“Well then, let’s see it,” he said as he raised his bow, notched an arrow, and shot it high into the sky. She mimicked his movements, and her arrow knocked his as it headed back to earth.
She propped a hand on her hip and shot him a smirk. “Why are you so concerned about my skill?”
“The bow is a rare skill among the Celts. It is my skill.” Rarely did a mortal’s skill match that of a god’s. When it did… Well, it was best to kill the mortal. It wasn’t unheard of for one of them to usurp a god, though that hadn’t happened in centuries.
“Let’s see it, then.” She shot his words back at him and an arrow high into the air.
He grinned, then scowled at himself, swiftly nocking an arrow and firing. He knocked her arrow with his own.
“You have some talent,” she said.
“And you’re too arrogant for your own good.”
“Not when the arrogance is well earned. As I have earned it.” She spun the small bow in her hand, the only movement of her otherwise still form.
He felt his mouth twitch up at the corner. He’d never spoken to a mortal before. Were they all this arrogant? And entertaining? He rubbed his chest again.
When he’d first come to earth several days ago, he’d been determined to find her—kill her, and return to Otherworld. It was the way things were done on the rare occasions a mortal approached godly skill and it should have been a quick job, not unlike hunting deer for dinner.
But then he’d found her, practicing with her bow in a clearing in the woods. And his chest had started to feel odd. His mind as well. She was so interesting that he couldn’t look away.
He’d watched her, as the sun had risen and set, for five days. But only when she was in the clearing. He shouldn’t be seen by mortals, and with limited time to spend on earth before the other gods noticed his too-prolonged absence, he watched only while she practiced alone with her bow.
“Why do you need to be so good with the bow?” he asked.
“Why not?”
“Haven’t you other things to see to? A family? A husband?”
“I shall not marry. I’m from a family of warriors. I shall be a warrior too.” She looked proud of the fact, but too slight to bear the burden.
“Female warriors?” The Celts did have some, but a whole family would be extraordinary.
Her lips twitched, almost a frown. “No. I’m the only female.”
Ah. That was why she practiced alone; her brothers wouldn’t let her join them. Was that why she used the bow? Could she not obtain a sword?
His hand twitched. He should reach for his arrow now. Find it. Shoot it. Kill her.
Before the other gods notice
d he hadn’t.
There were rules to being a god. Rules that one didn’t break without deadly reprisal. Rules that he’d never broken because he’d never cared to. He’d never cared about anything. He’d never even known what it was to care.
But here on earth, things had all started to look a little bit different. A little bit darker back in Otherworld and a little bit brighter when he looked at her.
He should turn, walk away, and shoot her from the shadows. Because he couldn’t, he asked, “You’ve decided that you are a warrior?”
“I’m more than what I am right now, I know that. I’m more than just a girl.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, then cursed himself. Knowing it would only make killing her harder.
“Andrasta,” she said. She wished that her heart would stop racing, but it hadn’t stopped since he’d walked out of the shadows. Her eyes were drawn once again to the big hand that gripped his bow and then up to his face. He carried a bow like it was a weapon of war. No one did that. No one except for her.
The damp wind rustled his pale red hair, and she told herself to look away. He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Something unfamiliar within her ribs fluttered. He couldn’t really be a god, could he?
Most men ignored her. But not this one. He’d watched her for days. Why would a god watch her?