“I’m not going,” I said for the third time.
Kai didn’t even flinch; he simply crossed his arms and stared at me like I was a child refusing to eat dinner.
“You love archery,” he said flatly.
“Not when it’s surrounded by politics and wolves I’d rather gut than greet.”
Kai raised a brow. “So… like every day of your life?”
I scowled and let the expression harden until it felt carved into stone.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You need to get out of your head, Silas. You haven’t stopped brooding since the ritual dinner. You haven’t even touched your bow in days. That’s not you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been avoiding her.”
I didn’t answer—silence served as an admission more loudly than words ever could.
Kai sighed. “Look, I’m not saying you have to talk to her. Just go. Shoot. Prove you’re still the best archer in the region. Remind them who you are.”
That last part landed with a weight I could not ignore. I was the best, and deep down I missed the proof of it. So I went.
The archery field was carved into the side of the Eastern Hills, all golden grass and knife-edged wind. Banners from every major pack lined the stone paths, flapping like impatient hands that could not wait for blood or glory. Wolves in training armor, elders in heavy robes, and Alpha heirs wearing smug confidence milled around, stretching and laughing as they measured one another.
And there she was, Raena Duskborn, already present and already shooting arrows as if the targets had been placed there to please her alone.
Gods. The oath slipped through my head with a heat that surprised me, because the sight of her loosened something I had tried to keep locked.
She wore deep green fitted at the waist, sleeves rolled to the forearms, and her bow hung casually from one shoulder like it belonged there—as if she did not even need it to dominate the field. Her braid was tight today, her jaw cut razor-sharp, and her lips pulled into that half-smile that made me want to walk directly into a wall just to reset my senses.
She looked at ease, occupying the space with the assurance of ownership, as though this place had always been hers.
And the worst part was simple: it truly was. She was good, and I knew it. I had seen her shoot before at a rogue match when we were both sixteen, and she had barely missed a mark. Now, years later, she carried more strength, deadlier precision, and a poise that somehow still left me feeling off balance.
As if summoned by my thoughts, she turned and walked toward me. I stiffened instinctively, every muscle drawing tight like a bowstring before the shot.
She smirked the moment she reached me. “Didn’t think you’d show up. What happened? Run out of things to mope about?”
I rolled my eyes. “Charmed, as always.”
She looked me up and down, eyes sparkling. “You’re really wearing that?”
I glanced at my outfit—black tunic, dark fitted pants, silver bracers, and the Hollowmoor crest stitched at my shoulder.
“What’s wrong with this?” I asked.
“Nothing. If you’re attending a funeral.”
“Maybe I am.”
“For your pride?” she teased.
I opened my mouth to fire back when a voice cut through the crowd.
“Well, look who finally crawled out of hiding.”
I turned to the sound and found Theron Vane—Alpha heir of Redpine—wearing his usual armor of smugness. Loud, arrogant, and forever trying to prove something he could not name, he strutted forward like an audience existed only for him.
“What’s the matter, Silas?” Theron grinned. “Need the Ashfang to hold your hand through the competition?”
Raena’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
Theron shrugged, but his grin didn’t fade. “Just saying. First your mate rumors, now you’re tagging after her like a lovesick pup. Maybe the Hollowmoor line is getting soft.”
Before I could say anything, Raena stepped forward, closing the distance until she stood in his space like a warning.
“You want to talk about soft?” she said, voice low and sharp. “Last I checked, you couldn’t even split a bark target from ten feet without shaking like a wet pup. You want to talk about strength, Theron? Shoot first. Then speak.”
The entire circle around us went silent, the hush falling with the weight of a drawn bow.
Theron’s face flushed. “Watch yourself, Duskborn.”
“I always do.”
He walked off with his tail between his legs, leaving the scent of bruised ego in his wake. I stood there, completely stunned by the speed and clarity of her defense.
Raena turned to me like it was nothing, like she hadn’t just defended the heir of her rival pack in front of every major Alpha on the field.
“You… didn’t have to do that,” I said.
She shrugged. “I wanted to.”
I studied her face, hunting for the trick or the catch that would let me dismiss this moment, but there was none to be found.
“You confuse the hell out of me,” I muttered.
“Good,” she said, and smiled. “Keeps you interesting.”
I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched in spite of everything. And then, just before turning back toward her lane, she tossed one last thing over her shoulder:
“Good luck with the competition.”