36. Archer
ARCHER
The forest swallows sound the moment I leave the edge of Redwood Crossing.
Even my own footsteps feel muted out here, like the trees are pressing in close enough to absorb anything that might give me away.
Damp earth, crushed pine needles, the sharp bite of sap in the air—everything tells me I’m deep in rogue territory now.
Damon’s scent is stronger here. That’s all I need to keep going. It twists through the underbrush like a challenge. Like he wants to be followed. I move faster.
Branches snap low against my forearms as I push through a thick line of fir trees. The forest floor slopes downward, uneven, turning slick with moss and exposed roots. This isn’t just wilderness anymore. It’s been used. Trampled. Claimed.
A temporary base. I slow as I crest a ridge.
Below me, the land opens into a hollow carved out between rock and trees.
Makeshift shelters—tarps, broken timber, old hunting blinds dragged into formation.
Rogue pack signatures everywhere. Marking scratches on bark.
Bones left too clean to be accidental. A warning system disguised as chaos.
And in the center of it all—Damon. He’s standing like he’s been waiting for me the whole time. Of course he has. His head tilts slightly when he sees me. Not surprised. Not afraid. Just… satisfied.
“You came alone,” he calls up.
I step forward into the clearing without answering. The air between us tightens. Rogues shift in the shadows. I feel them before I see them—multiple bodies, circling edges of the hollow. Watching. Waiting for Damon’s signal.
He doesn’t give it yet. Instead, he smiles.
“You always did prefer direct confrontation,” Damon says. “That’s what made you predictable.”
“I’m not here for conversation,” I say.
That gets a low laugh out of him. He rolls his shoulders like he’s loosening up for something he’s been anticipating all day.
“No. You’re here because you finally realized I wasn’t trying to take Redwood Crossing.”
That makes me pause just long enough for him to notice. His grin widens. Oh, I don’t like that. I drop into a fighting stance anyway.
“Then what were you doing?” I ask.
“Buying time,” he says simply.
The words land wrong. Not because they’re confusing. Because they’re too calm. A predator doesn’t speak like that when he’s cornered unless he’s not cornered at all. I hear movement behind me—far off, but closing. More than rogues. Multiple signatures pushing into the treeline. Our defenders.
Redwood Crossing is here. Damon hears it too. His eyes flick toward the sound, just once. That’s all the confirmation I need.
“You led them here,” I say quietly.
“I let them follow,” he corrects.
And then everything breaks. Damon moves first—fast, brutal, shifting mid-lunge. The air snaps as his body transitions into full predator form. Massive. Dark fur. Eyes like burned amber.
I meet him halfway. Impact hits like a collapsing tree.
We slam into the ground hard enough to crack frozen soil beneath the moss layer. My claws catch his shoulder. His teeth snap inches from my throat. We roll, each trying to pin the other, neither giving ground.
He’s strong. Stronger than I expected. But not stronger than me. I twist, driving my weight into his ribs, forcing him off balance. He claws across my side—pain flares hot, but I ignore it. I’ve had worse. Around us, the clearing erupts.
Rogues surge forward from the perimeter, but they don’t all commit. They hesitate. Watching the fight. Watching their leader. That hesitation tells me everything. Damon isn’t holding them with loyalty. He’s holding them with momentum.
If he falls, they scatter. I drive that thought down and use it. I shove him back hard enough that he skids across the dirt, rolling once before catching himself near a fallen log. He rises again immediately, chest heaving, lips pulled back in a snarl.
Blood darkens his fur along one shoulder. Good. I feel the shift behind me before I see it—our defenders entering the clearing. Not full force yet. Contained. Controlled. They’re watching my fight too.
They’re waiting for the signal that this ends one way or another. Damon notices them now. His eyes flick between me and the encroaching shifters.
“You really think this ends with me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
He laughs again. But there’s something sharper under it now. Fraying. He launches again.
This time, I’m ready. I sidestep the charge and catch him mid-motion, redirecting his weight into the ground. The impact cracks through the hollow. He snarls, trying to recover, but I’m already on him. Claw. Strike. Hold. We break apart and collide again.
The fight becomes rhythmless violence—no strategy left except dominance. His strength is raw, feral. Mine is controlled. Efficient. I land a blow across his jaw that snaps his head sideways. He stumbles. That’s the opening. I go for it.
But Damon does something I don’t expect—he breaks away instead of countering. Spins, shifts direction, and bolts into the deeper forest. Fast. Intentional. Not retreating in panic. Retreating with purpose.
“Damon!” I snarl, already after him.
Behind me, I hear shouting—our defenders pushing in, rogues scattering as their leader runs.
The hollow destabilizes instantly. The pack fractures just like I thought it would.
Some run deeper into the woods. Some surrender.
Some vanish entirely. But I don’t stop to deal with any of them. I follow Damon.
The forest tightens again as I chase him downhill, branches whipping my face, roots grabbing at my boots. He’s fast—faster than he should be for someone already injured—but I’m faster. Always have been. The distance between us shrinks. Ten meters. Five.
He cuts sharply toward a ravine split—river gorge territory. I recognize it late. The ground drops fast ahead, stone and rushing water below. He’s trying to force terrain advantage. Smart. Desperate. I don’t slow.
I hit the slope and let gravity take me down faster than he expects. My boots dig in, sliding, controlling descent. I close the gap again just as he reaches the edge. And then I see it.
No hesitation in him now. Only intent. He wanted me here. That realization lands a fraction too late.
Damon spins at the cliff’s edge, shifting fully again, and slams into me with everything he has left.
We crash together and go over the drop. We fall.
Stone flashes past. Wind tears through my ears.
The roar of the river rises fast below. I twist midair, catching him, forcing him beneath me.
We hit the water like a hammer strike. Cold explodes through every nerve. The river takes us.
We surface hard, fighting current, slamming into rocks half-submerged. Damon drags me under again, but I break free and drive him into a boulder at the edge of a whirl. He gasps—real pain now. Good. This ends here.
I haul him out of the water by the scruff of his neck and slam him against the stone bank. He tries to claw at my face, but I catch his wrist and twist until something snaps. His roar echoes off the gorge walls. For the first time, I feel him falter. Not physically. Strategically.
“You don’t understand,” he spits, water and blood mixing in his mouth.
“I understand enough,” I say.
His eyes sharpen.
“No,” he says, breath ragged. “You don’t.”
And then he says it. Not what I expect. Not surrender. A truth.
“The rogues weren’t the invasion.”
That makes me pause. Just slightly. Enough for him to see it. His lips curl.
“They were the distraction,” he says. “While something else moves into your territory. Something worse. Something you won’t see coming until it’s already inside your walls.”
My grip tightens.
“What are you talking about?”
But he’s already fading. Strength bleeding out of him now, not just from injury but from realization that he’s run out of time.
“I was sent to pull you out,” he says. “Away from Redwood Crossing. Away from them.”
“Who?”
But he only smiles.
A final, broken thing.
“You’ll find out,” he whispers.
I don’t wait. I end it. The final clash is brutal, instinctive, no hesitation left between us. Stone cracks again. Water sprays up around us. His strength surges one last time—
—and then stops.
Silence follows. Only the river remains. I stand over him for a moment, breathing hard, rainwater and river spray dripping off my fur. The rogues are gone. I can feel it even from here—the pack’s collapse already underway upstream.
Damon’s warning lingers. Something else. Something coming. I don’t stay to think about it.
I turn and climb out of the gorge, forcing my body back up the steep stone edge. Every muscle burns. Every instinct tells me to rest. I ignore it. Redwood Crossing is still exposed.
And Tessa is there.