Unpredictable Sirens (Supernatural Shifter Academy #4) - G. Bailey Page 0,42

heights have never been my thing, and without my powers, I have no recourse if my body decides to take a sudden plunge. Wincing, I haul myself up and onto the roof, unsteady as I get my bearings and look around. The practise shooting range that by now looks so familiar is just as it usually is, with one key difference: two large, armor-clad agents who look none too friendly as Edith jogs up to them. I balk when I see that they’re carrying rifles, and the smirk the witch shifter gives me when she looks over her shoulder is maddening.

She murmurs something to one of the men and then backs up; a moment later she’s taking a flying leap from the top of the apartment building to the roof of the one next door, no doubt aided by magic.

I swear under my breath, but don’t have time for frustration; a bullet glances off the concrete within a hair’s distance of my foot, and it takes my all not to stumble back and fall over the edge. Some part of my mind is racing as I take note of the gouge mark the bullet left in the cement, and it fills me with hope even before I’m able to identify it.

Shotguns. They’re using shotguns. What did Landon say…? High power, short range, or something like that. As I duck behind one of the chairs the twins, Hazel, and I were sitting in not so long ago, I’m already making quick calculations: the soldiers are on the other side of the roof, which means if I’m agile—or just extremely lucky—I might be able to stay out of their line of fire. Emphasis on might.

Not thinking, I upturn the little table and use it as a makeshift cover as I slip behind the projecting structure that houses the elevator. More shots ring out, nearly deafening in the early morning, and they come so close I can feel the air rushing past me. It’s only once I’m on the other side of the cubicle that I allow myself to breathe, but my ideas seem to have run out. Fear floods my body, and I’m sickeningly reminded of the first time I ever shapeshifted, when those two guys tried to accost me in that abandoned building all those months ago. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be so utterly helpless.

Except I’m not helpless. Not even now. And when the barrel of the first shotgun sticks out from around the corner, I grab it without hesitating. The metal is blisteringly hot, but I ignore the pain in favour of upsetting the attacker’s centre of balance, which somehow works.

He stumbles to the left, struggling to keep a hold on his gun, and by shifting to one side I’m able to kick him squarely in the chest, sending him toppling over the edge and onto one of the balconies below. His gun goes with him—damn—but that’s one down.

Not bad for a human.

The second agent is savvier, and although I wait behind the wall for another few moments, hoping he’ll make the same mistake, he doesn’t. There may not be guns just lying around, but the shooting range has other things I can make use of, which I do after a moment’s consideration. One of the empty weapons stands is light enough for me to move, and I fling it out in front of me in one direction while I skirt back around the elevator in the other. The movement draws the second agent’s attention, and that’s where he aims his shot. He’ll only take seconds to reload, if that, but maybe…

He forgoes the half-loaded shotgun when he sees me charging him from the side, instead whipping out another one of those stupid baton things and angling it back. I’m not going to make the same mistake again, so I slide onto the ground long enough to aim a targeted kick at his groin. It’s clumsy, and he’s wearing body armour, but it has the effect I’m going for —namely, making him step back, and allowing me to trip him.

With a curse, his legs get tangled beneath mine, and I’m able to get above him long enough to deliver a palm strike to the centre of his face, which happens to be left exposed by his helmet. The sound of his nose breaking gives me more satisfaction than I’d care to admit, but I don’t take time to celebrate, instead picking up his discarded shotgun