14. Archer
ARCHER
The moment I hear her voice on the phone, everything else drops away. Focus narrows.
Sharp. Immediate. Absolute. There’s someone at her door. And I’m not there. That’s the only thing that matters. I’m moving before she even finishes speaking, keys already in my hand, engine roaring to life hard enough to rattle the frame of the garage.
“Damn it,” I mutter, gripping the wheel too tight.
I should have stayed closer. Should have ignored my own plan and—
No. Doesn’t matter now. I slam the truck into gear and take the road faster than I should, faster than any human would dare. The world blurs past in streaks of dark and light, my senses stretching outward, searching.
I break every speed limit getting there. And then I stop obeying the road entirely. The scent hits me like a punch. Rogue. Inside my territory. At her door.
Rage explodes through me. I don’t bother with subtlety. I hit the back alley at a run—and there he is. Picking the lock. He turns just as I slam into him. We crash into the wall, the impact cracking brick. He recovers fast—too fast for a human. Because he’s not one.
Rage flares hot and vicious in my chest. They didn’t just test the boundary. They went straight for her. I don’t bother parking properly. The truck barely stops before I’m out of it, already moving toward the alley behind the bookstore.
The scent is stronger here. Fresh. He’s still here.
Good. That means I don’t have to track him.
I round the corner—and see him. Crouched at the back door, tools scattered at his feet, body angled like he’s deciding whether to try again.
He hears me. Turns. His eyes flash in the dim light—too bright, too sharp.
Shifter. Rogue. And stupid enough to come back after being warned.
“Wrong move,” I say, my voice low.
He grins, slow and feral. “Not for me.”
I don’t give him another second. I hit him hard. The impact drives him into the wall with a crack that echoes down the alley. He recovers fast—faster than most—but I’m already on him again. We clash—fists, claws, instinct. He’s younger. Stronger than average.
But he’s reckless.
That’s his weakness. Mine is—
Rage. I use it anyway. He swings wide; I duck and drive my shoulder into his ribs, feeling something give under the force. He snarls, snapping at me with partially shifted teeth.
“Persistent,” he spits, circling.
“Stupid,” I correct.
He lunges again. This time, I let the shift come further. Not full. Not here. Not with her so close. But enough.
Strength floods my limbs, sharper, faster, more precise. My senses explode outward—the sound of her heartbeat inside the building, rapid and uneven, cuts through everything else.
Alive. Safe. For now. That’s all I need. I grab the rogue mid-lunge, slamming him down hard enough to crack the pavement beneath us.
“Who sent you?” I demand.
He laughs through bloodied teeth. “You already know.”
Felix. Of course. So really… Damon.
I tighten my grip. “Tell him this is his last warning.”
The rogue’s grin widens. “Or what?”
I lean closer, letting the animal slip into my voice. “Or next time, I don’t stop at warnings.”
Something in my tone lands. For the first time, uncertainty flickers in his eyes. Good. I shove him back, hard enough to send him skidding across the alley.
“Get out,” I growl.
He hesitates—
Just for a second. Then he scrambles to his feet and bolts. I take a step after him, instinct screaming to finish it. End the threat. Make sure he never comes back. But I stop. Because of her.
Because I can still hear her inside. Because I already pushed things too far.
I drive my fist into his jaw. He goes limp for half a second—long enough for me to shift my grip—
And then he shoves me off and bolts. I chase him to the edge of the alley—
Then stop. Because I feel it. Her. Watching. I turn slowly. Tessa stands in the doorway, eyes wide. She saw everything. The speed. The strength. The inhuman way I moved. There’s no fixing this. No hiding it. I exhale slowly.
“It’s time I told you the truth.”
I turn toward the bookstore slowly, forcing myself to breathe. In. Out. Control it. Lock it down. The last thing she needs is to see me like that. Too late. I feel it before I see her.
That shift in the air. That awareness. I look up. She’s standing in the doorway. Watching.
Her eyes are wide, fixed on me like she’s trying to reconcile what she just saw with what she thought she knew. I straighten slowly, every movement deliberate now. Careful. Measured.
But it doesn’t matter. She saw enough. More than enough. There’s no explaining this away. No brushing it off. No pretending I’m just… human.
A quiet, bitter thought threads through me. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I take a step toward her. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t run. Doesn’t speak. Just watches. Waiting.
I stop a few feet away, keeping my distance. For her. For me.
“You shouldn’t have come out here,” I say.
Her voice is shaky, but steady enough. “I wasn’t going to hide while someone tried to break in.”
Of course she wasn’t. Stubborn. Fearless. Human.
“He’s gone,” I tell her.
“For now?” she asks.
I don’t lie.
“For now.”
She nods slowly, absorbing that.
Then her gaze sharpens.
“What was that?” she demands.
There it is. The question I can’t dodge anymore. I glance down at my hands briefly—at the faint traces of the shift still lingering beneath my skin—then back at her. No more half-truths.
No more distance. That option is gone.
“You already know it wasn’t normal,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give without—”
“Without what?” she cuts in. “Actually telling me the truth?”
Frustration flickers, but it burns out quickly.
She deserves better than what I’ve been giving her.
I know that. I’ve always known that. I just didn’t want the consequences that come with it.
But those consequences are already here.
Standing in front of me. Looking at me like everything’s about to change. Because it is.
I exhale slowly.
“This town isn’t what you think it is,” I say.
Her brow furrows. “You’ve said that before.”
“And you didn’t listen.”
“Because you didn’t explain,” she shoots back.
Fair.
I nod once. “Then listen now.”
She crosses her arms, bracing herself. “I’m listening.”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t know what to say. Because once I say it—
There’s no going back. No undoing it. No protecting her from it.
“You’re not safe here,” I say instead.
Her expression hardens immediately. “We’re not doing this again.”
“This isn’t the same argument,” I counter. “This is me telling you the truth.”
“Then tell me,” she challenges.
Her eyes lock onto mine, unflinching. Daring me. Trusting me. That last part hits harder than anything else. Because I haven’t earned it. Not yet. But she’s giving it anyway. I swallow hard, the weight of the decision settling in.
“This town,” I begin slowly, “has… rules.”
She blinks. “Rules.”
“Boundaries. Territory. Lines that don’t get crossed.”
“Okay,” she says cautiously. “And the guy tonight crossed one of those lines?”
“Yes.”
“And you stopped him.”
“Yes.”
She studies me. “Because you’re… what? The self-appointed enforcer?”
“Something like that.”
Her lips press together. “And the way you moved—”
I cut her off gently. “Wasn’t human.”
Silence. Thick. Heavy. She stares at me, searching my face for any sign that I’m joking. I don’t give her one.
“You’re serious,” she says finally.
“Yes.”
Her breath catches slightly.
“And the guy tonight?”
“Also not human.”
She lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Okay. Sure. Why not. We’re just throwing reality out the window now.”
I don’t react. Don’t soften it. Don’t try to ease her into it. Because there’s no gentle way to say this.
“You saw what you saw,” I say quietly. “You felt it.”
Her laughter dies. Because she did. We both know she did. The silence stretches again. Longer this time. More fragile.
“What are you?” she asks.
There’s no fear in her voice. Just—
Need. To understand. I hold her gaze. And make the choice.
“I need to tell you everything.”
Her shoulders tense slightly.
“Then start talking,” she says.
I nod once.
“Inside,” I add. “This isn’t the place for it.”
She hesitates, glancing toward the alley where the fight just happened. Then back at me.
“Fine.”
She steps back, holding the door open. I follow her in, my senses still stretched thin, scanning for any lingering threat. None. For now. The door closes behind us with a quiet click.
And just like that—
There’s no more distance. No more hiding. Only the truth. And whatever comes after it.
I stop just inside the bookstore, the familiar scent of paper and ink grounding me slightly.
She turns to face me, arms crossed again, waiting.
“You said you were going to tell me everything,” she reminds me.
“I am.”
I take a breath. Let it out. And prepare to change her world. Because that’s exactly what this is going to do. Change everything. For both of us.