Stray Arrow Romane & Geschichten

I think of Wren, the way she met my stare, the way her defiance burned even when every wolf in the room wanted her gone. Tessa stops at the split in the hall. “She’ll make it through the night,” she says, “if you don’t go soft.” “Wasn’t planning on it.” She almost smiles. “Good.” I head for my office, but I pause at the door, hand on the wood, and listen to the silence for just a second longer. The echo of the prophecy is still there, in the walls, in the blood, in the air. If the Stray Moon dies outside these walls, Nightwind will fall from within.

Alpha Brady shakes with rage as a growl rumbled from his chest. “She is mine! You will not leave here until she is returned to me!” He snarls, coming undone at the thought of me leaving his pack. He makes his way towards me, stopping when Atlas steps toe to toe with him, and Brady is forced to tilt his head up to meet his glare. “Alpha!” A warrior from Alpha Brady’s pack comes rushing down the hall, interrupting what most likely would have been the start of a short-lived fight. “There has been a breach on the North border! Warriors from Blood Moon!”

I began, my own voice strained, "we need to stay focused. I can't afford distractions right now." Before I could finish my sentence, I sensed a disturbance in the air. The subtle shift in the wind carried the unmistakable scent of danger. Three silver arrows, glinting ominously in the moonlight, were hurtling towards me from different directions – north, northwest, and northeast. The realization hit me like a jolt, and instinctively, I maneuvered to evade the impending threat.

One afternoon, as they navigated a narrow canyon, a sudden, deafening roar echoed through the rock walls. It was not the howl of a wolf, but the mechanical bark of a hunter’s weapon, followed by the whistling screech of a projectile. Elara reacted instantly, shoving Kael out of the path of the incoming bolt. The silver-tipped arrow buried itself deep into the rock face where he had stood moments before, a testament to the Shade Stalkers’ deadly accuracy.

I pat his head and gently flick the little armor I made for him. I shifted my attention to the approaching Verdantes and aimed my arrow in the air. When they arrived at the right position, I released my arrow and ended up on Dardo's foot, which made him hysterical. He was shouting too loud that disturbed the birds nearby. They all flock away from the scene.

A blast of black wind hit the courtyard. It slammed into Freya from above. It pinned her to the ground like a giant invisible hand. The dagger clattered across the ice. Freya choked, clawing at her throat. Arielle hopped over the balcony railing. She fell fifty feet. She didn't crash. She landed softly, cushioned by a cloud of shadow. Superhero landing. The pack backed away. They looked at Arielle with terror. The "Stray" just used magic. Arielle stood up and brushed snow off her dress.

“I have no idea what you are referring to.” Nova opened his mouth for the third time, but Skye raised her hand. “See no evil, hear no evil,” she said dramatically. “In fact, I did not see anything. I was not even here. I just walked in and I am already walking back out the same way I came in.” She started moving backwards slowly toward the door, still talking. “I will be outside waiting for Brad. We have a lot to do and I will be spending the night at his place. You two have fun. Be safe. Use protection. Lock the door. Bye!”

“I can still move.” His eyes darkened, a flicker of both frustration and reluctant respect. “Fine. But stay close to me.” They moved as one, swift shadows through the stone archway and into the dark edges of the estate grounds. The night was quiet, too quiet, the usual chorus of crickets and rustle of leaves eerily absent. Colin crouched, scanning the ground where the arrow had been fired from. His fingers brushed against the dirt, and his nostrils flared. “Fresh scent. Male. Not pack. Masked with something… herbs, ash. Clever bastard.”

The idea creeps in softly, insidiously. Maybe I was too controlled. Maybe I mistook distance for strength. Maybe I don’t inspire passion. The thought is more devastating than any headline. Because it doesn’t feel like an attack. It feels like a possibility. That night, Arrow stands alone in his penthouse, lights off, the city burning bright beyond the windows. He watches the same hashtags rise and fall, each one a verdict he can’t appeal. He tries calling Celeste. It goes to voicemail. He drafts a message, deletes it, drafts another.