Wolf Slayer (The Order of the Wolf, #2)(11)

The weight of her bow, the shoulder strap slipping slightly, nudged her out of her reverie, and she shrugged. There would be time to admire the art later. She needed to get outdoors.

Aubrey backtracked and found a hall that led outside. She greeted the sun with a sigh of satisfaction, and the fog that seemed to be a constant lately faded. For the first time since she’d arrived at the mansion, she felt a little more like herself. She stood there, face tilted up, soaking in the rays, letting the clouds fall away until she suddenly felt weightless—not happy, but burden free. She stretched her arms up, felt the bones aligning in her spine, everything righting itself. It was utterly amazing how much fresh air and a little bit of sunshine could improve one’s mood.

As she scanned the perimeter of the property, assessing the best place to shoot, her gaze caught on something red. She shielded her eyes as she walked toward what looked like a series of targets of varying sizes, shapes and colors—some actually moving, rigged up in the trees on ropes that swayed in the slight breeze. It was brilliant. She pulled her bow from the case, nocked an arrow and let it fly. Her fingers tingled, her heart thundered. This was what she needed. Her bow, the extension of herself, the only weapon that made her feel right, whole, satisfied.

She missed the first shot and laughed.

Okay, so a couple of weeks away from training and her skills lapsed a bit. Fair enough. She took her time on the second shot, tracking the moving target, holding her fingers steady until exactly the right moment and—bam—hit it home.

Yes!

It took her almost the whole hour to realize that Jaylon must have been behind setting up the targets, or at least arranging for someone else to. She’d been so consumed with getting her skill back to normal, working the kinks out of her coordination, that it didn’t occur to her until she started collecting her arrows and her thoughts turned to the actual set up. What were the odds of a perfectly staged target practice area existing at the mansion of a famous rock band? And who had been the one to inform her of the location in the first place?

Jaylon.

As soon as her mind turned to him, the usual sensation of all consuming lust crashed into her, this time mingled with confusion and what? Tenderness? He’d done a thoughtful thing for her. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was Jaylon was behind creating the target area for her. It must have taken him hours, in the dead of night, to get it just right. Was he trying to redeem himself? Above and beyond most certainly. Suddenly, her anger at his thoughtless words the night before seemed like an overly dramatic reaction. Maybe she’d been too quick to react. Maybe he was just used to dealing with women like the ones she’d encountered on her way into the mansion’s property. Whatever the case, she’d have to thank him—keep things professional for sure, but at least let him know how much she appreciated what he’d done for her.

She could think of various ways she’d really like to thank him. With her hands, her mouth, her tongue…her cheeks burned just as fiercely as her lust and she fought to push them back. Keep things professional. Easy. She groaned as she pulled another arrow free and slid in into her hip holstered quiver, determined to get her shit together. This was a job, one that she needed not only as a distraction from the shitty turn of events in her life, but also as a new start. Jaylon was not part of that plan. Not in a romantic or recreational sense at all.

Right. That was about as believable as the notion that the Hunters would suddenly realize their mistake and come to claim her. In other words: not believable at all.

She moved to the last targets, the ones rigged high up in the trees. She’d been so thrilled at the moving targets that she hadn’t really given much thought to retrieving the embedded shafts.

She sighed, trailing her gaze along the rope and following it from the branch it rested on, down the trunk of the tree to… “Ah! I see.” The rope looped around a notch carved in the bark. She lifted the rope, feeling the weight of the target in her hands as it slowly started to descend. Clever. The rigged target was innovative, and again, showed a lot of effort.

She lowered the target to eye level, then retrieved her arrows. She reset it then moved to the next one. Within minutes, she had gathered all her arrows with the exception of the one she’d misfired, which was now somewhere in the forest beyond.

She turned to walk back to the house, bow in hand, quiver full, when she felt prickling on the back of her neck—that eerie gut instinct that let her know she was not alone. She paused in stride, grip tightening on her bow, hand reaching for an arrow, eyes tracking from tree to tree.

A branch snapped and she spun, bow armed, arrow nocked. A flash of activity, something dark in her periphery. She spun again, aiming for a target that was moving too fast for her to track.

A rustle of leaves, another crack. She turned again, taking two steps back, fingers twitching, ready to fire. And there it was. Yellow eyes, brown fur. A wolf in the bush, staring at her. Possibly the same one that had attacked the big white weeks earlier. Werewolf or wolf? Something was wrong with her senses, which were normally in tune when it came to differentiating between the two. This time the fog was back, hanging over her like it had in the mansion, clouding her judgment, making her doubt. The wolf lowered its muzzle to its paws and continued to stare. Locked on its eyes, Aubrey felt her arm loosen of its own volition, her finger let go of the tension, the arrow fell from its perch, useless.

Her heart hammered, her breath coming in short pants. She was frightened, and intrigued. The wolf rose, stalked out of the bush. It was huge. Warning bells rang in Aubrey’s head and yet her arms grew limp, unable to harness the power in her hands, her bow effectively neutralized by some overwhelming compulsion she could not understand.