4. Archer
ARCHER
Work is pointless today. I know it the second I step into the garage. My focus doesn’t hold. My hands move automatically—tools, parts, muscle memory carrying me through tasks I’ve done a thousand times—but my attention is split in a way it’s never been before.
Half of me is here. The other half is next door. Tracking her. Every movement. Every shift. Every sound. It’s constant. Relentless.
My tiger doesn’t let up, doesn’t rest. It maps her presence with a precision that borders on obsessive.
Mine.
The word pulses through me again. I tighten my grip on the wrench, forcing my focus back to the engine in front of me. Not helpful. Not now.
Across the street, I catch glimpses of her through the bookstore window. Cleaning. Moving carefully. Pausing often, like she’s assessing every inch of that unstable building.
Good. She’s cautious. But not cautious enough. My gaze lingers longer than it should.
There’s something about watching her move in that space—determined despite the odds, stubborn in a way that makes my tiger both restless and… approving. It’s a dangerous combination.
“You gonna finish that today, or just stare at it until it fixes itself?” Mike’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I grunt, refocusing. “Working on it.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I ignore him. Because he’s not wrong. A few hours later, I give up on pretending I’m getting anything done.
“I’m heading out,” I say.
Mike shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that I don’t bother catching.
I don’t go to the bookstore. Not yet. Instead, I head toward the edge of town where the trees start to thicken, where the scent of the forest overtakes everything else. Conrad is already there when I arrive.
Conrad Bellamy leans against his truck, arms crossed, expression neutral but watchful.
“You look like hell,” he says as I approach.
“Feel worse.”
He nods slightly. “It’s her.”
Not a question. I don’t bother denying it.
“Human,” I say.
His brows lift just a fraction. “That complicates things.”
“Yeah.”
“My tiger recognized her the second she got here,” I add, my voice low. “Didn’t even hesitate.”
Conrad exhales slowly. “Then it’s real.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s simple.”
“Nothing about this is simple.”
He pushes off the truck, pacing a step before turning back to me. “Does she know?”
“No.”
“And you haven’t told her.”
“That would be a terrible idea.”
“Good,” he says firmly. “Because it is.”
I glance toward the tree line, my jaw tight.
“I can’t stay away,” I admit.
“That’s not surprising.”
“She’s right there. In that building. It’s not safe, Conrad.”
“That’s a separate issue.”
“Not to me.”
His gaze sharpens. “You don’t get to blur those lines.”
I meet his eyes. “Watch me.”
A beat passes. Then he sighs.
“I get it,” he says. “Believe me, I do. But she’s human, Archer. If you bring her into this—if she learns what we are—you put a target on her back.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” he presses. “Because once that door opens, there’s no closing it. Not for her. Not for you.”
The weight of that settles heavily.
“I’m not telling her anything,” I say finally.
“Good.”
“For now.”
He doesn’t look reassured.
“Just… be careful,” Conrad says. “For her sake, if not your own.”
I nod once. Because that part, at least, I’m already committed to.
—
The meeting with Magnus happens just after sunset. Magnus Wilder stands near the edge of the clearing, his presence steady, grounded in a way that immediately commands attention.
“You picked up the scent too,” he says without preamble.
“Yeah.”
“Not passing through.”
“No.”
Magnus nods, his expression grim. “Rogues.”
The word settles like a weight.
“How many?” Conrad asks.
“Not sure yet,” Magnus replies. “But enough to be a problem if they push further in.”
My instincts sharpen instantly. Territory. Protection. Defense.
“They won’t come into town,” I say.
Magnus’s gaze shifts to me. “Confident?”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
A pause.
Then he nods. “Good.”
“Patrol tonight?” Conrad asks.
“I’ll take it,” I say immediately.
Magnus studies me for a second, then gives a single, approving nod. “Stay on the borders. Don’t engage unless you have to.”
“Understood.”
The forest is alive in a different way at night. Quieter on the surface, but sharper beneath.
I shift easily, my tiger stretching into the darkness, senses heightening instantly. Every scent, every sound, every subtle shift in the air becomes clear.
And there it is. Cougar. Faint, but unmistakable. Not one. Several. Marking territory.
Too close.
A low growl rumbles in my chest as I move along the border, tracking the scent lines. They’re testing the edges, pushing just enough to see what kind of resistance they’ll meet. They’ll find it.
I reinforce the boundary, leaving my own markers, stronger, deliberate. A warning. Stay out. As I move, my awareness splits again—part of me focused on the patrol, the threat—
And part of me still, impossibly, aware of her. Back in that building. Unprotected.
Mine.
I push harder against the instinct, forcing it down beneath duty, beneath control. But it doesn’t disappear. It waits. And I know, sooner or later—
I won’t be able to ignore it. The patrol should clear my head. It usually does.
The forest has always been enough—its rhythm steady, its boundaries clear. Out here, everything makes sense. Territory. Scent. Movement. Instinct. Simple. But tonight, it’s not enough.
Because even as I track the cougar markers, even as I reinforce the borders with deliberate precision, part of me remains split—pulled in the direction of her. It’s constant.
I move along the tree line, muscles coiled, senses sharp, and still—still—I’m aware of her presence like a second map layered over the first. Back in town. In that building. Alone.
My tiger doesn’t like it.
The low, restless agitation hums beneath my skin, pushing against the control I’ve spent years mastering. It doesn’t understand restraint. It doesn’t care about caution or consequences.
Mate is here. Mate is unguarded. Protect.
I stop abruptly, claws digging slightly into the forest floor as I force the instinct down. Not like this. Not unchecked. I’ve seen what happens when shifters lose control of that drive. When instinct overrides judgment. It never ends well.
A faint breeze shifts, carrying the cougar scent stronger this time. My focus snaps back immediately, the distraction shoved aside as I follow the trail. Fresh. Closer than before. They’re testing more aggressively now. Good. Let them.
A low growl rumbles through my chest as I move along the boundary, reinforcing the warning with heavier markings. This is claimed territory. Protected. Not theirs. And not hers.
The thought slips in. I pause again, exhaling sharply as I force myself to reset. She’s not part of this. She can’t be. Not if I want to keep her safe.
Magnus is right. Conrad is right. The second she knows what we are, everything changes. The risks multiply. The threats become real in ways she won’t be prepared for. And yet…
My gaze lifts toward the distant glow of town, barely visible through the trees. I can still feel her. That connection hasn’t weakened. If anything, it’s stronger now. Settling in. Rooting deeper.
I shift back at the edge of the forest, the change slower this time, more deliberate. My muscles ache slightly as I straighten. Control. That’s what this comes down to. Holding the line. For her. For the town. For myself.
I take one last look toward Redwood Crossing before turning back toward the road. Because no matter how strong the pull gets—
I can’t afford to let it decide what happens next.