Page 120 of Elven Crown

“Hey, maybe leave that big guy in the crate, huh? That thing packs a hell of a punch.”

“Damn… I heard the new guy was badass, but this looks more like a death wish.”

When Rebecca finally found the cause of all the commotion, a tight knot curdled in her stomach. She took off in that direction.

33

Of course it was Rowan. He’d just pulled one of the biggest, most dangerous weapons from one of the crates—an old M2 Browning heavy artillery machine gun.

While Rebecca and Maxwell hadn’t specifically prohibited anyone from training with this weapon, the caution had been implied. At least for anyone with inherent common sense, which, in most cases, Rowan Blackmoon acted like he just didn’t have.

When she reached him, the elf had hauled the entire weapon system out of the crate, his hazel eyes gleaming above a mad grin.

Every other operative within spitting distance had backed cautiously away. Several of them shot Rebecca dubious looks, like none of them wanted to get in the Blackmoon Elf’s way, but all of them privately wished the Thon-Da’al would do it for them instead.

Rebecca almost winced at Rowan’s careless handling of the enormously powerful weapon. He just always had to be a show-off like this, didn’t he? Humility and caution never had been in his wheelhouse.

As Rowan fiddled with the dials on the side of the weapon and turned toward the closest target, Rebecca stepped up beside him to take him down a notch.

“Hold on a second,” she said. “Are you sure you’re ready for something like this?”

He shot her a quick dismissive glance before returning his hungry grin to the weapon. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“You couldn’t even clean a weapon properly the other day, and that was an older, simpler model. There are some great rifles over there. Maybe start with one of those.”

He scoffed. “Very funny. You sure know how to play up a guy’s confidence.”

The low whine of the machine gun filled the air when he activated it. A dark, nauseating yellow-green glow emanated from the weapon’s augmented internal mechanisms as it powered up to full capacity in three seconds.

“I think you’ve got that one covered,” Rebecca added. “Seriously, though, this isn’t a competition. Have you fired any of these other weapons yet?”

“Nope.” Rowan kept grinning at the firearm.

“These things tend to have a serious kickback, Blackmoon,” she said, wondering if she should attempt to snatch the weapon out of his hands before he did something seriously stupid. “I’m not sure this is the best system to start on for someone with very little prior experience.”

“Youhaveto say that, don’t you? Relax. I know what I’m doing. Watch this.”

Before she could try again to talk him off the ledge, Rowan surged forward away from her, hauling the machine gun uprightto aim it at the closest target, which was only six yards in front of him.

“Blackmoon!” Maxwell shouted from the other side of the gym. His voice cracked through the air like another violent gunshot, bringing all the other concurrent conversations to a standstill. The fun and excitement froze with them. “Back the hell up! Nothing gets fired in here from closer than ten yards!”

“Oh really?” Rowan spun around to face the shifter, the weapon spinning with him in his arms as a pulsing flare of its magitek rounds flashed and sputtered beneath the treatment.

Those closest to him shouted an alarm, ducking out of range or skittering toward safety on the other side of the gym, hauling their neighbors along with them and out of the elf’s line of fire.

Rowan raised an eyebrow at Maxwell and sniggered. “You’re an expert on this thing too, are ya?”

Maxwell replied with a warning snarl, his eyes flashing dangerously at the elf wielding the most dangerous weapon in the vicinity.

With a scoff, Rowan rolled his eyes, but he took a few steps forward anyway, relenting that small bit.

Rebecca kept her gaze acutely focused on him, just as Rowan focused on Maxwell, because she knew how obnoxiously stubborn he could be. She wasn’t wrong in her suspicions of him now, either.

As soon as another operative training with a different, much smaller, much less explosive weapon system pulled Maxwell’s attention away, Rowan spun around again to face his original target. He slammed a hand against the machine gun, his eyes growing wide with a crazed excitement.

The weapon’s low whine kicked up several notches, its sickening greenish-yellow light pulsing dangerously from inside. Its blazing power now made the entire weapon shudder and jolt in his two-handed grip.

By the Blood, had he just cranked the power all the way up to full capacity?

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