“Then train me,” I say immediately.
That stops him.
“What?”
“You heard me,” I say. “If I’m part of this world now, then I learn how to survive in it.”
His gaze searches mine.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
Another pause. Longer this time. Then?—
Slowly—
He nods.
“Alright,” he says. “We start tomorrow.”
Relief flickers through me. But it’s quickly replaced by something else. Determination.
“Good,” I say. “Because I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”
His expression shifts, something darker creeping in.
“You won’t be,” he says.
And the way he says it? It sends a chill down my spine. Because for the first time?—
I think he believes me. And that might be even more dangerous than the rogues coming for us.
20
ARCHER
Ifeel him before I see him. That’s the first thing that tells me this isn’t just another rogue scouting the edges of our territory. This is something else. Something stronger. Something deliberate.
The forest goes quiet. This is not natural stillness. Birds stop mid-call. Wind dies against the leaves. Even the smaller predators—the ones that usually linger just beyond sight—pull back. Instinct.
Every living thing within range recognizes a threat. My tiger goes rigid beneath my skin, attention snapping forward with razor focus.
There.
The edge of Redwood Crossing’s territory hums faintly, a boundary invisible to human eyes but etched into every shifter’s instincts. It’s not a wall. But it might as well be. And right now?—
Something is pressing against it. I step out from the treeline, boots silent against the dirt as I move toward the border. The early morning light filters through the branches, painting everything in soft gold. It should feel peaceful. It doesn’t. Every nerve in my body is alive, coiled tight, ready. Waiting. Then?—
He steps through. Like the boundary doesn’t exist. Like the territory already belongs to him. Damon Rourke. There’s no mistaking him. Even if I hadn’t heard his name whispered in reports, in warnings, in the low, cautious tones of those who know what he’s capable of—I’d recognize him.
Predators know predators. And this one? He’s not just dangerous. He’shungry.
He moves like he owns the ground beneath his feet, broad shoulders loose, expression almost bored as his gaze sweeps over the trees, the land, the space he’s just invaded. When his eyes land on me, something sharp flickers there. Interest.
“Well,” he says, his voice carrying easily across the distance between us. “That didn’t take long.”
I don’t move. Don’t react. I just watch him.
