Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(71)

Hawthorne and Edgerton reply in unison. “No.”

“I have something planned for all of you that will alleviate some of your stress,” I reply. “If you’ll all follow me to Deck 227, I’ll show you the surprise.”

“I thought it was just a surprise party for Hawthorne,” Edgerton interjects.

“Nope,” I reply. “I missed all of you. Even you, Gilad. So come this way . . .” I gesture and start walking. Hawthorne catches up, his hand brushing mine. That one small touch sends an electric current through my body. My knees feel weak.

“I missed you,” he says, so softly that only I can hear.

“What, no date nights while you were gone?”

“No. This really pushy soldier I know spent all my extra merits financing dual-bladed swords for my unit.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I reply. “I’d loan you some of mine, but I used them all for the same purpose.”

“I guess we’ll have to figure out our own date night then.”

“Way ahead of you.”

“Where’re we going, Roselle?” Edgerton asks.

We take a heartwood down to the lower deck and step off into a sea of soldiers. Hawthorne uses the cover of the crowd to take my hand. His strong fingers thread through mine. I want to wrap my arms around him. “We’re just over here,” I call behind me. I raise my moniker to the scanner. A steel door opens into a private shooting range. Hammon closes the door behind us.

It’s quiet, the walls soundproofed. I hand everyone eye protection. “What about ear protection?” Gilad asks.

“You won’t need it.” I try to suppress a smile. He gives me a skeptical look. Each station in the gallery has a black box. “This is your surprise,” I murmur. “Everyone line up in front of a black box. You, too, Hammon.”

“Why me?” she asks with a crooked smile.

“Because it’s a family party.”

She takes a place in front of one of the black boxes. So do the men. “You can open them,” I say. Hawthorne lifts the lid of his box, as do they all. “This is a Culprit-44,” I announce. “It’s equipped with both a fusion-powered magazine and a hydrogen-powered magazine. Note the dual sides. You will find two extra hydrogen magazines in your black boxes. You will need to swap them out more frequently than the fusion side.”

I walk past the tall walls that separate each station. “Do not let that deter you,” I continue. “The hydrogen-powered magazine is just as effective in most combat situations as its fusion counterpart and can fire five times faster. It has automatic action. You can trigger continuously, not just in bursts. The weapon maintains accuracy even with the increased rate of fire and frequency because the hydrogen barrel doesn’t overheat. The fusion barrel requires a slower rate of fire and frequency because its projectiles are hotter, so it’ll warp and lose its precision with automatic action. And, as we all know, switching out a scorched fusion barrel on the battlefield can get you killed. Thus, the need to curtail the frequency of its bursts. You won’t run into that with the hydrogen-powered barrel.

“The weapons before you are prototypes. Only a few of them exist. We’ll be rolling them into production next week. I wanted my friends to be the first to have them.”

Hawthorne, Gilad, Edge, and Hammon slip on their eye protection.

I show Hammon the proper way to load the weapon. Edge aims at the target downfield. Gilad fires several bursts with the hydrogen barrel. “Notice how quiet it is?” I ask. Then I show him how to switch to the fusion barrel, with just a flick of my thumb.

I move on to Hawthorne. He has destroyed the Gates of Dawn silhouette at the farthest point on the range. “What do you think?” I ask him.

“Can you strip this for me and show me how to reassemble it?” he asks, setting it down on a stone slab counter.

“Of course,” I reply. He takes a step back. Lifting the weapon, I take out the magazine and begin to disassemble it. Hawthorne inches closer. His nose touches my hair and he inhales. His arm slips around my waist from behind.

Strong lips find the sensitive spot beneath my ear and nuzzle it. “I’ve missed you,” he breathes. Setting the pieces of the Culprit on the counter, I reach up and cup the side of his face, leaning into his kisses. Then I turn in his arms. His hands reacquaint themselves with my curves.

Edgerton’s voice hollers from two stations down. “Whoo! This is better than flying upside down in a vector spinner!”

I giggle against Hawthorne’s lips. “What’s a vector spinner?” I whisper.

“You don’t want to know. I feel like I’m still wearing his puke from it, though.”

“Aw, you poor thing.” My hands on the back of his neck gently guide his mouth back to mine.

“I like my present,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

Edgerton peeks around the wall. “Hey,” he says, chewing on something. “Are these crellas for us, too?” He holds up an already-bitten pastry.

I nod. “Yes, and drinks to go along with them on the bar next to the—”

He shows me his other hand. “This?” he asks. Both hands full, he steps toward me and hugs me with his forearms. “You’re the best, Roselle.” Hammon joins us with two sparkling wines. She gives one to me. Gilad passes another to Hawthorne.