Chapter 11: The Arrow Flies
1330 Words
Ronan’s POV:
The arrow leaves his bow with a clean, singing hiss — that sound every wolf who’s ever seen battle knows, the sound that says you have less than a heartbeat to live.
I pivot. Not away. Toward Sylra.
Her eyes widen, confusion flashing there, but I’m already slamming into her, twisting our bodies so the arrow hits my shoulder instead of my chest. The impact is a white-hot punch that jerks me sideways, but I keep moving, driving us both behind the nearest boulder before Kerrick can loose another shot.
The stone shudders as something strikes it — not an arrow. A wolf. It scrabbles at the edge, claws scraping.
Sylra’s knife flashes over my shoulder and the sound cuts off.
“You’re bleeding,” she says, breath hot against my cheek.
“I noticed.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. The shaft’s buried deep, the arrowhead biting into muscle, but it hasn’t hit bone.
Not fatal. Not yet.
---
Sylra’s POV:
The boulder shields us from direct line of sight, but Kerrick’s presence is still there — a steady pulse in the air, patient, watching.
Ronan’s arm is heavy across me, more from instinct than need, and I can feel the heat radiating from the wound. Too much heat. The bond’s hum is sharper now, edged with something that makes my skin prickle.
He’s waiting for me to suggest retreat. I’m not going to.
Instead I scan the treeline for any flicker of movement. “He’s alone?” I whisper.
“Not for long,” Ronan answers. His breath ghosts over my ear. “This is the part where you run.”
“Not without you.”
His eyes find mine, silver bright even in shadow. “That wasn’t a request.”
---
Ronan’s POV:
She doesn’t move. Of course she doesn’t. The stubbornness is baked into her bones.
But I can’t protect her and take Kerrick down at the same time. The smart play would be to pull back, put distance between us and the pack regrouping in the woods.
The thing is — Kerrick doesn’t get to walk away today. Not after that shot. Not after the river.
I shift my weight, ignoring the pull in my shoulder, and reach for the hilt of my blade. “You’re going to circle left,” I say, “and keep moving until you hit the ridge. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”
“And you?” she asks.
I smile without humor. “I’ll be the distraction.”
---
Sylra’s POV:
Every instinct I have says not to leave him. The forest is too quiet, the wolves too close, the arrow still in his flesh — and the way he’s holding himself tells me he’s bleeding more than he’s letting on.
But he’s already moving, already slipping around the boulder, so I follow — not to the ridge, but into the trees opposite his path.
The clearing opens briefly, just enough for me to see Kerrick step from the shadows, bow lowered now, a short sword gleaming at his hip. He’s taller than I expected, lean, with that restless, twitching readiness in his stance.
His eyes are on Ronan. And Ronan’s eyes are on him.
---
Ronan’s POV:
“Kerrick.”
The name lands between us like a blade point-first in the snow.
His smile is all teeth. “I was wondering if you’d remember.”
“Hard to forget the one who stabbed you in the back.”
His laugh is short, sharp. “Says the wolf who left us to die.”
I tighten my grip on my sword. “You were already dead.”
He tilts his head, studying me, then glances toward the trees — toward where Sylra is hidden. My chest tightens, but I don’t let my gaze follow.
“You’ve got a shadow,” he says. “She yours?”
“She’s no one’s,” I answer.
---
Sylra’s POV:
I can hear every word, even from the cover of the pines. And I know, deep in my gut, that Ronan isn’t baiting him out of ego — he’s keeping Kerrick’s attention locked where it needs to be.
But there’s another sound beneath their voices. Paws in snow. Low, controlled breathing. Wolves are moving in behind me.
I shift my grip on the knife and start counting steps in my head. Three. Two. One—
I spin, driving the blade into the first wolf’s throat. The second lunges for my leg, teeth closing on empty air as I twist away and s***h across its muzzle.
Their snarls rip through the stillness — and in the clearing, Kerrick moves.
---
The arrow whistled through the cold air. Ronan shoved Sylra sideways, twisting mid-motion. The shaft struck his shoulder with a dull, meaty thud. He grunted, caught his footing, and dragged her behind the nearest boulder.
Snow exploded at their backs — a wolf slammed into the stone. Claws scraped. Sylra’s knife whipped up and stabbed backward. A yelp, a fall, silence.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“I noticed.”
The shaft trembled with each breath he took. Blood slid warm against his skin.
“Is he alone?” she whispered.
“Not for long.”
“This is the part where you run.”
“Not without you.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
---
Ronan slid around the boulder’s edge. Sylra mirrored him on the opposite side. Kerrick stepped from the treeline, lowering his bow. A short sword hung from his hip.
“Kerrick,” Ronan called.
“Ronan,” Kerrick replied, smiling.
“Still hiding behind animals.”
“Still hiding behind excuses.”
“You stabbed me in the back.”
“You left me to die.”
“You were already dead.”
Kerrick’s eyes flicked to the left. “You’ve got a shadow. She yours?”
“She’s no one’s.”
---
Branches shifted behind Sylra. Two wolves padded into view, heads low, eyes locked on her. Their breaths steamed the air.
She stepped back, boots crunching in snow. The first wolf leapt. She pivoted, steel meeting fur. Blood sprayed warm across her knuckles.
The second lunged for her leg. She spun, slicing across its muzzle. It reeled back, snarling.
The noise drew Kerrick’s head around. Ronan surged forward, swinging his sword in a brutal arc. Kerrick met it with a clang of steel, sparks scattering over snow.
---
“Still heavy-handed,” Kerrick taunted.
“Still alive,” Ronan shot back.
They locked blades, shoulders straining. Kerrick shoved off, darting to the side. Ronan followed, their boots digging trenches in the frost.
Sylra kicked the second wolf square in the chest. It skidded back, snow spraying, then lunged again. She ducked low, driving her blade up under its jaw.
She heard steel ring hard from the clearing — Ronan pressing Kerrick, their strikes fast, each impact sending shivers through the air.
---
Kerrick’s blade slid past Ronan’s guard, nicking his ribs. Ronan stepped in, smashing his shoulder into Kerrick’s chest, forcing him back three steps.
“That all you’ve got?” Ronan said.
Kerrick’s grin flashed. “Not even close.”
He kicked snow into Ronan’s face and swung low. Ronan jumped back, parried, and countered with a slice that grazed Kerrick’s arm.
Behind them, a new growl rumbled — three more wolves breaking from the treeline, spreading in a wide arc.
---
Sylra sprinted forward, closing the distance. “Behind you!”
Ronan turned just as the first wolf leapt. His sword split its path, cutting it down mid-air.
Kerrick’s voice rose, sharp. “Circle them!”
The remaining wolves obeyed, padding in a slow spiral, closing the gap. Snow muffled their steps, but the low, steady growls filled the space.
Ronan and Sylra stood back-to-back now, blades ready, the circle tightening around them.
Kerrick paced just outside the ring. “Let’s see how well you dance together.”
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