by Fleur Smith
“If we stay in, we can practice your one-on-one self-defense some more.” Trying to win me over to his salacious viewpoint, Clay kissed me again and tugged at the ends of my jacket, dragging me toward the still open door and the inviting warmth inside.
From my position, I could see the edge of the mattress that doubled as most of the furniture we needed. It seemed to beckon me silently, calling me inside even as my mind offered up images of Clay entwined so perfectly with me a few short hours earlier. I bit my lip as desire rushed through me.
We could always practice archery another day. It wasn’t as if my life depended on knowing it all right now.
I moved toward Clay and he grinned, knowing he’d won.
What if your life depends on it tomorrow?
I sighed as the truth behind the thought overtook my mind. We were on the run and as much as Clay had taught me, I still had so much to learn. I couldn’t make the mistake that I had with Dad, always assuming that there would be another day to learn what I needed to know.
What if not having that knowledge costs you your life?
Or Clay’s?
“As tempting as it sounds to throw you on your ass again,” I joked. “We’re running low on food. And I really should get some target practice in while it’s still light.”
It was still winter, and the February days, while lengthening, were still short. We had to make the most of the daylight hours. Every afternoon, almost too quickly, the dark and the cold made the already inhospitable land downright dangerous.
Clay pushed his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout and tried coaxing me inside again with soft kisses against my throat.
“Besides,” I murmured with my eyes closed as I tilted my head to give him better access. He moved into the space between my legs, pressing me against the railing. “Last time I didn’t even get a chance to try against a moving target.”
We’d started on archery a little over a month ago, with Clay demonstrating the techniques to me. The forests around our little house were teeming with game, which provided both moving target practice and sustenance. Because he was such a good bowman—and the fact that right outside our doorstep was a makeshift freezer that kept the meat fresh for a long time—we hadn’t actually needed to go hunting very often.
“But—” he started.
“Uh, uh,” I interrupted. “No buts. We’re going hunting. Now go get ready,” I said, gently, pressing him to assemble and string the recurve bow and gather everything we needed.
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave a mock salute before heading inside.
While I waited for him to get the hunting supplies, I turned back toward the breathtaking vista. Despite the cold and the long winter nights, I couldn’t imagine a better place for us to be. It was rugged but stunning. Untouched and perfect. And even though our tiny house consisted of only two rooms—the bathroom and everything else—it was exactly what we needed it to be.
We were lucky to have found the place, and the work we’d done since only improved our standard of living.
Scanning the scenery, I saw a flicker of darkness in my peripheral vision. At first, I was willing to ignore it, but something in me wouldn’t allow it.
My heart froze and refused to beat again as I glanced in the direction of the movement.
At first, I didn’t trust my eyes, but regardless, panic gripped me tightly and held me in its clutches. Even after another glance, the figure beneath the trees hadn’t changed. A tall man in a hooded cloak standing underneath the branches. The vision was exactly like the one the shadow who’d stalked me for so long had presented. The darkness that had lingered in the corner of my eye and tormented me had convinced me for so long that Clay had been hunting me.
The shadow couldn’t be there though. He was dead.
I’d killed him.
I was certain I had.
Even Clay had said there was too much blood left on the forest floor for the shadow to have survived.
We’d never found a body though.
The thought was enough to cause the panic to rise in my chest again. I swallowed, trying and failing to force down the thick emotion clogging my throat.
The image of the shrouded man flickered in my vision, disappearing and reappearing again as I stared at the patch of trees.
My skin flamed as panic raced through me. Was it possible? Could it be him?
It could have been a play of light. Couldn’t it?
Maybe the branches of the trees twisted in an odd way to make it appear that someone was standing there. Only, it was too similar to the way things had been before.
My mouth was dry and I held my breath. Every time I tried to focus on the movement, it would stop or the shape would disappear entirely.
Gripping the porch railing tightly, I tried to calm the reactions that racked my body after seeing that shadow. Nothing could calm the heat in my hands though. My breathing sped as I stared at the spot where the vision had appeared before disappearing again so quickly.
He can’t be here! He can’t have survived!
“Clay!” I called with as much volume as I could muster.
CHAPTER FOUR
CLAY RACED FROM the house with a quiver, holding at least a dozen arrows, over his shoulder. The recurve bow was already in his hand, together with a loose arrow already in place, no doubt in response to the panic in my voice. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw—” I stopped myself and shook my head as I wondered whether I’d actually seen anything at all. Maybe my mind was offering up a problem that didn’t actually exist. Maybe it’s just a trick. Maybe you just can’t trust the fact that you are finally happy.
Years of paranoia and running from the near constant dangers I’d faced had clearly taken their toll on me.
But what if it isn’t that? Clay needs to know, he needs to be prepared. Just in case.
“Thought you saw what?” Clay scanned the trees as if he’d be able to find what had spooked me.
“Shadow,” I murmured as I pressed myself against his side tightly and fought back the familiar pricking of tears threatening to overtake me.
He wrapped his arms around my shoulder. “Where?”
I noticed that he didn’t ask whether I was certain.
He trusts your judgment more than you do.
Pointing toward the place where I’d seen the warped shadow of a man, I pressed my cheek against Clay’s shoulder.
“Do you think it could really be alive?” I managed to squeeze the words past my frozen vocal cords.
“You tell me. Did it look the same as before?”
Even though I didn’t want it to be true, the fact was that I had seen something under the trees. It was too reminiscent of the shadow person that I’d assumed I killed to be a coincidence. ”Yeah.”
Clay squeezed my shoulders. “Then it’s probably still alive. Maybe you just wounded it last time and it’s taken its time to recuperate before launching a fresh attack.”
“What should we do?” I asked.
He considered the bow in his hand, before moving away from me and offering me his hand. “We should do what we were going to do anyway.”
“What?” I pressed my hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
Grabbing my hand and moving it to his cheek, he asked, “What else can we do?”
“What if it attacks you?” I murmured. I can’t watch you die, I added in my mind. I wasn’t able to give the thought a voice though. If I did, fate might decide to take it as challenge.
“If you see it again, at least we’ll be armed. We know now that they’re apparently susceptible to normal weapons, and we’ll have this.” He raised the bow in his hands.
“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly.
“We’ll be okay,” he said with so much certainty that I was willing to put all of the possible risks aside and believe him. He forced a smile onto his face and gave my hand a light tug as he led me off the porch. “Let’s go.”
Trying to force
the possible return of the shadow from my mind, I followed him down the half dozen stairs to the ground. His enthusiasm was such that by the time he reached the ground, I was only halfway down. I tried to emulate his eagerness to go out into the forest and allow it to overtake the fear in my mind.
“You seem a little bit more excited about going out than you did before,” I said as we jogged.
He shrugged and smiled at me over his shoulder. “I just realized that the sooner we’ve done a little target practice, the sooner we can go back and spend the evening together by the fire.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
I had to give him credit for trying to do what he could to take my mind off the shadow. Images of a night by the fire surrounded by Clay’s loving embrace were definitely able to do the trick.
“That does sound nice,” I agreed. “Maybe you can try to show me your way of starting a fire again too?”
He laughed at the memory my words recalled. The last time he’d tried showing me the old camping trick of rubbing two pieces of kindling wood together, I got so frustrated that I accidentally set the sticks on fire, and he accused me of cheating. I pouted and told him that I couldn’t help that I had a natural gift for starting fires and that it wasn’t cheating anymore than him using his trusty lighter to do the same job.
We walked about half a mile from our shack, heading straight into the thickest part of the forest—moving away from the place where I’d seen the shadow . . . or something. The sun was out, but the expanse of tall pine trees in the forest blocked most of the light and gave the whole area an otherworldly feel. I’d been into the forests often enough during our stay in Sweden, but it was different coming in so soon after the possible sighting of the shadow. Sinister even. Every deepened silhouette gained new menace.
The dark patches and huge pine trees reminded me of the forest in Germany where I’d gone in, guns blazing—literally—to attack the shadow. The only difference was that then pine needles littered the ground beneath the trees and now it was a layer of powdery snow.
The deafening cry of pain and the crack of the gunfire reached to me from that time, echoing in the silence around me. The force of the thought was strong, the memory so vivid, that my heart raced and I froze in place, unable to take even one more step. My knees trembled, ready to give out beneath me.
“Evie?” Clay questioned when I came to a sudden stop.
I glanced at him, and he must have seen some indication of my concern in my eyes.
He frowned for a moment, before deciding on something and nodding to himself.
“Okay, let’s do a few practice shots here first, shall we? We can move onto hunting some deer a little later.”
I agreed, once again thankful that he seemed willing to try to take my mind off the possible threat. I tried to play along and fake it as best as I could.
“On one condition,” I said.
He tilted his head in question.
“I get to try some actual hunting before you take over and ruin it for me this time.”
“You’re just upset because I hold the record for most kills,” he said.
I gasped indignantly. “We’ve only gone hunting with the bow twice, and the first time you wouldn’t even let me touch the damned thing.”
He grinned, and I saw his devious intention. He’d clearly chosen words that were certain to gain a reaction and ignite the fire that burned within, bringing me back to the light.
“Okay, I promise this time you can try to bag us some food. But if you miss after three shots, I win.”
My lips split into a grin. “Sure, I’ll try. And if I lose, it’ll simply be a reflection on the quality of my trainer,” I teased in retaliation.
“Well then, I better make sure that you don’t miss, because I happen to know for a fact that your trainer is one of the best around.”
“That he is. He’s super modest too.”
Clay chuckled as he handed me the bow before pulling the quiver of arrows off his shoulder and placing it on the ground. Next, he threw an arm guard and shooting glove at me. After slipping them on as fast as I was able, I let him know that I was ready. He handed me the quiver, which I slung onto my back.
“Perfect,” he said. “Let’s practice nocking the arrow first. You’re going to need to learn how to do it quickly if you want to use the bow for hunting.”
“Or for self-defense,” I added in a murmur.
He frowned at my meaning, knowing he hadn’t been as successful in taking my mind off the shadow as he’d hoped.
Reaching over my shoulder, I grabbed an arrow from the quiver before pressing the back of it against the string, leaving one finger on either side of it and half-drawing the bow.
“Not bad,” he said. “But try it again. Faster this time.”
Tugging the arrow loose of the bowstring, I put it back into the quiver and tried again, striving to increase my speed. After successfully nocking the arrow ten times, getting successively quicker with each attempt, I was pleased with my progress, and Clay seemed to be suitably impressed as well.
He grinned widely. “Perfect. Now let’s try aiming. Remember, keep the shaft perpendicular to the target and use both of your eyes to sight your mark.”
Nodding, I held the bow in my left hand and placed my feet parallel to each other.
“This time, nock the arrow and do a practice draw. Keep your eyes on the target as much as you can.”
Lifting the large bow in my arms, I leveled it and lined up my shot before loosening the draw and dropping the bow. “How’s that?”
“Show me again.”
I repeated the process, and he watched closely, assessing each of my movements and studying my hands.
“Very good, but you’re aiming a little low.” He shifted behind me so that the front of his body was flat against my back before whispering, “Like this,” in my ear as he wrapped his fingers around mine and lifted the bow in front of us.
I had to take a deep breath to steady myself at the feel of his body pressed against my back. It was all too easy to get distracted when he used his hands-on teaching methods.
“You got it?” he asked, letting me hold the bow myself and tracing his hands along the backs of my thighs.
“Yep,” I squeaked, earning a chuckle from him as he stepped away to give me some space.
Before I even had a chance to reprimand him for breaking my concentration so thoroughly, he was back in trainer mode. Even though I appreciated his usual no-nonsense approach, it was nice that he’d listened to my rant about needing to have the fun Clay around every once in a while when I was learning new skills. Provided we could keep our hands off each other long enough for him to actually teach me anything.
“Focus now,” he said. “It’s a heavy bow, so you’ll need to make sure to use your shoulder and back muscles, not just your arms or you’ll never be able to draw it fully. This is where all those push-ups come in handy.”
I poked my tongue out at him. The push-up routine he had me doing was hell, and he knew it.
“Draw it back to the corner of your mouth. If you return to that position each time, it should give you the most strength and a relatively consistent pull.”
After a calming breath, I nocked the arrow and drew back the bowstring. He was right about one thing; I needed almost every ounce of strength in my body to draw it completely.
“Perfect,” Clay said softly. “Now, breathe in and hold it while you let the arrow fly.”
Holding the draw for a brief moment, I took a deep breath and released my hold on the string.
“Good job,” he said as the arrow whizzed through the air and hit the target tree with a soft thud.
I made my way over to the trunk and tugged the arrow forcefully to remove it, before moving back toward Clay with a grin playing on my lips. I hadn’t hit the exact spot I’d been aiming for, instead the arrow had landed a couple of inches lower than the knot I’d tried to hit, but it was close enough for me to have a jolt of confidence
in my ability.
He held his hand out, essentially asking for the bow as his brow lifted to form a cocky expression.
Somewhat reluctantly, I passed it to him, before swinging the quiver off my back as well. Watching him prepare for a shot, I wondered what he was going to do, because we’d already agreed that I would be the one hunting.
He slung the quiver over his shoulder. His smile turned playful as he stood with his back to the target tree, “Watch this,” he whispered.
An instant later, he twisted and fired a rapid succession of three arrows into the dead center of the tree. He spun back to meet my gaze, obviously pleased with himself, based on the wicked grin he wore now.
“Now you’re just showing off,” I admonished jokingly. Despite my words, I had to admit that seeing further evidence of his prowess was a massive turn-on. When we’d reunited, he’d been a shadow of his former self, right at the beginning of the fight to come back from his emaciated and weakened state. In the months we’d spent together fixing up our little private chalet, with a diet consisting primarily of the lean protein of wild venison, his bulk had quickly returned. Even though I hadn’t minded his thinner frame, his current physique definitely spoke to the dark and lustful places within me. It allowed for a wider variety of experiences too, many of which my mind was more than willing to offer up for repeated consideration.
Seeming to understand my mind had wandered off on a tangent, Clay walked over to me and rested his arms on either side of my neck, gripping the bow in both hands behind my head, before kissing me until I was breathless.
Dropping his hold, he dragged himself away when his breath grew shaky. “If I can’t show off to my girlfriend, who else can I show off to?”
I raised my eyebrow at him. “Girlfriend?” It was the first time either of us had really attempted to put a label on what we were, and somehow it felt a little off. A girlfriend was something a teenage boy had, the term didn’t encompass the trip to hell and back that we’d endured both together and apart.
