and the college girl.

“I brought out the Rossi revolvers again, so you can practice!” He yells, and his voice is dim over the blocking.

She nods at him, watching as he loads up the six bullets into the roulette and snaps it closed, handing it to her.

“I want you to try some trick shots, something more advanced than just the still paper.” He gestures down the range, where he’s set up three different targets along three different lanes. “You can’t do this when it’s open, but...”

“But it’s like ten PM, so we’re cool,” Miri finishes

“Exactly. Get two shots on each paper.”

Taking the revolver from his hands, she lets the heavy coolness sit against the heel of her palm. The butt is textured, barely feelable through her latex gloves, but in a way that makes her wish to touch it more.

They always fear what succubi would do if they had access to guns, thinking that with them they’ll figure out a way to control everyone around them. That they’d wreak havoc among both their people and regular humans.

Of course, Miri can’t really imagine any succubi using it except for regular self-defense. But, of course, they rarely seem to care about that. It’s more about control than actual danger.

“Stop being bitter, shoot at the papers,” Gabriel all but yells, and she fires, the snap of the handle biting into her hands.

As if it’s nothing, a hole rips through the paper, then the next, then the next, and her pulse is up racing, hammering against her chest like it’s going to burst.

Of course she shouldn’t be doing this, but it tastes delicious, the small rebellion and the large power in her hands. The idea that they couldn’t reach her like this, that they couldn’t stop her if they tried.

(Even though they could totally stop her. They have bulletproof vests. But still.)

She exhales then, quickly cycling through. She shoots the two other papers. She’s not the most accurate, but she’s accurate enough that she’d probably hurt someone if she needed to.

And she might need to, if an Archdemon just pops over to see her, which makes her hands slick with sweat again in her gloves. Not that she knows if a gun would even work on him.

She shoots the papers again, a little bit less accurate than before, before handing the gun to Gabriel to reload again, and her hands are shaking a little.

He gives her a severe glance, then nudges her aside. “Here, I meant like this.” Adopting a wider stance, he fires off three shots, hitting directly in the middle of the targets. “Think of them as being flanked, or surrounded.” He reloads, then hands the gun back, his eyes still narrowed.

She imitates his stance, feeling her hands tremble, and she fires off the three shots again, the bite of her palm soothing against her soul. “I don’t want to be in danger,” she says, low enough that Jacqueline can’t hear.

It must be too low, because Gabriel whips off his earmuffs.

“I don’t want to be in danger,” she says, again, softer. Not looking at him, but instead at her pitiful shots downrange. She aims the revolver, but doesn’t pull the trigger. “I’m a nobody— I don’t understand this.”

Gabriel briefly looks panicked, before he gains his composure back. “And that’s why we’re doing this.”

It sits poorly in her chest, somewhere behind her pounding heart. “I don’t like having to do it for a reason. It’s fun, I don’t want to have it be because of an asshole stalking me.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Jacqueline raise an eyebrow at her before returning to her book. As if she is being sneaky.

Gabriel nods, eager, as if nodding will make her feel better. “I mean, sure, we can do this more besides just that?” He asks, hopeful. “Fun is good. Fun is needed.”

The lights flicker, almost imperceptibly, but the back of her neck crawls. “Should we...”

He shrugs, before clapping the earmuffs back on. “The wiring gets weird here at night,” he says, before stepping aside to a different lane. Picking up his preferred pistol (which is substantially bigger than the revolver in Miri’s hands) he puts three clean and efficient shots through the paper in front of him.

Her skin again feeling too tight and too raw, she aims her revolver, adjusting her stance and yet still failing to be as accurate.

When the demigods were killing people, she came here so often she could score a shot on a moving paper from 35 feet. Now she’s struggling for ten.

She had a creeping suspicion that Katya knew, back then, but said nothing out of some sort of friendship.

Gritting her teeth so tight the grinding feels as loud as the gunshots, she tries again. Like it’ll help.

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