[Elara POV]
I arrived at an exclusive, high-end shooting range. Security was tight—the kind of exclusive range that didn't admit just anyone. Malachi's butler, Alfred, was waiting at the entrance. He bowed respectfully the moment he saw me.
"Miss Elara. The King instructed me to wait for you here."
"Thank you for your trouble," I said with a nod.
"Not at all," Alfred's reply was perfectly modulated, a model of polite deference. As the Lycan King's chief steward, he treated few of the so-called noble heirs with such gravity. But the woman before him, though not of any great house, was someone his King had taken an interest in. In all his years of service, he had never seen his King show such a fixation on a female.
Even a mated one.
Not that her status as a mate would be an obstacle for his King. If the King wanted someone, he would have them, even if she were a high priestess of the Moon Goddess herself.
"This way, Miss Elara," Alfred said, leading the way.
The range was outdoors, and the muffled crack of gunfire echoed intermittently through the air. The sound didn't faze me. I was familiar with it. Back in the Silvermoon elite training camp, marksmanship had been a daily drill.
When I finally saw Malachi, he was dressed in a sleek, black tactical suit, professional noise-canceling earmuffs over his ears. He held a uniquely designed Magi-tech pistol with one hand, firing at a distant target.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The shots were steady, rhythmic. His body was as still as a sculpture, without a single wasted movement. He was an expert. The stance, the aura—it was a picture of elegant, lethal grace.
After a final shot, Malachi lowered the pistol and removed his earmuffs, his deep violet eyes turning to me.
"You're here. Faster than I expected."
"Your book, Your Majesty," I said, stepping forward and holding out the ancient tome.
Malachi merely glanced at it. Alfred immediately stepped in and took the book with a respectful bow.
"Then I will take my leave and not disturb you further," I said, turning to go.
"Since you're here," Malachi's voice stopped me, "why not stay for a few rounds? Consider it… a thank you for borrowing my book."
I pursed my lips, but in the end, I nodded. "Fine. How many rounds?"
"Five. Silver-tipped arrows," he said.
A staff member quickly appeared with an exquisitely crafted silver longbow, a quiver of silver-fletched arrows, and protective gear.
I looked down at the familiar weapon, and a long-forgotten song stirred in my blood.
I donned the gear with practiced ease, my movements fluid and sure. Nocking an arrow, I drew back the bowstring. It had been three years since I had left my clan, three years since I had touched a bow. But the motions were carved into my very soul, as natural as breathing.
I took aim at a moving target in the distance.
Aim. Release.
Thwip.
The silver-tipped arrow sliced through the air, striking the bullseye with a satisfying thud.
My eyes were fixed forward, my expression calm, but my gaze held the sharp, honed edge of a true warrior—the kind forged in the crucible of life and death.
Beside me, Malachi watched, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something dazzling entered his dead-sea eyes. It was a memory, sharp and sudden, from a war-torn land long ago. A boy, buried under rubble, thinking he was about to die. But a small hand had appeared, clawing away the stones, pulling him from the darkness. It was a feeling he remembered to this day: the blinding shock of a brilliant light.
The five rounds were over quickly. Our scores were nearly identical.
I lowered the bow, letting out a long breath. It was just a game, but it had left me feeling exhilarated, alive.
"Among she-wolves, your archery is the best I have ever seen," Malachi commented.
"Thank you," I replied politely. "But there are many female warriors in the Silvermoon Clan more skilled than I."
"A woman like you… I find myself curious," he said suddenly. "Why did you choose Kaelen Blackwood?"
My expression hardened. "That is a private matter."
"And what if I found him displeasing? What if I decided to act on that displeasure?" Malachi's tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. "What would you do?"
"Who you choose to act against is your business. It has nothing to do with me," I replied coldly.
"So, you no longer care for him at all?" he pressed, his gaze intense.
I didn't answer, simply turning to leave. But I had only taken two steps when his voice, cool and laced with a subtle malice, came from behind me.
"You don't care about Kaelen Blackwood. But what about Ethan Northwind?"
I froze.
Ethan… how could he possibly know about Ethan?
"If I were to lay a hand on him," that elegant voice was now a silken threat, "what would you do then? I find I am very, very curious."
My hands clenched into fists.
In the next instant, my inner wolf surged, a primal, protective fury exploding within me.
I moved like a phantom, crossing the distance between us in a heartbeat. My hand shot out, grabbing the collar of his tactical suit, my face inches from his. My eyes were burning with a rage so fierce it was a physical force.
"You will not touch him!"
It was a warning. It was a threat.
Alfred, seeing this, went pale with terror. In all his life, he had never seen anyone dare to lay a hand on the Lycan King. It was suicide. Just as he was about to intervene, Malachi shot him a single, cold glance that froze him in place.
Malachi's gaze was fixed on me.
Those ice-blue eyes were blazing, two infernos of pure rage.
But that fire… it was for another male.
How… irritating.
"Do you hear me?" I snarled. "Stay away from Ethan! He is not a toy for you to play with!"
Malachi's eyes narrowed, his mood souring even further.
In that tense, charged moment, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"You want to lay a hand on me?" Ethan's voice cut through the air from the entrance. "By all means, try."
My body went rigid.
I turned my head and saw him. Ethan. His handsome face was a mask of cold fury.
He strode toward me, gently but firmly pulling my hand from Malachi's collar. Then, he moved to stand in front of me, shielding me with his body in a gesture of absolute protection.
He faced the Lycan King, his voice ringing with defiant power.
"You want to touch what's mine? You're not worthy."